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The mage atop the wyvern, a young man with fiery red hair and a matching cloak, was the first to speak. "Master Gerhardt, we are ready. We've trained for this. We—"

"Silence, boy!" Gerhardt snapped, his tone harsh and commanding. The young mage flinched, his wyvern letting out a low growl.

"Do not presume to tell me what you are ready for. You have no idea what awaits you beyond that treeline."

He gestured toward the dark forest ahead, where shadows danced ominously.
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The crystalline stag rider, a woman with sharp features and silver hair, spoke up next. "We've studied the spells, Master Gerhardt. We've practiced the rituals. We—"

"Practice means nothing when faced with the chaos of battle!" Gerhardt interrupted again, his voice cutting through her words like a blade.

"A thousand incantations will not save you if your hands tremble. A single misstep, a single moment of hesitation, and you will fall. And let me be clear: there will be no time to mourn you."

The other mages exchanged uneasy glances, their confidence faltering under Gerhardt's piercing gaze.

The mage on the serpentine beast, a wiry man with sunken eyes, finally asked, "Then why bring us here if you doubt our abilities?"

Gerhardt turned his attention to him, his expression dark and severe.

"Because, apprentice, you will either prove your worth here or die trying. That is the way of the Order. No mage who has ever stood in this position has done so without earning it.

"But earning it is not enough. Surviving this battle will determine whether you are worthy of the title of true mage."

The youngest of the group, a girl barely out of her teens who rode the horned feline, spoke in a trembling voice. "Master Gerhardt... what if we—"

"What if you die?" Gerhardt finished for her, his voice cold.

"Then you die with honor. But mark my words, if you falter, if you flee, if you betray the Order's creed, your death will be neither honorable nor remembered.

"The knights at your back would sooner cut you down themselves than allow such disgrace to fester in their ranks."

The girl paled, her grip tightening on her reins.

The cloaked figure on the spider, silent until now, finally spoke in a gravelly voice. "You speak of death as though it is inevitable, Master Gerhardt. Yet you brought us here knowing the risk. Are we truly so expendable?"

Gerhardt's eyes narrowed, his staff flaring with light.

"Expendable? No. Crucial. You are the spear that will pierce the heart of the enemy. You are the fire that will burn their wretched forms to ash.

"Without you, this army is vulnerable. With you, it is unstoppable. But only if you prove yourselves."

He straightened in his saddle, his voice rising to address the entire army. "KNIGHTS! MAGES! HEAR ME!"

The soldiers and mages alike turned their attention to him, the air thick with anticipation.

"This is not just a battle! This is vengeance! This is justice! The filthy Orcs and their vile horde have taken from us what can never be replaced.

"They have spilled noble blood, desecrated our lands, and spat upon our honor. Today, we make them pay. Today, we remind them why humanity rules this realm!"

The knights cheered, their voices a deafening roar that shook the ground. The mages exchanged uncertain glances, but even they could not deny the surge of adrenaline coursing through them.

Gerhardt turned back to the mages, his tone quieter but no less intense.

"You may not survive this day. But if you do, you will emerge as true mages, worthy of the Order's legacy. You will carry the pride of our people on your shoulders. You will be heroes."

He leaned forward, his eyes burning with conviction. "But if you falter, if you fail, you will be nothing more than ashes in the wind. So I ask you now: Are you ready to sacrifice everything for glory?"

The mages, their expressions a mixture of fear and determination, nodded.

"Good," Gerhardt said, a cruel smile playing at his lips. He raised his staff high, its light piercing the gathering gloom. "THEN LET US SHOW THESE FILTHY ORCS THE TRUE MEANING OF POWER!"

The knights erupted in cheers again, their cries echoing across the battlefield.

The mages steeled themselves, their beasts growling and hissing in anticipation.

The army moved forward, the weight of five hundred souls marching toward destiny, each step bringing them closer to the clash that would define their lives—or end them.

The human army continued its march, their boots stomping in rhythm, a sound that echoed through the quiet forest.

The tension was palpable but manageable, with knights occasionally adjusting their grips on their swords or murmuring quiet prayers.

The magical beasts the mages rode let out occasional growls or hisses, their glowing eyes scanning the horizon.

Gerhardt sat tall on his magical lizard, his old but sharp eyes narrowing as he looked ahead.

At first, there was nothing unusual. The treeline ahead was still, the path before them clear. He raised a hand to halt the army briefly.

"Stay vigilant," he commanded. "These savages are cunning in their ambushes."

The knights nodded, their armor clinking as they straightened their posture.

