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Old man Gerhardt sat atop his massive lizard mount, his weathered face etched with lines of age and experience.

His sharp eyes darted across the battlefield, trying to make sense of the chaos unfolding before him.

The acrid smoke from the Orc shamans hung in the air, obscuring the view of his forces and stifling the sharp coordination the humans relied on. He clenched his staff tightly, the enchanted wood glowing faintly as his thoughts raced.

He mumbled to himself, his voice low and gravelly, "So, this is what they were hiding... perhaps this is why Baron Geisler fell. Not because of his incompetence, not because of his overconfidence, but because these wretched beasts have numbers far beyond expectation.

Orcs in the hundreds, if not thousands... And those Ogres..."

His gaze flickered to the monstrous figures in the distance, their shackled limbs swinging massive weapons with unnatural ease.

"The Ogres..." he murmured again, almost in disbelief.

"Slaves, but not mindless. Look at them—magic resistant, brutal in strength, and yet they obey like trained hounds. How did they manage to subjugate such creatures? Orcs... Orcs shouldn't have the capability to wield such discipline. They shouldn't..."

His thoughts faltered for a moment as he tried to reconcile the image of the feral, chaotic brutes he had fought in the past with the organized, terrifying force before him.

But then he straightened, shaking his head and exhaling sharply.

"No matter," he growled under his breath. "We have magic on our side. Five second-class middle-stage magicians stand at my back, each one powerful in their domain. They are young, yes, but their potential is vast. And I...

"I am a third-class magician. I have fought wars before; I have crushed greater forces than this rabble. These Orcs are numerous, yes, and those Ogres will be troublesome... but they are not invincible. They will fall, just like the others."

His mind worked furiously as he mumbled a plan, speaking softly to himself but with growing confidence.

"First, we focus on the Orcs. Their numbers are their strength, but also their weakness. Divide and conquer. We break their formation, scatter them like leaves in the wind.

"The smoke is an obstacle, but it works both ways. They can't see us either. We'll use it to our advantage."

He pointed his staff slightly, tracing invisible lines in the air as he imagined the battlefield unfolding.

"The mages will cast wide-area spells to disrupt their ranks. Fire to scorch their frontlines, ice to hinder their movement, lightning to break their morale.

"We'll target their leaders, the ones giving orders. Without leadership, their so-called discipline will crumble, and they will revert to the mindless beasts they truly are."

His lips curled into a small, confident smirk.

"Once the Orcs are in disarray, we deal with the Ogres. They are powerful, yes, and resistant to magic, but they are slow. Lumbering beasts.

"If we can incapacitate them—bind their limbs, immobilize them with earth magic—they will be vulnerable. A single focused strike, a blade enchanted with piercing runes, or perhaps a well-placed explosion spell... that will bring them down."

He nodded to himself, his confidence growing with every word.

"Yes, it's a simple plan. We overwhelm them with our superior firepower, and we don't give them time to retaliate.

"They may have numbers, but numbers mean little in the face of true power. We have strategy, coordination, and the blessings of the gods on our side."

Suddenly, the faint roar of a command rang out from the enemy's lines.

Gerhardt's attention snapped to the Orc leader, his eyes narrowing as he saw the massive, muscular figure directing the horde with terrifying precision.

"What...?" Gerhardt muttered, his confidence flickering for the first time.

"He commands them with... intelligence? No... that cannot be right." He strained to hear the words, but the smoke and noise swallowed most of them. Still, the results were clear. The Orcs began to shift and move with alarming efficiency.

"They're spreading out... surrounding us," Gerhardt realized, his voice tinged with disbelief. "That smoke, it wasn't just a defensive tactic. It's a distraction, a cover for them to encircle us!"

His jaw clenched, and he felt a rare flicker of fear. "This... This is not the Orc horde of old. This is something different. Something... more."

He gritted his teeth and slammed the butt of his staff into the ground, the impact sending a faint ripple of magical energy through the air.

"Plan B," he growled to the mages behind him.

"We knew this might happen. Prepare the defensive formations! If they think they can surround us, we'll make them regret it. Let them close in. When they're within range, we'll unleash hell upon them. Fire, ice, lightning—everything. They won't know what hit them."

He turned back to the battlefield, his eyes burning with determination. "This will be an easy fight," he said, though his voice lacked its usual conviction.

As if to mock him, the Orc leader's voice roared out again, cutting through the chaos like a war drum.

Gerhardt's gut churned as he realized that every move the humans made, every adjustment they attempted, seemed to be anticipated and countered by the Orc leader.

"Who is he?" Gerhardt muttered under his breath, gripping his staff tighter. "No Orc should be capable of this..."

The battlefield was shrouded in an impenetrable haze as the Orc shamans relentlessly conjured thick, curling plumes of smoke.

It rolled across the terrain like an unrelenting tide, blotting out the sun and reducing visibility to mere inches.

