Chapter Thirty-Three: One Swift Charge to Victory

Sun Li understood all too well that if this battle dragged into a war of attrition, the million-strong orc army, bolstered by the Bloodlust spell, could grind his forces down no matter how valiantly they fought. Thus, he had long decided to launch an all-out assault, shattering the enemy’s first offensive with a single, overwhelming strike. Riding the wave of victory and high morale, his troops would then drive straight into the heart of the enemy formation, forcing Barbarian Hammer to commit the orcs’ core units—their main battle legions.

As long as the orc main battle legions were destroyed, victory in the decisive battle would be assured; killing more goblin cannon fodder would be meaningless. On the battlefield, as the goblins—driven mad by the Bloodlust spell—began slaughtering one another, the bewildered orc shamans made a grave mistake: they withdrew the Bloodlust spell’s effect.

Though the goblins’ mutual slaughter did little actual harm to the humans, their sheer numbers had at least slowed the human advance. But with the spell canceled, could the goblins, once they regained their senses, possibly muster the courage to stand against the humans’ bayonet charge?

Naturally, Sun Li’s force of over ten thousand bayonet-wielding troops drove the now-collapsing goblin rabble straight toward the main orc formation.

“These fools! Even if you want to conserve your magic, you can’t lift Bloodlust now!” Watching the cannon fodder who had just been charging at the humans suddenly turn and flee, Frido cursed the front-line shamans furiously.

Now realizing the enormity of their mistake, the shamans tried in vain to restore order by recasting Bloodlust, but the goblins’ minds, already broken from the earlier high-intensity spell, were beyond redemption. If these goblins could still be brought under control, they would no longer be creatures but mere automatons.

Having never encountered such a situation, the shamans suffered a rare magical backlash. In this dimension, so desperately lacking in magical elements, the orc shamans had managed to trigger a collective magical backlash, an unprecedented feat that broke the very rules of magic.

Thanks, however, to the scarcity of magical energy in this realm, the shamans suffered no more than a temporary inability to cast Bloodlust, avoiding serious harm. But now, with the orc elite deprived of their signature spell, it was uncertain whether the shamans would ever have another chance to wield their arcane specialty.

Seeing tens of thousands of their kin rushing toward them, the goblin auxiliary units in the orc camp, with their simple minds, acted only to save themselves. In a flash, hundreds of thousands of goblin cannon fodder scattered in every direction, fleeing in panic. They had been forced into this battle and had no intention of dying for the so-called great Emperor Barbarian Hammer.

No matter how ruthlessly the blocking squads slaughtered the fleeing goblins, their ten thousand-strong force was powerless to stem the flight of hundreds of thousands. Barbarian Hammer could only watch helplessly as this vast mob of cannon fodder was lost—because the human army was already upon them.

As they closed to within a few hundred meters of the orc main battle formation, the well-disciplined line infantry, at their officers’ command, halted their charge and reformed into horizontal ranks.

At this point, Emperor Barbarian Hammer still believed his force of a hundred thousand main battle troops could secure victory. He deployed all 20,000-odd half-orc archers, intending to unleash a devastating volley upon the humans.

But the army of Song arrayed itself in loose horizontal formation, utilizing a methodical rolling-fire tactic. The front ranks fired in unison, then fell back as the rear ranks advanced and took their turn. In this way, under uninterrupted fire, the line advanced steadily.

The half-orc archers, never reaching their own meager effective range, broke and fled under the relentless volleys. The sight of their comrades falling in rows tormented their nerves—no one could withstand such carnage.

Before Emperor Barbarian Hammer could even curse the half-orcs for bringing shame upon the orc race, the Song army’s ten thousand-strong formation, advancing to the accompaniment of stirring martial music, marched up to the strong orc legion’s lines. There, volleys of musket fire felled the powerful orcs in swathes. Realizing that merely standing their ground meant certain death, the strong orc legion’s commander ordered a full assault. All fifty thousand of Barbarian Hammer’s elite orc troops launched the infamous “Banzai charge,” reminiscent of the Japanese.

The Song commanders adjusted their orders accordingly, halting the advance and switching to sequential volley fire, maintaining steady firepower. Now it was the strong orc legion’s turn to feel what the goblin cannon fodder had endured. The goblins had pressed forward under the madness of Bloodlust, braving the hail of bullets, while the strong orcs charged on pride and courage alone. These fifty thousand were Barbarian Hammer’s most loyal imperial troops.

Under the relentless gunfire, the dense vanguard of strong orcs thinned out rapidly. Even with constant reinforcements, countless gaps appeared. Once within ten meters of the line, the orcs faced a barrage of grenades, followed by the classic bayonet charge.

Once again, it was proven: goblins under the influence of Bloodlust were even more fearless than the fiercest strong orcs. Troops so reckless were still driven mad under concentrated grenades and bayonet charges—how could the strong orcs, without magical aid, fare any better?

Against the wall of muskets, the vanguard was annihilated by the grenades, and the survivors saw only slaughter and death before them. Hesitation spread; in the midst of their brethren’s screams and the sound of bayonets piercing flesh, the strong orcs broke, shamefully fleeing. The survivors halted, unable to advance.

With such overwhelming success, how could Sun Li let the opportunity slip by? His three thousand spearmen cavalry, rested and ready, brandished lances and sabers, shouting, “Long live the Emperor!” as they launched a charge so stirring it made Sun Li’s blood surge.

These three thousand lancers drove into the halted strong orc ranks like a dagger, splitting the orc main force and throwing it into chaos. All around, dying orcs, shattered lances, flashing sabers, and severed orc heads littered the field. After just one charge, the rear ranks—barely maintaining formation—completely collapsed.

The impact of the lancers was so ferocious that most abandoned their broken lances, switching to sabers to continue the slaughter. Barbarian Hammer, watching his main force crumble like a landslide, felt as if the sky itself was falling—but he still had one last card to play. With a desperate order, over ten thousand wolf-riders charged at the now-extended line infantry, who had advanced too far and were out of artillery support.

At this moment, Sun Li’s reserves had all been committed to expand the victory. Now, a battle that could yet turn the tide was about to erupt!