With the enemy magic canons silenced, the Ereian army began performing poorly in the battle. Their newfound courage to combat the orcs, stemming from those powerful guns began to wane.
On the side of the horde, the Yurakks and Rakshas pushed the enemy frontlines back much faster than before the initial clash. Their foes hesitant to continue on with the fight with the absence of the firepower brought by their magic canons.
The inferno raged, a wall of fire that swallowed the other side of the battlefield whole. Yet, amidst the blazing pyre, stood the Silver Helms, their figures unyielding. Their helms, polished to a gleaming silver, reflected the fiery chaos with an eerie red glow, their eyes hidden behind the mirrored surface.
The cannons, previously silent, roared back to life, their blasts of magical energy tearing through the air, each strike annihilating swathes of ogres with a blinding flash. The enemy's attempt at silencing the weapons had been futile.
"As if that would be enough," Rakabis said, his voice carrying a dismissive tone. He clicked his tongue, a gesture that conveyed his disdain for their enemy's efforts.
Khao'khen, observing the situation with a practiced eye, gave the order for a retreat. Ogres, trolls, and their cavalry, having witnessed the devastating power of the Silver Helms, began to withdraw from the battlefield. The magical barriers protecting the cannons, maintained by a contingent of mages, were proving insurmountable.
The Silver Helms, shrouded in flames, launched their counter-offensive. A sudden surge, a torrent of fiery figures that seemed to rise from the very depths of the inferno, crashed against the retreating enemy. Their armor, scorched and blackened, reflected the flickering flames, making them appear as demons risen from the underworld.
"They're pushing forward!" Haguk yelled, his voice barely audible above the roar of the flames. "We must fall back!"
Dhug'mhar, his face obscured by the smoke and ash, nodded in grim agreement. "Prepare to pull back" he commanded. "Cover the others in the retreat."
The battlefield shifted, a tide of fire and fury pushing against a wave of retreating warriors. The clash of iron against iron, the roar of the cannons, and the screams of the wounded filled the air with a symphony of chaos. Yet, amidst the carnage, the Silver Helms stood defiant, their red-glowing helms a beacon of unyielding resolve in the heart of the fiery storm.
The band of ogres found themselves in a dire situation as the relentless barrage of magic cannons rained down upon them. What was once their strength - their colossal forms - now proved to be their downfall. The sheer enormity of their bodies made them easy targets for the cannons, which rarely missed their mark.
The primary force of the horde, upon witnessing their comrades being targeted by the enchanted cannons, launched a swift and merciless attack against the enemy's front line. With brute force, they pushed aside their adversaries, determined to penetrate their ranks as swiftly and deeply as possible.
The magic cannons' relentless assault forced the ogres back, their massive forms offering little protection against the onslaught. The flashes of light were like specters, their swiftness almost impossible to evade.
As the cannons roared, the ogres' numbers dwindled, their screams of fear and agony echoing through the air. The Ereian army, once hesitant, was now invigorated by the revival of the enchanted cannons and their formidable might.
Undeterred, the horde continued their advance, their resounding chants echoing across the battlefield. The gathering of light sparked, sending a blinding flash towards the approaching orcs. Yet, Arkagarr, at the head of the formation, marched steadfastly onwards.
Witnessing the fearless determination of the horde, Khao'khen was struck with alarm as he watched them boldly face the cannons' attack head-on. "Shit!" he cursed, bracing himself for the aftermath he could already foresee.
To his surprise, the burst of light ricocheted off of something and veered towards the heavens. A brilliant streak soared through the clouds, followed by a deafening thunderclap as the force of the explosion dispersed the gathered clouds.
"What the actual fuck!", Khao'khen exclaimed in surprise. A film of light with a golden hue covered the horde and protected them from the devastation of the magic cannons.
"The chieftain will shield us from harm!" Gur'kan roared and the horde roared after him in agreement.
Khao'khen was greatly confused by the turn of events.
A hush fell over the battlefield as the magic cannons' light show faded, revealing the orcs, unharmed and still marching forward.
Khao'khen, his eyes narrowed in confusion, searched for an explanation. "What sorcery is this?" he muttered, his voice laced with a mixture of awe and concern. He knew that the shamans and the mages on their side were still along the walls, and the horde was too far out for their magic to be able to reach them. Which leaves the mystery about the power protecting the horde still unanswered.
The mages manning the cannons, their confidence shaken, exchanged uncertain glances. They had never encountered such a thing, and the realization that their cannons were ineffective against it sent a chill down their spines.
Rakabis, sensing their hesitation, bared his teeth in a fierce snarl. "Do not falter!" he roared. "Fire of another round of attack! I doubt their protection would hold that long!"
The mages, their uncertainty growing, hesitated, and in that moment of hesitation, the orcs inched forward closer, their war cry echoing across the battlefield.
The enemy's cannons fell silent once more after another round of attack, the mages struggling to comprehend the nature of the protective barrier.
Rakabis, his impatience growing, bellowed, "Fire again! Do not stop attacking!" Yet, despite their efforts, the magical barrage had no effect on the advancing horde. The golden light shimmered, deflecting the attacks and rendering the cannons useless.
On the opposite side of the battlefield, the ogres, trolls, and cavalry of the horde finally managed to disentangle themselves from the Silver Helms who had previously blocked their path. Despite their bravery and resistance to pain, the riders, whose eyes glowed a strange eerie red, were ultimately defeated without the support of the magical cannons. Though they were mighty, their flesh and blood bodies were still vulnerable to destruction.