The human soldiers, already uneasy from the strange and disciplined movements of the Orcs and the terrifying presence of the Ogres, began to falter in their resolve.

Mutters and coughs spread through their ranks as the choking fog wormed its way into their lungs and obscured their sight.

Gerhardt, seated atop his magical lizard, waved his hand irritably in front of his face, his patience wearing thin.

"Damn this infernal smoke!" he snarled, his aged voice cutting through the murmurs of confusion among the human army.

He glanced at the five mages flanking him, their own magical beasts shifting uneasily beneath them.

"Enough of this!" he barked. "This is a trivial nuisance! Clear it at once! Do you intend to let this rabble blind us?"

The five mages exchanged tense glances before nodding in unison.

Each began weaving intricate patterns into the air with their hands, their chants blending into a low, rhythmic hum that resonated through the battlefield.

The air around them shimmered as their spells took shape, each mage commanding a different element.

"Ventus Gale!" cried the mage atop the crystalline stag, her voice carrying the weight of authority as she summoned a roaring wind.

It swept forward, slicing through the smoke like a blade, but as soon as it carved a path, the smoke seemed to surge back, thicker and more malevolent.

"Fulgur Lance!" shouted another mage, his voice trembling slightly as he hurled a bolt of lightning into the murk.

The crackling energy illuminated the darkness for a fleeting moment, revealing only swirling shadows and shifting forms before the smoke swallowed the light whole.

"Pyra Nova!" bellowed the mage astride the molten wyvern.

A blazing sphere of fire erupted from his outstretched hand, hurtling into the smoke.

The explosion should have cleared a large area, but instead, it seemed to ignite the haze itself, causing it to glow a sinister red before settling back into its oppressive grayness.

The old mage on the air-swimming serpent hissed through clenched teeth as she unleashed a wave of purifying water, hoping to dampen the smoke and make it dissipate.

For a moment, it seemed to work, but then the water vaporized into steam, adding to the disorienting chaos.

Gerhardt clenched his jaw, his frustration boiling over.

"They are toying with us!" he snarled, gripping his staff so tightly his knuckles whitened. His eyes darted to the battlefield, searching for any sign of the enemy.

"This isn't just a smokescreen. They're focusing their efforts on keeping us blind!"

The realization sank into the mages as their spells continued to falter against the persistent smoke. One by one, their chants faltered, their confidence waning.

"This isn't natural smoke," murmured the mage on the black arachnid, her voice low and uneasy. "It's infused with magic—chaotic, malevolent magic. They're not just hiding themselves; they're suffocating our senses."

"Then fight through it!" Gerhardt snapped, though his own unease was growing.

He could feel it now—the deliberate intent behind the smoke, the way it seemed to coil around them, probing and pressing like a living thing.

"We are magicians! Masters of the arcane arts! We will not be outwitted by savages and beasts!"

Yet, despite his bravado, Gerhardt's mind was racing.

The smoke was unnatural, yes, but it was more than that. It was a strategy—a clever, insidious one.

The Orc leader wasn't just trying to obscure their vision; he was manipulating their focus, making them waste precious energy and resources on clearing the haze while his forces remained hidden.

As this realization dawned, the smoke thickened further, now accompanied by faint, eerie sounds—low growls, distant thuds, the scrape of metal on stone.

It was impossible to tell where the noises were coming from, adding another layer of confusion and dread to the already tense human army.

Gerhardt's lizard mount shifted uneasily beneath him, its glowing eyes darting into the fog.

The old mage tightened his grip on the reins and raised his staff high. "Enough!" he roared. "Cease your spells!"

The mages halted their efforts, their faces pale and drawn as they looked to Gerhardt for guidance.

"Group together!" he commanded, his voice cutting through the rising panic. "Form a defensive circle! Prepare for whatever is coming.

This smoke is not the threat; it is a distraction.

The real attack will come soon, and we will be ready for it!"

The mages and soldiers scrambled to obey, their movements hurried and jittery. Shields were raised, weapons were drawn, and chants for protective wards began to echo through the ranks.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

The air grew heavy with anticipation, every sound amplified by the oppressive silence that followed.

Gerhardt sat still atop his mount, his eyes scanning the smoke as his heartbeat quickened.

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Something wasn't right.

The air itself seemed to pulse with energy, an ominous, growing pressure that made his skin crawl.

And then, he felt it—a surge of magical power so intense it sent a shiver down his spine. His eyes widened in shock as he turned his gaze skyward, where the source of the disturbance seemed to originate.

The smoke parted slightly, revealing faint, swirling lights high above, their colors shifting and flickering with raw, untamed energy.

"Oh no..." Gerhardt whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of awe and dread. His grip on his staff tightened as he felt the sheer magnitude of the magical fluctuation descending upon them.

"What is that?"