Chapter 112: The Battle of the Five Armies! Begins!

Last night, the commotion from the wild boar men’s lair could be heard even from this side of the valley. The fire raged throughout the night, nearly igniting the surrounding forest.

As a large group of black-furred dog-headed men entered the valley, swearing allegiance to Fysa, Leo knew the great battle was about to begin.

He ordered the troops to prepare, taking turns resting while maintaining heightened vigilance.

Sure enough, by the next morning, the main force of the gnolls charged straight into the valley.

The first to greet them was the hospitable Basaka longbowmen, unleashing a rain of arrows.

The volley fell like a torrential downpour, dense and relentless. Countless gnolls were pierced through their bodies in an instant, falling in waves like harvested wheat.

The heavy arrows from the Basaka longbows were a terrifying nightmare for any army lacking iron armor and large shields.

Had it been a human lord’s army facing such an onslaught, they would likely have broken and fled long ago.

But the gnolls were far more brutal, utterly indifferent to the casualties among their ranks.

Under their captain’s command, a portion of the gnolls dispersed, rushing into the forests on both sides.

The main gnoll force still fixed its gaze on the most obvious target—the Riverbend Infantry Regiment, who beat their shields with heavy javelins, shouting taunts and challenges.

Leo stood behind the infantry, watching the gnolls scatter, unmoved.

The Basaka longbowmen were stationed in the forests, using their range advantage to shoot from high positions.

Meanwhile, Fysa’s dog-headed guards stood at the mountain base, tasked with intercepting any scattered wildlings attacking from the flanks.

Even if the dog-headed guards failed and fled, it would not affect the morale of the main force; after all, no one expected these “dogs” to hold in a hard fight.

As long as they stood in front and drew the gnolls’ attention, the Basaka longbowmen could easily shoot down the approaching enemies.

Over a hundred gnolls broke away from the main force, braving the deadly rain of arrows as they slipped into the forest, blending with the dog-headed guards.

The dog-headed guards displayed their cowardice unmistakably.

When confronting lone gnoll hunters, they would swarm, stabbing them into porcupines with heavy javelins or crossbow bolts. But when faced with gnoll squads over ten strong, they would turn tail and scatter, playing hide and seek in the woods.

Hidden in the trees or forest undergrowth, the Basaka longbowmen picked off the gnolls foolishly pursuing the dog-headed guards, one by one.

In the valley, the main gnoll force stepped directly into the trench traps dug by the dog-headed men and the wildlings.

These trenches, several meters wide, were shallow—only two or three meters deep—due to time constraints. They couldn’t truly hold the agile gnolls but could at least slow their charge.

Some nimble gnolls leaped over the trenches, but many were shoved in by the crowd, becoming stepping stones for those behind them.

They struggled to climb out, only to be pressed back down by their companions’ heavy feet.

Vichy commanded the wildling crossbowmen arrayed on the infantry’s flank, executing a mechanical three-stage volley.

He didn’t expect precision from these untrained wildlings, only that they operate their weapons strictly according to training, providing steady suppressive fire.

Under Ulyan’s tutelage, he had become a competent commander, well aware that these unseasoned wildlings should not be given too much room for independent thought or improvisation.

Though their morale seemed high, eager to prove their bravery, it was fragile. At the first sign of casualties, their instinct would shift to self-preservation.

To maintain a steady output from the rear without panic, chaos, or flight was the best they could do.

The three-stage volley from a hundred crossbowmen inflicted considerable casualties on the gnolls.

Because part of the gnoll force had entered the forest, distracting half the Basaka longbowmen, the arrow rain from the woods thinned noticeably.

In the end, the gnoll force that charged close to the infantry was even larger than Leo had anticipated.

But he still had a trump card. Seeing the gnolls within fifty meters, he gave the order: “Break formation!”

The Riverbend Infantry Regiment immediately dispersed, revealing the ogre tribe seated behind them.

These massive ogres, even sitting on the ground, were no shorter than human infantry.

Leo shouted, “Now! Ogres! Charge!”

Fifteen ogres rose, but upon seeing hundreds of gnolls and wild boar men rushing at them, they attempted to sit back down.

They were slow-witted, not fearless.

Leo, exasperated, resorted to quick thinking: “Gnolls! Delicious! Go eat them!”

Krog grumbled, “Looks awful to me!”

Leo continued to bait, “Try it! Try it! If it’s bad, I’ll give you a wild ox next!”

Krog’s eyes lit up, and he raised his great club, shouting, “Olgai! Devour the gnolls!”

His other head echoed, “And the wild ox too!”

With that, he led his kin charging through the dispersed infantry, colliding with hundreds of gnolls.

Leo wiped the sweat from his brow—these unreliable ogres were best placed at the front, simply sent charging without fuss.

This taught him a lesson: on the battlefield, avoid micromanagement.

It’s easy to get caught up in the controls and lose the war.

During their brief exchange, the dispersed infantry had already thrown a volley of heavy javelins, pinning the foremost wild boar men warriors and gnoll brutes to the ground.

Leo shouted again, “Shield wall! Shield wall!”

The infantry, seasoned and well-trained, showed no panic. Many had anticipated this command.

Upon hearing it, they skillfully regrouped, calmly raising their round shields.

The overlapping shields formed a fish-scale pattern, ready to withstand the imminent assault.

The appearance of the fifteen ogres struck terror into the gnolls.

All wild tribes fear the strong; the gnolls were no exception. They did not fear being outnumbered but dreaded opponents they could not overpower.

Each ogre was a terrifying warrior.

Their combat strength compared to the gnolls was akin to the mightiest wild boar warriors facing the weakest dog-headed miners.

The ogres wielded wooden clubs as thick and long as the great men of the Northern Territories. A single sweeping blow could send four or five gnolls flying or crush a wild boar warrior into a bloody pulp.

While swinging their clubs with their right hands, they did not idle their left, seizing nearby gnolls and biting off their heads.

After chewing briefly, they spat out the bone shards, repeatedly spitting, “Ugh! Ugh! Gnolls! Not tasty!”

The gnolls, terrified, scattered and sought alternate routes.

Only a few gnoll brutes, their eyes bloodshot and mad with frenzy, dared to press the attack.

However, their hunting spears could only pierce a few inches into the ogres’ thick hides, tougher than rhinoceros skin.

Heavy chain hammers and stone maces struck their fleshy hides, often bouncing back to strike their own heads.

Hundreds of gnolls were routed by just fifteen ogres charging headlong.

Ogre leader Krog charged too fast, stepping into a trench and wedging his lower body inside, struggling to free himself.

He could only flail his club futilely, swatting away enemies trying to pass him.

What had been a proper battle became a kind of tower defense game in his hands.

The severely battered gnolls were unwilling to fight the ogres to the death, leaving a small contingent to grapple and hold them back.

The rest pressed onward toward the infantry’s shield wall.