Rise of the Horde-Chapter 413 -

King Gyassi, upon witnessing the main army's retreat from the orcish onslaught and their impervious magic cannons, expressed frustration by clicking his tongue. "Useless!" he cursed, before turning to the group of Silver Helms accompanying him.

Unbeknownst to anyone except himself and the one who had granted them their powers, there were two distinct divisions within the Silver Helms - the expendable cannon fodder and the true, elite Silver Helms. The ones he had deployed to block the enemy's attempt at silencing their magical weapons were the former.

He was well aware that if others were to discover his actions in granting power to the Silver Helms, he would surely face condemnation from all. The once loyal riders, who had served under him for a considerable amount of time, were no longer recognizable.

Though their physical forms remained, their souls had long departed, offered as sacrifices to strengthen the Silver Helms. In their place now resided the souls of the accursed, devoid of fear or pain, but driven by a insatiable thirst for flesh and blood. This transformation had a profound and chilling effect, altering the very core of their being.

The king unsheathed his blade, the Sword of Ereia and pointed it towards the retreating mass, "Get back out there and fight! Death to those who flee the battlefield!" the Silver Helms lined up in a single row, their weapons pointed at the retreating Ereians. There eyes glowing crimson red, an aura of death shrouding their ranks.

Those who paid no heed or those who didn't manage to hear the king's voice were trampled and slaughtered by the slowly advancing Silver Helms.

Rakabis, his brow furrowed with concern, stood before King Gyassi. "Your Highness," he began, his voice a low murmur, "there should be a better way to encourage the army to fight back."

The king, his face flushed with fury, pointed his blade at Rakabis , the sharp edge of his weapon, glittering under the rays of the sun. "I am the king," Gyassi roared, his voice thundered amidst the sound of the hooves of the advancing Silver Helms and the chaos of the skirmish, "My words are absolute! Or are you trying to challenge my authority?"

Rakabis, caught off guard by the king's sudden outburst, remained silent, his gaze fixed on the sharp end of the king's blade.

The king's anger was a tempest, brewing within him, his eyes blazing with an untamed fury. He glared at him, his shadow stretching across the sands, a dark omen to the madness that he was about to commit.

"Retreat is not an option," Gyassi declared, his voice dripping with scorn. "We will fight, we will destroy them, They are nothing but brutish monsters. Is that understood?"

Rakabis, his heart sinking at the king's blind determination, bowed his head. "As you command, Your Highness."

His mind, however, didn't want to comply. He saw the faces of the weary soldiers, their eyes reflecting the weariness of a long battle, the weight of loss etched on their faces.

He saw the enemy, a tide of muscular warriors, their war drums a rhythmic heartbeat that shook the very battlefield that they stood on.

He knew that the King, blinded by his anger, would never understand. He would never see the usefulness of retreating to fight for another day.

Caught between the merciless Silver Helms and the relentless orcish horde on their heels, the Ereian soldiers were caught in a crucial dilemma. With fallen comrades strewn on the parched ground, their blood now mingling with the sand, and their bodies trampled by the Silver Helms' powerful steeds.

As they weighed their options for retreat, the orcish horde closed in on them, leaving them with little choice but to turn and fight once more.

Despondency had taken hold of the Ereian troops. The orcish warbands descended upon them with fervor, eager to take down as many enemies as possible. Yet, amidst the chaos of battle, the orcish warriors maintained discipline, staying close to their respective warbands as they fought on.

As the battle raged on, King Gyassi and his esteemed Silver Helms charged into the midst, leaving a gaping hole in the formation of the orcish army. Despite the rallying cries of the Ereian officers to follow their king, a number of soldiers instead seized the opportunity to retreat in safety, now that the path was clear of the formidable Silver Helms. This unexpected turn of events left a profound impact on the morale of the soldiers and the outcome of the battle.

The Ereian king quickly took notice of those who continued to flee from the battlefield, "Death to all deserters!" he roared and pointed his blade towards the first wave of soldiers that continued to flee. In an instant, the fleeing soldiers disappeared as if the desert had a mouth and swallowed them all whole. "The desert punishes those who disregards the king's command!" his voice boomed like thunder and drowned the chaotic sound of battle for a moment.

The almost unstoppable assault of the orcish horde finally met their match, the riders devoid of pain and fear charged at them repeatedly. Their steeds also seemed to share the same trait as they followed the commands of their riders.

Arkagarr who was at the very center of the battle turned towards the Rakshas that were with him, "Spears up! Charge and take them down!" he roared. The Rakshas who were close by quickly heeded his command. They formed up in a tight formation, shoulder to shoulder, and presenting a forest of spears at the front.

"On my command! Now!" Arkagarr shouted. The forest of spears rapidly advanced forward, the sharp spearheads rapidly stabbing forward every second.

The Silver Helms, despite their lack of pain and fear, were cut down by the Rakshas. Their rapid stabbing riddling both riders and their steed with holes. Riddled with holes, with huge chunks of flesh and some bones missing from their bodies because of the attack, the Silver Helms had a hard time coordinating their limbs properly because of the condition that their bodies were in.

"Ha! How does that feel!" the Rakshas mocked the hole-riddled Silver Helms who now looked like a bunch of drunkards.

King Gyassi, seething anger after witnessing the orcish horde mowing down even the Silver Helms called upon the power of his weapon. He charged forward with no care, trampling down many of his soldiers. His goal was to take down the orc who is most likely to be their leader.

"Fool," Arkagarr muttered after seeing a lone rider heading straight for them. In his mind, "What can a lone rider do?"

The Ereian King slammed against the forest of spears, his steed neighing in pain as it thrashed around, trying to dislodge the spears that had penetrated its body. The orcs quickly pulled back their weapons, their eyes filled with confusion on the result of the recent collision.

The steed of the rider was now on death's door in front of them but the rider was nowhere to be seen.

"Did he just turn into sand because of the collision?" a Raksha at the very front of their formation asked in confusion.

"I think so, yes. That is what happened," the one directly to his right answered.

"Are our eyes deceiving us?" Arkagarr stood watch, surveying the area with heightened alertness. He had initially believed he was the only one who witnessed the enemy rider disintegrate into grains of sand upon colliding with their formation, but upon hearing the accounts of the other Rakhas, he was finally able to confirm the truth of what he had seen.

Arkgarr quickly took notice of the mound forming upon the sand by his feet, the mound grew bigger and bigger which force him to take a few steps back.

By instinct, he thrusted his weapon forward, penetrating the sand. The mound then took the form of a man, then its physical features becoming clearer. It was the lone rider who had crashed against their formation.

On the lips of the man who was formed from the sand was a mocking grin, "Surprise!" he chuckled, Arkagarr's spear still through his torso. Although the orcs didn't understand what he said, the mocking tone from his voice conveyed the meaning. A surprise look was etched upon the faces of the Rakshas.

"By our ancestors, how?" Arkagarr stared at the figure in front of him. The length of his spear still embedded halfway through the figure. He tried to pull back his weapon but Gyassi held it firmly with one hand.

"It's my turn," the Ereian King muttered then slashed upwards with his sword. Arkagarr who was on the receiving end of the attack quickly took cover behind his shield.

Despite successfully blocking the attack with his shield, Arkagarr was caught off guard by the unexpected force of the strike. The sturdy shield he had relied on proved no match for the enemy's blade, and his armor was easily destroyed by the powerful slash. The sheer force of the strike sent Arkagarr hurtling backwards, knocking over those behind him. It was a single, devastating slash from Gyassi that shattered a part of the formation of the Rakshas.