The sun hung low over the horizon, casting long shadows across the sprawling maze of the Stonehooves Tribe.
The air was thick with tension, and the scent of blood and battle lingered.
The Pig Orcs had returned victorious from their latest conquest, but the war was far from over.
Above them, Lyerin hovered in mid-air, arms crossed, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the battlefield below.
His thoughts raced, his mind constantly assessing and recalculating the situation. The Asuras had made their move, and now, it was time for him to make his.
Lyerin's voice cut through the tension like a blade, cold and commanding. "Grok'thar, I want every injured Pig Orc brought to the healing chambers. I don't care if they're barely breathing—patch them up and get them ready for the next wave. We can't afford any weaknesses right now."
The massive Pig Orc leader, Grok'thar, slammed a fist against his chest in acknowledgment.
