Reborn As A Beastman With A System

In less than thirty seconds, more than a hundred coalition wolf cavalrymen and their wargs lay scattered across the ground, some howling in pain, others lifeless.

The scene was nothing short of horrifying. The coalition's warriors, once filled with bravado, now looked on in disbelief. Even the Silver Mane Tribe, watching from their fortified position, felt a chill of fear ripple through their ranks, their tribal leaders and warriors equally stunned by the carnage.

The crossbow soldiers, initially brimming with confidence, froze momentarily, their eyes wide with shock at the destruction unleashed upon their comrades.

"Get it together!" an officer barked, snapping the troops back to reality. "Ready the second wave! We can't let them take us by surprise!"

Despite the chaos, the realization of the devastating damage left the coalition chiefs reeling. They glanced nervously at the ominous silhouette of the crossbow men on the opposite side, weapons drawn like specters of death, poised to strike again.

Among them, Arar, chief of the Adik Tribe, felt a deep, unsettling anxiety. He had faced countless battles in his lifetime, but witnessing such overwhelming destruction before any actual clash was unnerving. They were still four or five hundred meters apart, yet the enemy had dealt a punishing blow.

"We have to press on!" one of the chiefs roared, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the air. "We can't falter now!"

With a collective rallying cry, the coalition leaders issued orders for their warriors to advance, their voices echoing across the battlefield. As they charged forward, the stench of blood and the cries of the wounded only fueled their determination. To them, the loss of a few hundred was inconsequential against an army of over 30,000.

"Pass my order! Archers and javelin throwers, attack together!" Logan commanded, his voice cutting through the din as the coalition vanguard approached the Silver Mane Tribe's defenses, now just 200 meters away.

In an instant, over 3,000 archers from the Silver Mane Tribe sprang into action, their bows drawn taut. The air thickened with the whoosh of arrows as they soared toward the coalition forces like a dark cloud, a barrage of lethal intent.

The Silver Mane archers had been specially trained, their ranks carefully built to ensure a strong defensive line. As the first wave of arrows rained down, the coalition warriors were met with a terrifying onslaught.

The temporary alliance of over twenty tribes now faced chaos; their attack was disorganized, and the varying skills of the warriors led to uneven responses. Many seasoned fighters from the Adik and Qatar tribes were able to dodge the initial volley, but the smaller tribes struggled to keep pace, suffering heavy casualties.

Just as the survivors began to catch their breath, another threat loomed above. The ground trembled as javelins were hurled through the air, thick and swift, raining down upon them.

"Look out!" someone shouted, panic rising in the ranks as they scrambled to evade the lethal projectiles.

Javelins were different from arrows; they were larger, faster, and came in relentless waves. On the Silver Mane Tribe's defense line, over eight thousand orc infantrymen had drawn their javelins, ready to unleash a torrent of destruction.

Most of the orcs were seasoned second-level warriors, capable of effortlessly launching javelins over distances of two to three hundred meters. The sheer volume of their assault caused havoc among the coalition forces, screams echoing as tribal warriors scattered in confusion, desperately seeking cover.

Chaos erupted on the battlefield. The coalition chiefs who remained behind, witnessing the devastation, turned pale as they realized the gravity of their situation. Some began to feel a creeping fear, mixed with regret for underestimating the Silver Mane Tribe and their fearsome defenses.

"Retreat! Fall back!" one chief shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of panic, but the sound of his command was drowned out by the relentless cries of battle.

The tide of war was shifting, and with it, the fates of all those involved.

The chiefs stared in disbelief, struggling to comprehend how the coalition forces had suffered such catastrophic losses before even engaging in direct combat. The air was thick with tension, and doubt began to gnaw at their resolve.

"If this continues, the coalition might be entirely wiped out before we even reach them," one chief murmured, glancing nervously at his comrades.

A ripple of uncertainty spread among the leaders. Surshen, Kule, and Mamuti stood together, their expressions mirroring the fear that now gripped them. They had promised Logan that they were ready to betray the coalition, confident that the Silver Mane Tribe would not be able to overcome their combined strength. But the brutal reality unfolding before them shook their confidence.

"Look at the numbers," Mamuti said, his voice low. "The Duskin tribe alone has 1,500 infantry and 150 wolf cavalry in this coalition. If the Silver Mane Tribe presses on, we could lose everything."

Kule nodded, his brow furrowed with anxiety. "We can't backstab anyone now. Arar and Lero are watching. If we make a move, we'll be dead before we know it, outnumbered by the other chiefs."

Surshen clenched his fists, pacing nervously. "We're trapped. If we don't act, the entire Duskin tribe could fall."

Just then, a group of wolf riders bearing the emblem of the Adik tribe burst into their midst, urgency etched across their faces. "Chiefs! Bad news! Large cavalry units are advancing from the north and south!"

"What?!" The leaders exchanged alarmed glances, their expressions shifting from shock to dread. The Silver Mane Tribe had a backup plan, and they were caught completely off guard.

"How do we fight this?" Arar's voice rose above the din, his eyes scanning the panicked faces of the chiefs around him. He shared a glance with Lero, both men sensing the tide of battle was turning against them.

"We can't let it escalate!" Arar declared, forcing himself to remain composed. "We have strength in numbers! If we break through their defenses and eliminate their commanders, we can still claim victory!"

Lero chimed in, "Exactly! We have far more warriors than the Silver Mane Tribe. We must unite and charge! We can't afford to lose this war!"

A fire ignited in the eyes of the other chiefs. "Yes! We have strength in numbers!" one shouted, rallying the others. "If we eliminate their leaders, victory will be ours!"

"Think of the food they have!" Arar continued passionately. "If we win, we all survive! If we lose... well, we all know what's at stake!"

His words resonated deeply with the chiefs, awakening a sense of desperation and determination. They realized they had no other choice; their fates were intertwined with the outcome of this battle.

"Victory is the only option!" another chief shouted, the fervor spreading like wildfire. "Destroy the Silver Mane Tribe!"

"Destroy the Silver Mane Tribe!" the chorus grew louder, a cacophony of resolve echoing across the battlefield.

"Charge!" Arar raised his weapon high, his voice booming.

With that command, the chiefs ignited with the primal energy of their orc heritage, their spirits uniting in a surge of ferocity. As high-level warriors, Arar and Lero led the charge, their strength palpable as they propelled themselves forward.

Behind them, a formidable line of sixth-level warriors and fifth-level chiefs rallied, more than two hundred strong, ready to clash with the enemy.

But just as the coalition warriors braced themselves for the onslaught, Mamuti, Surshen, and Kule exchanged wary glances. The Duskin tribesmen hesitated, their loyalty torn, unsure if they should follow the fervor of the charge or preserve their own lives.