The trolls' defeat was inevitable the moment they decided to launch their attack under the cover of heavy rain.
A completely anticipated assault would only harm the aggressors themselves.
More critically, this failure did not just result in the Amani trolls suffering heavy losses; it also provided the Alliance with an opportunity to expand their victory.
Faced with a retreating troll army, Alaric decisively took action.
Mounting his warhorse, he personally led his troops in pursuit, chasing the routed forces all the way into the heart of Zul'Aman.
At this point, the Amani trolls collapsed like a house of cards.
Amidst the torrential downpour, the city's gatekeepers, unable to grasp the full situation, mistakenly allowed both their fleeing comrades and their pursuers into the city.
Because the bulk of Zul'Aman's defenses had been drawn away for the failed assault, the city's ruins were swiftly overrun by the Alliance.
Cavalrymen rampaged through the streets, cutting down trolls without mercy.
High Elf swordsmen and rangers swiftly dismantled the remaining defenses, while human infantry took control of strategic positions.
Meanwhile, at the grandest altar of the Amani trolls, nearly all of their high-ranking leaders had gathered. A strange ritual was underway.
Suddenly, the heavy doors of the altar burst open with a resounding "bang!" The temporary chieftain, Warlord Daakara, stumbled in, panting and disheveled.
At the center of the altar, Hex Lord Malacrass slowly opened his eyes.
"What's the meaning of this, Daakara? Why have you returned so quickly?"
His voice was eerie and haunting, sending chills down the spine of even the formidable warrior before him.
Yet Daakara had no time to dwell on his discomfort. He blurted out in alarm, "Disaster! The Alliance… they've breached Zul'Aman!"
"The Alliance has breached Zul'Aman?" Malacrass frowned in disbelief. "Weren't you leading our warriors to ambush their camp? How could they have gotten in?"
"It was a trap! A complete trap!" Daakara's eyes burned with fury.
"The enemy knew of our plan beforehand! They were fully prepared and had even set up an ambush! Our warriors were routed almost instantly!"
"A trap?" Malacrass narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "But wasn't the ambush your own spur-of-the-moment idea? How could they have known in advance?"
He then shook his head dismissively. "No matter. How they defeated you is irrelevant. I've said before—our warriors alone cannot defeat such a powerful force…
But now, things are different. Because we have obtained a far greater power—we have the power of the Loa Gods!"
As his words fell, four massive humanoid figures stirred from the shadows of the altar.
One of them was tall and muscular, bearing the head of a bear and the body of a troll.
A thick layer of fur covered much of his form, exuding an aura of unyielding strength and resilience.
Another had the head of an eagle, with sharp talons for feet.
His body was adorned with intricate shamanistic ornaments and long feathers, while the winds themselves seemed to swirl around him.
The third figure bore the head of a dragonhawk, with a pair of majestic wings sprouting from his back. Though he possessed a troll's frame, his hands and feet had transformed into dragonhawk talons, wreathed in swirling flames.
The last figure had the head of a lynx, with a long feline tail trailing behind him. His limbs were lined with razor-sharp claws, and he radiated an aura of unmatched agility and ferocity.
"Behold our power—power that once belonged to the Loa Gods!" Malacrass laughed maniacally.
"I have siphoned fragments of the Loa's strength and sealed them within four of our mightiest warriors.
I name them Nalorakk, the Bear Spirit; Akil'zon, the Eagle God; Jan'alai, the Dragonhawk God; and Halazzi, the Lynx God! With the power of the Loa, we will crush those arrogant mortals and restore our glorious empire!"
Gazing upon these transformed beings—his former comrades now imbued with divine might—Daakara lowered his head in reverence.
"Yes, mighty Hex Lord," the once-proud warlord now spoke humbly. "Your power will lead us to victory. We shall reclaim the Amani Empire."
"Good," Malacrass sneered. "Then let us greet our 'guests.'"
The assembled trolls quickly vacated the altar, leaving behind a grim scene—a pit filled with the lifeless bodies of trolls, bears, eagles, dragonhawks, and lynxes.
The cost of their ritual had been paid in blood.
On the Alliance's side, Alaric was no longer on the frontlines.
After breaking through Zul'Aman's defenses, he resumed his duties as commander, overseeing the coordinated advance of his forces.
Under his command, the Alliance methodically pushed the trolls back, restricting their movements and forcing them into smaller pockets of resistance.
Any trolls that attempted to regroup were swiftly crushed by cavalry charges, scattering them into disarray.
Alaric understood well that fleeing enemies were the easiest to slaughter. In any war, the majority of casualties occurred when one side was in full retreat.
Unlike other high-ranking officers who led their troops from the front, the Windrunner sisters—Alleria and Sylvanas—chose to remain by Alaric's side, acting as his bodyguards and advisors, almost as if competing with each other.
Just as another silent staredown began between the two sisters, an urgent report reached Alaric's ears.
"You're saying you encountered giant half-beast creatures at the central altar?" Alaric looked at the soldier in shock.
"Yes, and not just one!" the soldier reported anxiously. "We saw at least a bear-headed giant and a cat-headed giant.
They are incredibly powerful and wield mysterious forces beyond our comprehension. We… we were slaughtered before we could even react! Commander, we need a plan!"
Hearing the mention of a bear-headed and cat-headed figure, Alaric immediately recalled his past experience in the Zul'Aman raid dungeon back in the game. He understood what they were up against.
"So, this is the Amani trolls' trump card," he muttered, then turned to the Windrunner sisters.
"These creatures are beyond the capabilities of ordinary soldiers. Gather all available mages and elite warriors—I'll go scout ahead. Meet me at the altar."
"But… that's too dangerous! You can't just—" Alleria reached out to stop him, only for Sylvanas to intervene.
"This is the best option we have right now," the younger Windrunner sister said firmly. "Trust him, sister. If you truly worry for him, then find reinforcements as fast as possible."
"…I understand." Alleria took a deep breath, regaining her composure. With agile movements, she leaped onto a high wall and disappeared into the night.
Watching her sister depart, Sylvanas turned to Alaric.
"Good luck, little Sandor. Don't die."
"Of course." Alaric smirked, spurred his horse forward, and galloped toward the altar.
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