Gharom charged once more, fury blazing in his eyes like molten lava.
His grip on his spear was so tight it nearly crushed the metal itself, and his chest heaved with ragged breaths, as if he were drawing air straight from the mouth of a volcano.
In the opposite corner, the elite orcs were also slowly retreating.
The summoner knights' formation hadn't broken—instead, it grew more solid with each passing minute.
With every attempted breach, the counterattacks became more organized, more precise, more intelligent.
The orcs faltered. Their cohesion began to unravel.
One of the orc captains attempted a desperate move—pouring all his inner qi into a suicidal explosive strike, aiming to tear through the summoners' line... but it failed.
Instead of surging forward, his qi rebounded inward, tearing his body apart from within. He collapsed without a sound.
The orc cries shifted suddenly—from war chants to screams of panic.
