Aurelia's arrow made Saurfang suddenly realize that perhaps their enemy wasn't as defenseless as they had assumed.
If those cavalrymen could all shoot backward while riding, just like their commanding officer...
What would happen to the pursuing wolf riders then?
Saurfang swallowed hard, unwilling to imagine further.
Just as he prayed to the ancestors that this was all in his imagination, the Alliance forces before him confirmed his worst suspicions.
The explosion of Aurelia's arcane arrow was like a signal. One after another, the high elf rangers followed suit, mimicking her technique exactly as Alaric had once trained them: turning back on horseback and firing prepared arrows at the pursuing wolf riders.
The rangers at the rear took time to aim before shooting, while those closer to the front loosed their arrows in high, arcing volleys.
Arrow after arrow flew back at the charging enemy.
The wolf riders, galloping straight ahead, were as if deliberately running into the arrows flying toward them.
Although the formation of the orcish cavalry wasn't particularly tight due to their discipline, the sheer number of them, combined with their eagerness to overtake the Alliance riders, caused their ranks to clump together densely.
As a result, most of the high elves' arrows struck true,even the arcing shots landed on target.
To maximize speed, most of the orcish wolf riders wore minimal armor. For them, thick, developed muscles were often the only form of defense.
The high elves' arrows didn't penetrate deeply, but they did pierce flesh.
Such wounds wouldn't be fatal unless they struck vital areas, but they still left the riders bleeding and weakened.
What inflicted the most damage, however, were the arrows that struck their mounts.
The wolves beneath them had only their thick fur as protection, which proved ineffective against the arrows.
Many of the wolves were struck multiple times just like their riders. Unlike orcs, the wolves lacked the rationality and endurance to remain calm under pain. They went berserk.
Several orcs were thrown off by their maddened mounts mid-gallop, crashing to the ground with broken limbs, only to be trampled into pulp by the riders behind them.
Although the number of orcs killed directly by the arrowstorm was still small, the sudden chaos it caused frightened the previously exuberant wolf riders.
What was going on?
How could the enemy shoot while turning back?
They themselves couldn't even shoot while riding forward, let alone while looking backward.
The high elves' seemingly superhuman skill threw them into disarray.
The high elf mounted archers didn't give them a moment to recover. As the chase continued, arrows kept flying back at the wolf riders.
Some tried to dodge the incoming arrows, but surrounded by fellow riders, there was nowhere to go. Many who attempted to swerve only ended up colliding with their comrades, both crashing to the ground.
The rest of the wolf riders and their mounts were soon turned into pincushions.
Even the tough-skinned orcs proved vulnerable under such relentless arrow fire. Their numbers began to dwindle rapidly.
Though orcs were bloodthirsty and loved combat, this helpless one-sided beating with no way to retaliate began to instill fear among them. Even Saurfang's expression grew darker. How had things come to this?
The situation was far beyond his expectations.
And yet, though he wanted to give the order to retreat immediately, he couldn't bring himself to abandon what seemed like a rare chance to crush his enemy.
To defeat a mere thousand-strong isolated force, the Horde had already sacrificed large amounts of supplies and lost numerous frontier encampments.
These camps had been vital to the Horde's plan to conquer the Arathi Highlands and wage a prolonged war against the Alliance.
Moreover, to assemble this elite force of wolf riders, Warchief Orgrim had offended many clans, even sacrificing the critical stronghold of Bordgore.
If this operation failed, all of that would be in vain. Worse, Orgrim's prestige within the Horde would suffer a significant blow.
Compared to the Alliance, the Horde's internal structure was more primitive and loose. A defeat now could lead to internal conflict.
Saurfang wasn't a scholar of politics or governance, but as Orgrim's second-in-command, he knew the internal dynamics of the Horde all too well.
Under Orgrim of the Blackrock Clan, the chiefs of major clans like Kilrogg Deadeye of the Bleeding Hollow were unwilling to remain subordinate.
The Blackhand brothers, former chieftains of Blackrock, harbored deep resentment toward Orgrim.
And then there was Gul'dan, long a puppeteer of Horde politics through the Shadow Council, who was only temporarily out of power…
Thinking of all this, Saurfang was all the more desperate to win a great victory for Orgrim to stabilize his leadership.
Finally, gritting his teeth, he bellowed, "Wolf riders, charge! Give it all you've got, push through the arrow rain and tear them apart in close combat!"
At his command, the wolf riders, seeing what they thought was a final hope for victory, spurred their mounts with renewed frenzy.
At that moment, Alaric's forces were less than thirty meters away. For cavalry, it was a distance easily closed in one strong push.
Thus, seduced by the carefully managed distance Alaric maintained, always close, yet just out of reach, the wolf riders, blinded by rage, rushed headlong into the face of the rangers' deadly backward volleys.
Seeing the state of his pursuers, Alaric couldn't help but feel gratified.
As long as the enemy kept chasing, the small win they'd secured could become a decisive victory.
He could clearly see the wolves were nearing exhaustion, while their own warhorses remained fresh. Just a bit longer, and the wolf riders, stripped of mobility, would be helpless prey for the still-agile archers.
...
As the pursuit dragged on, Saurfang's anxiety only grew.
Under the enemy's arrow storm, losses mounted. By now, at least a thousand wolf riders had fallen, and even he, an old warrior hardened by countless battles, had taken several arrows.
And what had their pursuit gained them?
Several times, they'd gotten within a few dozen meters of the enemy, so close it felt like they could reach out and grab them. But each time, just as the gap closed, the enemy would surge ahead again, restoring the thirty-meter buffer.
Every time they thought the enemy was spent, every time they believed one more push would do it, the enemy revealed hidden reserves, dashing their hopes.
After enough of these moments, Saurfang finally sensed something was wrong.
"Could it be… the enemy is deliberately toying with us?"