Harry Potter: Journey to Godhood

Only when experienced firsthand do human warriors truly understand the terror posed by those green-skinned monsters.

Though the narrow valley could not accommodate many orc wolf riders at once, even so, when they charged, the momentum erupted like a thousand armies.

The orcs roared and howled, their battle cries mingling with the barks of their wolves, brandishing a variety of crude weapons with a frenzied spirit. 

Their long spears and tightly arranged shield formations were so daunting that they could hardly blink, as these green giants disregarded the sharp spear tips and rushed headlong into the human lines.

In almost an instant, the first wave of orc cavalry crashed into the human formation with brutal force.

Compared to the well-armored human soldiers, the orcs' armor appeared rudimentary. 

However, their rough skin and solid muscles made up for this; in most cases, human warriors had to exert themselves to inflict enough damage, often facing situations where their weapons could barely break the skin or got trapped in muscle.

Yet, this was merely a situation that arose during infantry combat.

In the face of the orc wolf riders' charge, the human forces once again relied on their trusty spears, which had always been effective against cavalry. 

The wolf riders, like moths to a flame, plunged into the forest of spears, only to be pierced through, along with their mount wolves, becoming offerings to this machine of slaughter.

At this moment, they were no different from the human, troll, or goblin opponents that soldiers had faced in the past.

However, in such a situation, the orcs demonstrated why they could unify Draenor, enslaving its various races and why the nobles and commanders of the Stormwind Kingdom dreaded them.

For the wolf riders at the back, the deaths of their comrades meant nothing.

They seemed to ignore the corpses around them, charging forward, offering their bodies at the feet of the spears and fiercely crashing into the human lines.

The second wave...

The third wave...

Finally, the spearmen could no longer hold on; the corpses strung on the spears and the continuous impacts not only broke some of the spears but also exhausted them. 

Soon, the first line of defense crumbled, and the wolf riders slammed into the shield wall.

The orcs' strength was immense; their weight and impact were not to be underestimated. 

Even the shield bearers, wielding their shields with both hands, could not avoid having their hands crushed.

Now able to engage in close combat with their opponents, the orcs grew even more frenzied. They charged into the human phalanx, thrusting their heavy weapons into the enemy lines. 

In just a few seconds, the front ranks of the phalanx were breached, as if a hole had opened in a dam, with more cavalry rushing in, almost causing the formation to collapse.

However, this did not come without cost. 

As more and more corpses piled up in front of the lines and more wolf riders and human soldiers clashed together, the momentum of the wolf riders' charge finally began to wane. 

The running wolf mounts had to navigate around the multitude of dead bodies, careful not to crash into their own kind.

Yet this did not mean the human side gained the upper hand.

The front row of shield bearers and spearmen completed their task at the cost of their lives, losing their intended effect. 

The ordinary sword-and-shield infantrymen in the back then surged forward to fulfill their duties.

They were the main force in the melee.

Their usual tactic was to block enemy attacks with their shields and then strike with their swords when the enemy exposed an opening due to their assault.

Unfortunately, in such chaotic combat, the individual combat strength of the orcs became pronounced.

Their power was overwhelming; often a single blow from them could leave a human soldier staggering, even if they managed to block with their shields, rendering them unable to respond to a second strike.

Their vitality was also more resilient; even when heavily wounded, they could continue to fight until their last breath.

More terrifyingly, compared to human cavalry, although orc wolf riders lacked the same charging force, they were far more adept in close combat.

Their mounts were not ordinary beasts but bloodthirsty predators like themselves.

These wolves had sharp teeth and claws; even if their masters fell in battle, they could still inflict significant damage on human infantry.

Under the watchful gaze of Baron Glamon, the scales of victory had begun to tilt towards the orcs. 

The advantages the humans had established through their formation were slowly being erased, and what worried him most was that the number of attacking orcs was far greater than he had anticipated. 

Even now, more wolf riders were continuously entering the battlefield.

God knows how so many orc riders could penetrate deep into the heart of Stormwind Kingdom.

He turned his gaze to the mage beside him, Alaric.

Perhaps their hope for victory rested on this mage before him.

"Lord Sandor," he whispered, "we can only rely on you from here on out."

"Don't worry," Alaric nodded, "these enemies are not beyond my control."

With that, he tightened the reins, and his steed moved forward a few steps.

When he approached the edge of the battlefield, he began to chant incantations.

In an instant, terrifying magical energy began to gather; Alaric's hands and eyes glowed with a bluish-purple light representing arcane power. 

Then, water vapor began to coalesce in the air above the battlefield.

In this hot weather of late summer and early autumn, both sides on the battlefield suddenly felt an inexplicable chill.

Was this an illusion?

Garona and Glamon exchanged glances, confusion evident in their eyes.

However, this was no illusion.

For suddenly, snowflakes began to fall from the sky, the white flakes starkly contrasting against the still green valley.

"How beautiful," Garona said, catching a snowflake in her hand, marveling at it—her homeland of Draenor had not seen such a sight in a long time, given its complete desolation.

Yet, these gentle snowflakes were merely a precursor to destruction.

Soon, what fell from the sky was not just snowflakes.

First came grains of ice the size of rice, which had mostly melted by the time they reached the ground, then came hail the size of pigeon eggs that could leave a large bump when hitting a person's head. 

The hail soon grew larger and more frequent, forcing those struck to cover their heads and flee.

Strangely, this sudden hailstorm did not fall upon Garona and Glamon, nor upon the battling humans and orcs, but instead fell upon the orcs' rear, upon the continuously supporting wolf riders and the orc forces.

If this hail were merely ordinary, the orcs, with their thick skin and sturdy build, could endure it.

However, as time passed, the hail began to change.

The temperature of the hail became increasingly cold, and its shape morphed from rounded to sharp and conical, transforming from an annoying abnormality to a deadly grim reaper's fang.

These falling icy spikes pierced into the bodies of the orcs like a rain of arrows, and in an instant, blood spattered everywhere, as all the orcs caught beneath this terrifying hail wailed in their death throes.

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