The collision was one of pure, unadulterated violence.
Greenskins are not a patient race; after being harassed by Al's Troll corps and aerial monster swarms,
the Greenskin army could no longer tolerate these enemies prancing and flaunting their power before them.
They launched their assault.
Standing in the front row were the Heavily Armored Khorngors, halberds at the ready.
The glinting halberds radiated a murderous aura, but for the Greenskins—as long as their morale held—
even if they faced a Great Drake or the Three-Eyed Archaon himself, they would charge in to test his mettle.
Black Orcs versus Heavily Armored Khorngors.
A collision of Red and Black.
A contest between steel and flesh that surpassed steel.
The Khorngors, who had crushed street battles and hunted Greenskins like livestock,
treading a path paved with Orcish meat under their iron boots, had finally met their match.
The Black Orc Big 'Uns—disciplined, silent, and far stronger than the average Orc—
were the most dangerous and powerful breed among the Orcs, Savage Orcs, Black Orcs, and Goblins.
And the Khorngors, the dedicated combat caste of the Four-Gods Tribe,
were likewise the most powerful warrior strain among the Beastmen.
Strength met strength. One side was flushed with the momentum of a long pursuit, occupying the high ground;
the other was filled with fury, burning their bridges in a "win or die" desperation.
Despite the interference and support of the spellcasters, which further tilted the scales,
the Khorngor defensive line shook like a small shack hit by a hurricane the moment the armies collided.
In just a few breaths, both sides suffered significant losses.
The Heavily Armored Khorngors, despite their superior equipment,
felt the threat of the Savage Orcs, whose every strike seemed to carry the weight of their entire lives.
The Black Orcs were far calmer and more composed than their cousins who charged blindly with a "WAAAAAGH!".
They maintained orderly ranks and a steady advance, not foolishly rushing into the forest of halberds.
They waited for the Savage Orcs' suicidal charge to disrupt and shake the Khorngor positions
before advancing in unison to attempt to open and expand a breach.
This was the same tactic Al had used previously: using monster units to disrupt the enemy lines,
then launching an offensive to tear through the front.
However, the Greenskins had come across the sea and brought few monster units—only Trolls, Giants, and Wyverns.
Even fewer had followed them into the Piña Forest, as most remained with the main host at Magus.
So, in the forest at least, Al's monster units held an absolute advantage.
Yet reality was not like a game; you couldn't just shove clumsy Trolls into a disciplined Khorngor formation.
Using infantry to "cushion" monsters would only turn the formation into a complete mess.
Only during an offensive could a monster charge best complement the ground legions in a slaughter.
If this were a game, Al could see the health bars of both sides dropping visibly.
While the damage dealt by the Heavily Armored Khorngors far exceeded that of the Orcs,
it was no longer the one-sided massacre of the past where his units barely lost a single model.
Even with a defensive array, magical support, and his personal presence triggering the blessing bonuses,
the Greenskins could still erupt with such power.
Al's long-standing fear of a "Pyrrhic victory" and his strategy of avoiding direct decisive battles seemed correct.
If not for that accident... Rats! It must be the rats!
Aside from the Skaven's bizarre and mysterious Warpstone technology—which mirrored the power of "Orc Logic"—
Al could find no other explanation for a force capable of destroying the outer defenses of the Sacred Grove.
If not for the Skaven intervention, this would have been a long defensive war of attrition.
Al would have waited to wear down the Greenskins before seeking a chance for a decapitation strike.
Instead, he was now forced into a head-on decisive battle with an intact main enemy force.
Misha had already broken the Greenskin camp guards.
Under the leadership of the Cow-Girl and the Wolf-Girl—his two most elite scions—
a single charge had shattered the Greenskin line. The Eldest Daughter's army slaughtered without mercy.
The Greenskins didn't hold for long before their morale collapsed and they fled in a rout.
Misha released all her wolf packs and Centigors to hunt the broken troops.
Once she ensured they couldn't return to influence the battle, she led her force into the city.
Due to the limited space, they had to remain in the rear to reorganize for the moment.
Realizing the final battle was at hand, the Cow-Girl handed command to her generals
and ran with her guards to her Little Father's temporary command tent.
