The appearance of the red dragons turned the tide of the battle for the Horde's fleet.
Faced with dragon breaths capable of destroying a ship with a single shot, the Alliance could no longer focus on the Orcs' transport ships, which were like lambs to the slaughter.
In front of these dragons, the Alliance was now the lambs awaiting slaughter.
The few Alliance warships at the front had already fallen into a sea of flames, with no survivors. The rest of the ships were on the verge of meeting the same fate.
However, at this moment, a long and loud dragon's roar came from the distance, interrupting the dragons' actions.
Perhaps sensing something from this roar, the Horde's dragons suddenly stopped their attack and began circling above the Alliance fleet, ignoring the Orcs riding them, who were shouting in anger and even hitting the dragons' backs with their weapons.
The sudden loss of control by the dragons gave the Alliance ships a brief moment to catch their breath.
They quickly adjusted their formations, trying to turn their fleet as quickly as possible in hopes of escaping before the dragons regained control.
At this moment, King Daelin himself sighed in relief. With enough time to adjust, his son no longer needed to make any sacrifices.
But what did that roar really mean?
Daelin furrowed his brow.
What if it was a sign of even more dragons arriving?
The thought sent a chill down the Admiral's spine.
In fact, it wasn't just the Alliance. The Horde was equally confused by the dragons' sudden refusal to fight.
Warchief Orgrim was furious. He constantly shouted at Zuluhed, the leader of the Dragonmaw Clan, demanding that he quickly regain control of the dragons and launch an offensive against the Alliance.
It was understandable. To lure the Alliance fleet closer, Orgrim had sacrificed numerous Orc warships and soldiers, but now, as the red dragons suddenly stopped fighting, wasn't all those sacrifices in vain?
However, Zuluhed, while bowing his head in submission to Orgrim's demands, was inwardly lost. He had no idea how to handle the situation.
As the leader of the Dragonmaw Clan, he had personally accompanied Orgrim for the escort mission, but he had no control over the red dragons.
The dragons' souls could only be manipulated by warlocks and shamans, so he had entrusted the artifact to Ner'zhul.
Controlling a dangerous and specialized creature like the red dragon was left to his subordinates.
He was merely in charge of commanding, not controlling the dragons. Faced with their loss of control, he had no clue how to fix the situation.
The current situation was that the Alliance was busy retreating while the Horde stood by, watching a few dragons simply stop fighting in midair.
The flames of war seemed to momentarily subside on the sea.
But unfortunately, this peace was nothing more than an illusion for both sides.
The false peace was shattered by a dark cloud coming from afar.
Of course, this "cloud" was only seen as such by the sailors of both sides.
As the "cloud" approached, the sounds of wings flapping and dragon roars became louder and more frequent.
Eventually, they saw the cloud for what it was—not a cloud, but a swarm of dragons, more dragons.
At the forefront was a massive deep crimson dragon, its size easily surpassing any dragon on the battlefield by at least a hundred meters.
Behind it were dozens of smaller dragons. Some were several dozen meters long, others only a few meters, but no matter their size, they were all an unstoppable force for the fleet.
The Orcs seemed to cheer, for Zuluhed recognized the largest of these red dragons as one of those enslaved by the Dragonmaw Clan.
On the Alliance's side, despair had already taken hold.
Facing three or four dragons, there had been some chance of escape, but with this many dragons, survival was impossible.
Even Daelin Proudmoore himself had begun to write his last will and testament.
Then, a message from a lookout reached his ears.
"Report, Admiral," the sentinel's voice rang out across the command ship, "I see someone on the back of the largest dragon!"
"I know there are those green-skinned bastards on the back of the big lizard," Daelin said angrily. "You don't need to remind me!"
"No... that's not what I mean," the lookout's voice trembled with excitement. "The one on the dragon's back is not just an Orc... there is one Orc, but... but there are humans, elves, and dwarves up there!"
"What did you say?" Daelin, now utterly shocked, grabbed his telescope and looked.
Sure enough, on the back of the giant red dragon, he saw human figures as well as other allies. And what was even more surprising... he recognized some of them.
Daelin looked more closely two or three times before he could believe it.
His friend, Archmage Sandor, who was his daughter's magic instructor and the Alliance's military advisor, was riding on the dragon's back, waving at them.
Alongside him were his powerful half-Orc follower, a high elf ranger, a dwarf warrior, and a human noblewoman.
Seeing their lively expressions, Daelin was almost certain they hadn't been captured. The new dragon swarm was on their side.
Remembering the roar that had caused the Horde's dragons to lose control, Daelin immediately understood everything.
What followed proved his theory correct.
As the new dragon swarm approached, the dragons on the Horde's side seemed to realize something. They began to perform complicated aerial maneuvers, flipping and flying backward, all in an attempt to shake off their hated riders.
The Orcs from the Dragonmaw Clan could barely handle such maneuvers.
After two or three tries, they were thrown off, only to be caught in midair by the furious red dragons, torn apart in seconds.
It wasn't enough to vent their anger. The red dragons immediately turned around and flew straight toward the Horde's fleet.
Meanwhile, Alaric's dragon swarm joined them, and together, they charged toward the Orc army.
By this time, the Orcs had already realized the gravity of the situation.
But with their crude ships, escaping would be even more difficult than it was for the Alliance.
The dragons formed into a tight row, like a carpet bombing squadron, and unleashed devastating strikes on the Orc fleet.
Each dragon's breath created a fireline across the sea, and the coordinated dragon formation turned that line into a massive area of destruction.
With so many dragons attacking together, the area covered by the dragon's breath spanned almost a thousand meters, and within this range, the Orc warships had no chance of escaping.
In just a few minutes, the sea, once filled with the Orc fleet, became a true sea of fire.
Within the flames, every single Orc warship was set ablaze. The intense heat from the flames made even the water boil, and any Orcs who jumped into the sea were scalded to death by the boiling water before they could escape.
The remaining Orc warships, no longer needing Orgrim's orders, scattered in all directions, hoping to survive by fleeing in different directions.
Of course, Orgrim didn't have the chance to issue commands to the remaining Orcs. The sea of fire and chaos hindered communication, and the Warchief himself, if he didn't flee, would meet a similar fate on the sea.
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