Chapter 635 Peace Talks or Surrender?
"The Great Shaman is in trouble. What should we do? Should we withdraw our troops?"
"Withdraw? Who were we afraid of a few years ago when there was no Great Shaman? Now, warriors from more than a dozen clans are gathered here, and no one can withstand our wrath!"
“Then let’s continue the attack. Send the Legion of the Dead up first, and use this armor as a token to convey the High Shaman’s order that they must break through the elves’ defenses tonight.”
After discussing the matter, the high priests decided to continue the attack, but they first withdrew their tribal warriors and allowed the undead legions, which had not been used on a large scale, to launch a desperate charge.
The orcish alliance consists of at least 20,000 undead, but because Arthas has been commanding the army, they only obey his orders. During the daytime attack, they refused the orders of several high priests. Now that Arthas's fate is unknown, the high priests must eliminate this unstable threat.
"My lord...my lord...something has happened to the Legion of the Dead..." Just as the high priests were preparing to throw the Legion of the Dead into the elven cannon fire, they saw several orc leaders running over in a panic.
"What's going on? Have they gone berserk again?"
"No...no, they...they all suddenly died..."
"......."
The warriors of the Legion of the Dead were all men who had died once, yet now the orc leader said they had "suddenly died," which gave several high priests a very bad feeling.
The encampments of the Legion of the Dead are generally separated from those of ordinary orcs and Rakshasa, with a safe distance of at least several miles between them, to prevent them from occasionally going berserk and harming their own people.
But when the great shamans arrived at their camp, there was no sound. The terrifying warriors who used to be shrouded in deathly aura were all lying on the ground, their bodies emitting a disgusting stench of decay.
"Ugh... ugh..."
The stench quickly became so strong that even the orcs could not bear it. It drifted with the wind to other military camps, causing a violent vomiting sound.
"Has the Great Shaman... left us?"
The high priests remained silent, but their hearts were filled with bitterness. These undead warriors were created by Arthas using the power of the high shaman. Now that their power had suddenly vanished, the fate of the high shaman was self-evident.
"Let's halt the attack tonight! Let's discuss our strategy, and if things get too difficult, we can retreat!"
One of the great shamans made a painful suggestion, but the other great shamans did not object. They only prayed in their hearts that their tribe would not be targeted by the powerful sea creatures like the Warsong Clan.
The Warsong Clan suffered a misfortune; a tsunami wiped out at least 80% of their elite warriors, reducing the once-leading of the seven great orc clans to a second-rate one. No one wanted their tribe to suffer the same fate.
The orc camp was filled with arguments all night long. Several warlords and king-level warriors under the command of their respective high shamans argued endlessly about who would lead the way and who would cover the rear, all under the hints of their own high shamans. It wasn't until nearly dawn that more than a dozen clans finally determined the order of their retreat by drawing lots.
As dawn broke, the Bladewind Clan, having drawn the position of vanguard, embarked on their southward journey with a heavy heart. Their clan was the smallest and weakest, and this time they were once again assigned to be the vanguard to scout ahead. If the sea race and the elves were to devour the entire orc army, then they would definitely be the targets of their attacks to establish their authority, and their extermination would be a foregone conclusion.
The thousands of warriors of the Bladewind Clan ran south at top speed, hoping to pass through the narrowest section of the land passage before the sea creatures could react.
"Stop, stop, stop... What's ahead...?"
"The...Templars"
The warriors of the Bladewind Clan were filled with despair. On the narrowest stretch of land between the Gulf of Finland and Lake Radotso, an army was already in full battle array, and the dozens of red cross-star banners fluttering in the air filled the orcs with a sense of hopelessness.
The news that their retreat route had been cut off quickly reached the high priests. This time, instead of arguing, they summoned all the tribal chiefs and leaders, sat down quietly, and discussed how to leave a way out for their tribal warriors.
"I would rather die in battle or drown with my warriors than surrender!"
"I would rather my warriors swim across Lake Ladotso than surrender!"
Several orc leaders expressed their anger, stating that all their wealth and power were built on the foundation of their people; without the support and offerings of their people, what were they?
The orc high priests and elves wouldn't push them too far, but a lowly chieftain like himself wouldn't be taken seriously. If he surrendered, would the elves still let him be their chieftain? They'd be lucky if they didn't kill him.
"Alright! Wojtek, get your men ready for the charge! We'll support you when we meet!"
"'You'? Keller, you coward! Don't mistake your own weakness for the will of others. Nobody wants to be with you!"
Keller didn't get angry at Wojtek's accusations. Instead, he retorted with a look that suggested he was an idiot. This only fueled Wojtek's anger. He picked up his warhammer, ready to teach Keller a lesson.
"Enough! There are over a dozen clans here, and everyone can voice their opinion. Wotek, if you're willing to die, go ahead and do it. Stop making a scene!" Another clan chief, annoyed, started cursing at Wotek.
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