[Leav POV]
The battlefield stretched before him, a chaotic dance of steel, claw, and desperation. The enemy horde had been larger than expected, their numbers swelling as reinforcements poured in from the ruins. What was meant to be a decisive assault had turned into a drawn-out battle of attrition.
Leav's mind worked furiously, analyzing the shifting battlefield. Their forces still held the upper ground, positioned on the rocky outcrops surrounding the ruined fortress. However, the enemy, a mixture of rival goblin warbands and monstrous beasts drawn to the scent of blood, was adapting.
"Tear! Hold the left flank! Push them back, don't let them encircle us!" Leav commanded, his voice cutting through the cacophony of battle.
Tear grunted in acknowledgment, his massive frame wading through the battlefield like an unstoppable force. He swung his club with bone-crushing force, shattering the skull of a charging orc-like goblin. The beast crumpled instantly, its body twitching in the dirt.
Leav turned to Weal, who was crouched behind a jagged stone, hastily mixing a viscous black poison. "How much longer?"
Weal didn't look up, his fingers working swiftly. "Almost done! But this batch is unstable—too much venom, and it might kill our own if they touch it."
Leav exhaled sharply. Risky, but necessary. "Do it. We'll control the application. Get Frot to spread it among our hidden blades."
Weal nodded, his eyes gleaming with malicious glee.
A sudden roar snapped Leav's attention back to the battle. A hulking beast, nearly twice the size of any goblin, emerged from the ranks of the enemy—a mutated troll with thick, rock-like skin. Its eyes burned with primal fury as it plowed through Leav's warriors, tossing them aside like ragdolls.
Leav cursed under his breath. This was bad. If they didn't handle the troll, morale would crumble.
"Yorl!" Leav called out.
From the fray, Yorl emerged, his body already slick with blood, his breath ragged but his eyes alight with battle lust.
"You see that thing?" Leav pointed at the troll.
Yorl's grin widened. "Mine?"
"Yours," Leav confirmed. "But don't be reckless. Bring it down."
Yorl didn't need to be told twice. With a bestial roar, he launched himself at the troll, his twin axes a blur of motion. The first strike landed on the troll's arm, but its thick hide absorbed the blow. The beast retaliated with a sweep of its massive hand, sending Yorl skidding across the dirt.
But Yorl only laughed, wiping blood from his lips. "Good. This will be fun."
Leav turned his focus back to the main battle. The right flank was wavering. If they lost that side, the enemy would collapse their formation.
"Trek! Support the right flank! Use your tricks!"
Trek, the shaman, was already moving before Leav finished speaking. His staff crackled with eerie energy as he began chanting in an ancient tongue. The ground beneath the enemy warriors trembled, and from the cracks, thick black smoke rose, obscuring their vision.
Cries of confusion rang through the battlefield. Some warriors stumbled blindly, while others fell to unseen blades. Frot's hidden units, using the cover of darkness, struck with precision, eliminating key targets before vanishing again.
The tide was shifting.
Leav exhaled, but he knew this battle was far from over. The enemy still had the advantage of numbers. They needed to turn this into a war of tactics, not brute force.
Scanning the battlefield, he locked onto the enemy's leadership—a goblin warlord clad in spiked armor, barking orders from the rear. If they took him down, the enemy's cohesion would shatter.
Leav made his decision.
"I'm going after the warlord," he announced to Frot, who had appeared beside him.
Frot's expression turned sharp. "Risky."
"Necessary."
Frot sighed. "Fine. But you're not going alone."
Leav didn't argue. They moved like shadows, slipping through the chaos.
The real battle was about to begin.