The mages exchanged glances, their beasts restless but controlled.

Then, faintly, a shadow appeared on the horizon. It was almost indistinguishable at first, a small blur that might have been a trick of the light. But it didn't waver or vanish. Instead, it grew.

"What is that?" whispered a young knight at the front, his voice trembling slightly.

Gerhardt's eyes narrowed further, and his grip on his staff tightened. "Silence," he snapped, his voice cutting through the murmurs.

The shadow grew larger, splitting into multiple shapes, each one towering higher and broader than expected.

"Is it... a caravan? Or reinforcements?" one of the knights asked, trying to reassure himself.

"No," muttered a grizzled veteran near him, his eyes fixed on the shadows. "Look at the way they move. That's not human."

The realization spread like wildfire through the ranks, whispers growing louder as the shadows approached.

Each step of the unseen figures seemed to reverberate through the earth, faint tremors felt under their boots.

"Hold the line!" Gerhardt barked, his voice shaking slightly, betraying the unease even he felt.

As the figures drew nearer, more details became clear.

The shadows weren't just large—they were massive, hulking shapes that moved with a precision that belied their size.

They were in formation.

"A formation?" one mage on his crystalline stag said incredulously. "They're savages! How could they—"

Gerhardt silenced him with a glare. "This is no ordinary horde," he muttered. "They've been trained."

The knights were no longer murmuring. Their silence spoke volumes, their collective fear hanging heavy in the air.

The tension thickened with every step the shadows took closer.

When the figures finally emerged from the treeline, the sight froze the entire human army in place.

Orcs.

But not just any Orcs.

The front line was composed of monstrous warriors, their green and gray skin covered in scars that told stories of countless battles.

They were heavily armored, each plate dented and battered but functional.

Their weapons were crude yet deadly, some wielding massive cleavers, others heavy clubs embedded with sharp spikes.

Behind them stood the towering Ogres, their immense size dwarfing even the largest of the human knights.

They were draped in heavy chains, but these weren't bindings of submission.

The chains wrapped around their massive arms and torsos, their ends cut and jagged, swinging like weapons of their own.

"What... what are those chains?" a knight stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"They look like beasts bound for war," another muttered, his hand trembling on the hilt of his sword.

"Quiet!" Gerhardt snapped, though his own voice carried a slight tremor. His lizard mount shifted uneasily beneath him, sensing the rising tension.

The Orcs' formation was unnervingly organized.

Each rank moved with precision, shields raised, weapons at the ready.

Their steps were synchronized, their presence exuding an aura of discipline that seemed entirely out of place for a horde of so-called savages.

"They're... they're an army," one of the mages whispered, disbelief etched across her face.

"Impossible," Gerhardt growled, though his tone lacked conviction. "They're beasts. Brainless brutes. This must be some trick, some illusion!"

But as the Orcs and Ogres came closer, the reality of their appearance shattered any illusions the humans might have hoped for.

The Orcs' armor gleamed dully in the faint sunlight, patched and repaired with scraps of metal and bone.

Their faces were grim, eyes burning with an unnatural intensity.

The Ogres were even more terrifying. Their chains clanked with every step, the sound echoing like a death knell.

Some had added spikes and blades to their bindings, turning them into makeshift weapons.

Their eyes glowed faintly, a feral intelligence behind them that defied their brutish reputation.

"Dear gods," one knight muttered, crossing himself. "What are we facing?"

"They're just Orcs," Gerhardt snapped, though his voice wavered. "And those... things... they're just bigger Orcs. Hold your ground!"

The human ranks shuffled, shields raised a little higher, swords held a little tighter. But the fear was palpable.

As the Orcs and Ogres came closer, their numbers became more apparent.

This wasn't a small warband.

This was a force, organized and ready for battle. And at their head stood a figure unlike the rest.

Though still obscured by shadows, the leader's presence was undeniable. His armor was larger, more ornate, and his stance exuded authority.

The knights could feel his gaze, even at a distance, piercing through their ranks like a predator sizing up its prey.

Gerhardt clenched his staff, his knuckles white. "Prepare yourselves," he commanded, his voice losing some of its earlier force. "This is no ordinary fight. Steel your hearts. This is a test of your resolve!"

The knights shouted their affirmations, but their voices were tinged with hesitation. Even the mages, their beasts growling and hissing, seemed uncertain.

The clash between two armies was inevitable. But for the humans, standing against the terrifyingly organized horde of Orcs and Ogres, it already felt like they were at a disadvantage even with their numbers.