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Thorgar, however, had a different mission. He needed to break through the enemy lines and reach King Kraggul before the enemies reach theirs.

Both sides faced brutal challenges. They were heavily outnumbered, and their adversaries were not to be mess with. The Hobgoblins were relentless and cunning, making every clash a fierce struggle.

The battlefield roared with the sounds of war, each general knowing that their actions in these moments could turn the tide.

General Grommash and his troops found themselves surrounded by the overwhelming forces of Generals Gralnok and Morzog, their 30,000 Hobgoblins pressing in from all sides.

It was a masterful plan, orchestrated by the cunning strategist Morzog, designed to encircle the Orcs and crush them with sheer numbers, leaving no escape.

The Hobgoblins advanced as one, a sea of green moving with eerie synchronicity, as if guided by a single mind. Their right legs moved in unison, then their left, creating a rhythmic march that echoed like the ominous rumble of distant thunder, heralding an approaching storm.

In their hands, they brandished weapons and shields, their warhogs snorting and pawing at the ground beneath them. Each face was set in grim determination, their eyes hard and unyielding against the dry, whipping wind.

They were a formidable force, an unstoppable tide of warriors ready to crush all who stood in their path. Their ranks forming an impenetrable wall around Grommash\'s forces.

Spears and swords glinted, a sea of weapons ready to strike. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and blood, the cacophony of battle echoing across the battlefield.

In the midst of this chaos, General Grommash stood unfaze. Unlike Morzog, he wasn\'t a master of strategy — he was a warrior who relied on raw strength and instinct to win battles.

His war club, a massive metal bat studded with vicious spikes, rested heavily in his hands, ready to unleash devastation.

From across the field, Morzog\'s sinister laughter cut through the din. "You can\'t escape my death trap, Hurricane. Once you\'re surrounded, it\'s the end of you."

Grommash\'s eyes narrowed at the taunt, his grip tightening on his weapon. "We\'ll see about that, goblin!" he roared back, his voice booming like a thunderclap.

Seeing the 30,000 Hobgoblins bearing down on him, General Grommash did not waver, nor did he show any fear.

With a defiant roar, he raised his spiked war club and charged ahead on his warhorse, leading his heavy infantry Orcs that thundered behind him.

Each Orc rode their own powerful mount, wielding fearsome weapons and exuding extraordinary bloodlust.

Led by the fearsome Grommash, there was one thing Morzog had miscalculated: General Grommash\'s sheer strength in combat and the overflowing morale of his troops when he led them.

As they crashed into the first wave of Hobgoblins, Grommash\'s war club swung in a deadly arc, pulverizing ten Hobgoblins with a single strike. His brutal strength was matched by the ferocity of his troops, who fought with a primal intensity that belied their outnumbered status.

They moved as a single, cohesive unit, their mounts trampling enemies underfoot as their weapons cleaved through Hobgoblin ranks.

Before the enemy forces could fully encircle them, Grommash had his troops form a tight, defensive circle, that grinded the Hobgoblins as they went around and around. This formation became a whirlwind of death, a rotating barrier of steel and fury that annihilated any Hobgoblin foolish enough to draw near.

Grommash stood at the forefront, a titan of battle, his war club a blur of lethal motion. Each swing sent Hobgoblins flying, their bodies crumpling under the immense force. The ground around him was littered with the fallen, a testament to his overwhelming might.

Behind him, his Orc warriors fought with the same ferocity. Their morale was unbreakable, their spirits lifted by the indomitable presence of their general.

They roared in unison with each clash, their battle cries merging into a deafening symphony of defiance.

Every Hobgoblin that tried to close in met a swift and brutal end. Grommash\'s circle of death expanded with each passing moment, a relentless tide of Orcish fury that pushed back the overwhelming numbers of the enemy.

In the face of such raw power and unrelenting spirit, the Hobgoblins began to falter. Morzog\'s confidence waned as he witnessed his strategy crumble before the might of General Grommash and his unstoppable troops.

General Morzog\'s plan might have worked if he wasn\'t facing General Grommash. But against the Orc\'s raw strength, even the most brilliant tactics faltered.

"Cursed Orcs and their strength," Morzog spat in frustration. Why did their race have to be so weak? Because of that, they had to work twice as hard and think ten times as much to win.

"Stay back, Morzog," General Gralnok interjected, stepping forward. "Save your strategy for another time. I\'ll handle Grommash."

"Are you sure? We can\'t afford to fail here, Gralnok," Morzog reminded him, eyes narrowing with concern.

Gralnok laughed, a deep, menacing sound. "Who do you think you\'re talking to? Against brute strength, my speed is unstoppable."

With a fierce grin, Gralnok rode forward with his troops to meet General Grommash head-on. From here on out, it was a battle of strength versus speed.

Morzog grumbled but held his tongue. This confrontation would buy him time to assess the situation and devise the best course of action and strategy.

General Grommash was a whirlwind of destruction, his massive war club cleaving through Hobgoblin ranks with unstoppable force. Each swing sent enemies flying, their bodies crumpling under the devastating impact.

His presence was a beacon of hope and morale for the Orcs, his roars mingling with the cacophony of battle as he carved a path through the enemy lines.

The Hobgoblins seemed powerless against him, their numbers dwindling as Grommash\'s relentless attacks continued. He fought with the strength of a hundred warriors, his every move a testament to his raw, power.

It seemed nothing could stop him as he barreled forward, his eyes blazing red.

But then, in the heat of battle, a figure emerged from the chaos — General Gralnok wielding large, curved scimitars. His eyes locked onto Grommash, a predatory gleam in his gaze.

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|| A/N ||

I\'m diving into a few chapters about the Orcs and Hobgoblins before shifting focus to Rain. These chapters might seem less engaging since the main character isn\'t involved, but they\'re crucial for developing some key characters who will play significant roles later on.

Thanks for sticking with it!