CHAPTER 174: THE SHADOWING OF THE SUN

While the valley floor erupted into a chaotic, grinding sea of steel, blood, and roaring greenskins, the high northern ridges remained shrouded in absolute silence.

Standing beneath the jagged overhang of the basalt cliffs, two thousand shadow-clad specters melted into the dark terrain. The Quick Reaction Legion, a lethal fusion of dark elf Shadowblades and northern barbarian berserkers, moved without making a single sound. Clad in their fitted Obsidian Chitin Scale Armor, the black scale plating absorbed the pale morning light, rendering them practically invisible against the dark granite walls of the canyon.

At the head of the column, Vanya crouched atop an outcropping, her twin curved daggers held in a reverse grip. Her violet eyes locked onto the rear of the alliance host, half a mile away across the upper valley ridge.

There, arrayed in pristine, geometric rows on a raised plateau, sat High Lord Lorien’s elite: ten thousand High Elven archers, spell-weavers, and sun-breaker artillery teams. They were raining enchanted fire and volleys of golden arrows down into the tangled mass of King Alden's encircled human infantry below, completely oblivious to the silent threat gathering above them.

"The human army is locked in the encirclement," a dark elf lieutenant whispered beside Vanya, his voice bare above a breath. "The High Elves believe their rear is completely secure behind King Alden’s lines."

Vanya’s lips curved into a cold, ruthless smile. "Their arrogance is their gravestones."

She turned back to the two thousand elite warriors behind her. "Activate the Flow Step. Bypassing the main battlefield entirely. Target: the high elven archmage cohorts and sun-breaker catapults. Leave no spellcaster breathing."

With a synchronized wave of movement, two thousand warriors activated the diluted Moon Flame Art surging through their channels. The dark mist erupted from their feet, wrapping their limbs in ghostly umbral energy.

SWISH!

They moved like a black tide of phantoms. Using the steep canyon walls and rocky outcroppings as footstools, the Quick Reaction Legion blurred across the terrain at terrifying, phantom-like speeds. Their light, flexible obsidian scale armor carried zero excess weight, allowing the barbarian berserkers to move with the same fluid, soundless agility as the dark elf assassins.

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In less than three minutes, two thousand shadows detached from the cliffside and dropped quietly onto the high rear plateau, directly behind the High Elven archer formations.

"Align the sun-breakers to the eastern ridge!" a High Elven artillery captain commanded, his voice filled with aristocratic pride as he pointed toward the Orc Legions below. "Incinerate those green-skinned..."

He never finished the sentence.

CRACK.

Vanya materialized out of thin air directly behind the captain. Her dark-infused blade slid through his golden collarbone seam before he could even draw his sword. Blood sprayed across the wooden frame of the catapult as the captain collapsed without a scream.

"AMBUSH!" an elven archer shrieked, spinning around. "REAR BREACH!"

Before the call to arms could spread, two thousand obsidian-scaled phantoms erupted into the pristine elven ranks.

What followed was not a martial duel; it was a silent, methodical slaughter. The High Elven archers and spell-weavers, built for long-range artillery and backline bombardment, were completely helpless in close-quarters combat against the most lethal killers of the Underdark and the steppes.

Daggers coated in paralyzing spider venom bit through mithril chainmail joints. Barbarian berserkers wielding obsidian-scaled broadswords cleaved through delicate spell-casting staffs and enchanted robes like wheat. The dark elf Shadowblades used Flow Step to phase through incoming solar barrier spells, appearing behind elven mages and severing their throats before a single chant could be finished.

When a squad of fifty golden-armored Sun-Gilded Sentinels tried to form a defensive circle to protect the sun-breaker catapults, their radiant solar blades struck directly against the chest pieces of three northern barbarians.

CLANG! CLANG!

Sparks erupted, but the light, dragon-like obsidian scale armor did not crack. The impact and heat were completely absorbed and dispersed by the molted chitin.

The barbarian captain, Torvald, merely laughed, a terrifying, booming sound, as he reached out with a scale-clad hand, grabbed the Sentinel captain’s golden faceplate, and slammed his head into the dirt with bone-crushing force.

"Is this the light of Mount Eldoria?!" Torvald roared, cleaving another elven guard in two. "It feels like a summer breeze!"

In less than ten minutes, the high elven rear line dissolved into absolute, panicked catastrophe. Over three thousand elven archers and mages lay dead across the grass, their enchanted bows broken and their catapults reduced to burning splinters. The remaining high elven troops broke formation in terror, fleeing toward High Lord Lorien’s central command tent.

Far across the ridge, High Lord Lorien turned his war-charger around, his face draining of all color as he saw his pristine, untouchable archmage cohorts being systematically butchered by a black tide of scale-armored monsters.

And high atop the battlements of the Obsidian Citadel, Caius watched the rear plateau turn black with the blood of elves.

"The backline is broken," Caius murmured, his violet eyes burning with cold, absolute dominance. "Old Bones, unleash the Arachne. It is time to end High Lord Lorien."