Currently, only staff officers were frantically coordinating there, as Al remained in the sky on his Griffon.
Sensing that the final gamble for victory or defeat was right before him, Al decided to risk it all.
While the Greenskins withdrew their ordinary troops to rest and committed their elites to crush his reinforcements,
if he could break the Black Orc and Savage Orc elite units in one go,
he could use that momentum to drive the fleeing troops and break the massive enemy force trapped in the city.
Al focused his observation more intensely than ever before.
From the sky, combining his God-view map, he analyzed the entire battlefield.
His palms were sweating, and his legs gripped the Griffon Empress's back tightly.
The next move would decide the war. Al couldn't afford to lose, and neither could the tribe...
The Black Orc General roared, conveying the Warlord's will.
The Orc units at the front intensified their assault.
Al did not keep his troops huddled in the narrow corridors.
After driving back the retreating Orc units, the tribe grandly deployed its ranks, inviting a head-on battle.
The entire front and flanks now allowed hundreds of warriors to slaughter each other simultaneously.
Every second, soldiers fell, and reinforcements surged forward to replace them.
Under the General's urging, the Orc units increased the intensity of their attack.
Even the Black Orcs—a rarity among Orcs for their discipline—began to adopt the suicidal, "life-for-a-life" style of the Greenskins.
Instantly, casualties on both sides spiked.
As the Greenskins increased the pressure, the Khorngors grew even more heated.
War ignited their burning emotions; the gaze of the Bloodmother felt like a roar from the heavens in their ears.
The fury and bloodlust in their hearts were fully awakened.
The frontline had transformed into a primal collision of beasts, using every ounce of strength to claim heads and spill blood.
Al watched it all. Even as his cherished Heavily Armored Khorngors suffered heavy damage and fell in rows,
he gripped the reins, his heart bleeding, his expression grim with heavy clouds, yet he remained motionless.
He had to wait.
Wait for the enemy...
"WAAAAAGH!!!" A Black Orc used matchless strength to knock aside a Khorngor's halberd.
It lunged forward and flattened the Khorngor with a heavy headbutt.
It stepped onto the Khorngor's back, pinning its dorsal spikes, and roared at the sky to proclaim another victory.
Suddenly, a bloodthirsty figure leaped into the battlefield like an Asura!
A star of death streaked through the air. After a crescent flash of cold steel,
the ferocious Black Orc Big 'Un was sliced cleanly in half from its left shoulder to its right hip.
The Centigor Chosen spun her halberd, a horizontal sweep sending two charging Orcs flying.
They hit the ground, barely breathing.
The strike had instantly siphoned and devoured most of their life force, turning it into visible bloody mist
that swirled around the halberd and the Centigor, while simultaneously pulverizing their organs and bones.
Beneath the hideous, heavy visor of the terrifying Centigor, her hauntingly beautiful face
wore a cruel, bloodthirsty sneer.
She had endured for a long time.
When the crumbling and intertwined battle lines drew close to her position,
the Bloodmother's incitement and roar echoed in her ears.
He is the God of War. He is the God of Strife. He is the God who rejoices in the clash of blades!
The Bloodmother had sent Her scion to Alina's side, allowing Her Chosen to receive the honor
of being the adoptive mother to the Everchosen and the Son of the Four—a status second only to the Gods.
But it was not so she would lay down her arms, stop the fighting, and stay home as a virtuous mother to Al.
The Bloodmother still encouraged Her Chosen to step onto the battlefield in Her name,
to offer the glory of slaying strong enemies and seizing victory to the Black Iron Throne.
And, incidentally, to handle the blades and slaughter for her unpromising and death-fearing adopted son...
Al knew his Centigor "mother" was not a patient woman.
Whether it was her initial declaration of being his mother or her proactive invitation at the spring,
Alina was a very proactive mare.
The Centigor Chosen entering the fray instantly pushed the situation in favor of the tribe.
Clad in full plate, her murderous intent nearly tangible like a Greater Daemon of Khorne,
Alina's entry sent a jolt of morale through the Khorngors!
