"Now that the mages have entered the battle, the Shaman won't take long to act. Stay alert!"
Theron's voice boomed as he charged, his boots stomping sharply against the churned earth before he leapt, clearing the trench in a single bound.
For any other man, dropping into that slippery sea of mud, blood, and guts would have been a terrible idea. But he was a fourth-stage warrior.
He could already sustain flight for a few minutes at a time, and his mastery over aura made it virtually impossible for him to stumble, even on the most treacherous ground.
His eyes swept across the dense curtain of trees, searching for any trace of the Orc Shaman among the shifting shadows.
Above him, the five third-stage mages unleashed hell upon the battlefield.
Dozens of fireballs sliced through the sky, streaking over the heads of the soldiers of the First and Second Legions, bathing their armor in an orange glow that danced across the steel as if the sun itself had descended to march beside them.
