Spirit Game

"Don\'t falter now! Are you going to let a bunch of Hobgoblins defeat you?!" General Frukin thundered.

The Orcs roared in response, taking up arms to defend their right flank against the enemy forces. It was crucial that they held their line. If they were destroyed here, nothing would stop the 20,000 Hobgoblins from advancing to their headquarters.

No matter what it took, they needed to defend this position, even if it meant sacrificing their lives.

"Don\'t let a single one of them push through!" General Frukin ordered as she began to cast another spell.

"General! Don\'t push yourself!" a soldier shouted, worriedly noticing blood dripping from the corner of her mouth.

"This is nothing. I won\'t die from this. Continue to protect me while I cast another spell," General Frukin said firmly.

Mages might be powerful, but their magical energy wasn\'t limitless. Once it was depleted, they had to draw on their spirit energy, and if that ran out, they would die.

That\'s why mages were rare nowadays; many died young from overexerting themselves.

What\'s more, close combat was always their Achilles\' heel. Mages needed a phalanx of soldiers to shield them while they cast their powerful spells, which demanded both time and unwavering focus. During these critical moments, they were vulnerable, relying entirely on their protectors to fend off any attackers.

The Orc Clan had few mages, and General Frukin was the only shaman capable of casting such powerful wide-scale magic.

However, age had diminished her once formidable magical energy. Now, she was forced to tap into her very spirit to unleash spells potent enough to decimate the Hobgoblins. Each incantation drew on her life force, but she was determined to make every spell count.

General Frukin coughed up blood as she chanted. At least, if she were to die here, she would take the 20,000-strong Hobgoblin army with her and save her clan.

Her resolve steeled, she continued the incantation, determined to make her final stand a decisive one.

"I must say, I\'m grateful to you Hobgoblins. I might have died of old age out of boredom if you didn\'t boldly as to attack us. Now, my death will have meaning!" she mused to herself, satisfied with her life ending in battle to protect her home.

The Orc soldiers were brave and fierce, but the relentless battles and lack of rest over the past few days had taken their toll. Exhausted and weary, many of them succumbed to the ferocious attacks of the Hobgoblins and their numbers.

General Frukin stood at the back lines, her body weary but her spirit unbroken. She had exhausted nearly all her strength, yet her resolve to withstand the Hobgoblins\' relentless onslaught never wavered.

Determined to hold the line no matter the cost, she unleashed a torrent of spells that rained down from the skies, each one a devastating burst of power that turned the battlefield into a tempest of destruction.

The ground beneath her feet heaved and shifted as she bent the earth to her will. Massive fissures opened up, swallowing entire battalions of Hobgoblins, while jagged spires of rock erupted violently, impaling scores of enemies.

Fireballs and lightning bolts crackled through the air, searing and electrifying the advancing foes. Her magic was a symphony of chaos and fury, each spell cast with deadly precision and an unyielding determination to protect her people.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the blood-soaked field, the Hobgoblins\' numbers dwindled.

Yet, despite her extraordinary efforts, the relentless tide of enemies continued to press forward. General Frukin\'s breathing grew labored, and her vision blurred, but she pushed on, knowing that every moment she bought was another moment for her comrades to regroup and defend their homeland.

From his vantage point, General Morzog watched the scene with a mixture of anger and frustration. He knew that as long as General Frukin lived, his forces would never break through the Orcs\' defenses. Her magic was too powerful, her presence too inspiring.

He needed to neutralize her quickly if they were to have any chance of victory.

"Assassins," Morzog growled, his voice cold and commanding. "Eliminate that shaman. She\'s the key to their defense. Take her out, and the Orcs will fall."

In the shadows, a group of elite Hobgoblin assassins nodded and vanished into the approaching night, their forms blending seamlessly with the shadows. Silent and deadly, they made their way toward General Frukin, intent on removing the one obstacle that stood between them and victory.

The Hobgoblins could send their assassins to take out the Warchief, but they had only twenty of these elite killers, as the Assassin class among Hobgoblins was exceptionally rare. Deploying such a small number against the heavily guarded Warchief was futile; no mere assassins could penetrate his defenses. An entire army would be required to challenge the Warchief\'s might.

However, the shaman was a different story. A mage, vulnerable in close combat, presented a glimmer of opportunity. Here, the assassins might have a chance to strike a decisive blow.

Unaware of the impending threat, General Frukin continued her fierce barrage, each spell cast with a desperate hope to see another dawn.

The battlefield was a testament to her power and determination, but even the mightiest warriors have their limits, and as the night fast approaching, the final clash between magic and stealth was about to unfold.

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Despite being surrounded by a hundred Orcs, ever watchful and fierce, the Hobgoblin assassins moved without anyone noticing them.

Trained to kill without detection, even at the cost of their own lives, they were masters of the shadows, their presence nearly undetectable.

As the night proceed its course, the Orcs\' near General Frukin, their instincts, honed through rigorous training and innate survival skills, alerted them to the presence of intruders.

The air grew tense, and their eyes scanned the darkness with heightened vigilance.

Suddenly, ten Hobgoblin assassins emerged from the shadows, their movements swift and silent as death itself. They aimed directly for General Frukin, their blades coated in poison gleamed with deadly intent.

The Orcs responded instantly, their warrior instincts kicking in as they intercepted the assassins in a flurry of steel and fury.

The clash was fierce and brutal, each Orc fighting with a ferocity born of desperation and loyalty to their clan. The Hobgoblins moved with uncanny agility, their attacks precise and calculated, but the Orcs were formidable opponents, their strength and combat skills a match for the assassins\' speed.