The Everchosen coordinated the big picture from on high, while the Chosen of the Bloodmother stood beside them!
Slaying and bleeding with them!
In an instant, both the morale and the offensive power of the tribal side surged visibly.
No one on the battlefield could ignore that majestic, demonic figure rampaging through the ranks.
Everywhere she went, not a single Big 'Un could withstand a single blow.
No matter how they had flaunted their strength before, if they stood in front of the Centigor,
they were reduced to two pieces of dead meat beneath her halberd.
Shouting in a frenzy, their spirits soared.
The Greenskin momentum was blunted!
Even the strongest Black Orc Generals could not last long against Alina's halberd;
they were either decapitated or fled in defeat.
Now is the time!
The majority of the Greenskin offensive force began to falter.
Under the Centigor's command, the Khorngors abandoned their defensive lines
and followed her sharp spearhead, piercing into the Greenskin ranks.
Al could see large numbers of Greenskins still filling in the front.
Without intervention, the counter-offensive led by the Centigor would eventually be contained by the sheer weight of numbers.
But he would never let that happen.
Amidst the shouts of the Shamans, the power of the Wind of Ghyran was guided and controlled.
Finally, it blossomed upon the earth as majestic power!
"Wrath of the Earth!"
The once peaceful Wind of Ghyran had transformed into the most violent force of nature!
Churning and restless, it became a terrifying power of destruction, twisting the terrain.
The ground either split into fissures, swallowing Greenskins, or rose into mounds, shattering their formations.
Nearby buildings caught in the spell's radius collapsed with a roar.
After the dust cleared, many roars filled with endless rage and bloodlust erupted as the terrifying monster army emerged!
"BLOOD!"
Wielding serrated greatswords and shield-axes, the Minotaur units—nearly twice the height of two Orcs stacked—
charged into the Greenskin ranks through the rubble with bloodshot eyes!
Many Orcs who had been sent flying were crushed under beast hooves before they could even stand.
The scene was spectacular. If Alina's killing was an art of violence blending elegance and savagery,
then under Alestar's lead, the Minotaur offensive was a primal, wild slaughter.
They smashed, bashed, sliced, and hacked with madness.
Using weapons, horns, hooves, and any tool available, they were like tireless, efficient killing machines,
fanatically and rapidly slaughtering every enemy around them.
Compared to their fast, savage, and frenzied assault,
the attacks of the clumsy and slow Trolls looked like beast cubs play-fighting.
A storm of blood and gore... but only now.
The Griffon Empress descended from the sky, landing at the command tent.
Al looked at his eldest daughter. Misha's eyes held a craving—one shared by every Son of Al.
In my Father's name, kill!
Al opened his visor for air. The scent of thick blood mixed with dust wafted over.
He fanned his nose, cleared his throat, and suppressed his trembling body to speak firmly:
"In the name of the Four Mothers, victory belongs to the tribe!"
"Full offensive!"
The Big Wolf-Girl, Hera, scrambled like a clingy dog to the Griffon girl's side.
Her front paws—no, her hands—gripped the Griffon's body, touching Al's left leg.
Her massive wolf tail wagged rapidly behind her, matching her excitement.
Al touched Hera's hair, which was still matted with blood. The wolf-girl narrowed her eyes.
"Don't charge too fast. Stay with the army, preferably near Alina."
The wolf-girl nodded vigorously, wagged her tail, and bolted back to her unit at Al's signal.
Al was incredibly nervous, and still was. After issuing the command for the final battle,
the entire legion moved rapidly. Before a winner was decided, there was only one path: forward.
He believed he could win, but there was always a "what if."
Al—who was never truly devout and never really believed in the Four Mothers—
now began to pray silently to the four Goddesses, his mothers.
He prayed this war would bring another precious period of rest and development for the tribe.
He also prayed to his "stepmother" Lileath, hoping she would be reliable this time.
Under her veil of mists, may the Greenskins turn their sights to the North
and fight the Estalian remnants until the heavens grow dark!
As long as he could win this... win this!
Al's goal of leading a hundred thousand troops to the ocean shore and standing atop the South's highest peak
seemed not so distant after all.