Galen and the others had already scanned the entire village on the Origin Heart during their charge. He reckoned only about a hundred orcs had infiltrated—just a hundred red dots on his map. The villagers, hardened by gnoll raids, knew to bolt for their homes and slam their doors at the alarm bell. Fewer casualties—and every pounding door was a beacon for Galen. He'd race to each one and slaughter the orcs inside.
Bang! Bang!
He heard the frantic hammering, spurred his horse, then leapt off. Mounted combat wasn't his strength, so he fought on foot. Judgment! A Holy Light Hammer arced through the air and struck the orc dead. Stunned, it crumpled as he followed with Crusader Strike, severing its head. Heathed sword, Galen remounted and galloped on.
Most of these orcs were rank four or five; human soldiers rarely exceeded rank three, only elites could face them blade to blade. While gauging their power, Galen dispatched one after another—and even swooped in to claim a kill from a three-man squad.
Nearby, Turalyon held three orcs at bay, Varian wrestled a fourth, and their wizard harassed the enemy with slows, polymorphs, and frostbolts. The orcs wanted the mage first, but Turalyon's shield held firm.
Galen spotted an orc overseer outfitted in iron war boots, spiked pauldrons, a steel belt, and a fine battle axe. He glowed his warhorse with Holy Light and charged; before the overseer could react, Galen cleaved an underling's head clean off. Blood spattered the yellow road red. Enraged, the overseer roared and swung his axe.
Galen jumped down, guided his horse to safety, then met the gaze of the overseer. Clang! Their weapons rang. Galen tested every parry and riposte, exploiting his invincibility to feel out the orc's limits. The overseer, muscles bulging, attacked in furious bursts. After a dozen exchanges, Galen spotted an opening he swept Trol'kalar from the orc's right leg to left chest, shattering the steel belt. The overseer wailed, then a red rune flared above his head—Bloodlust Rage, boosting melee damage by 25% but cutting his healing received.
Galen pressed on, parrying every violent swing, then slashed through the overseer's arm. Blood dripped everywhere. "Ah! light curse you…" Galen taunted, driving the pain further. The overseer staggered, mind clearing as he assessed the field: two humans, two loyal lieutenants—one already beheaded. He'd underestimated them.
Galen circled, glancing at Turalyon and Varian still locked in combat. Both were strong but green—this was real-world experience he was giving them. With the overseer slowed by bleeding, Galen held him at bay. Time was short; Stormwind City could fall, and Galen planned to call Derek for transports to evacuate the villagers.
At last, Turalyon and Varian finished their fight. Born elites, they'd lacked battle experience; now, thanks to Galen's intervention, they'd gained it in spades.