After eating the dried meat and regaining their strength, Splitting Blade nodded at Stone Fist.
Stone Fist waved his hand to either side, signaling to the shadowy figures around him. Twenty or so figures quietly advanced towards the Blood Scythe camp below.
The camp was empty, with only a few fire pits in the corners casting a flickering glow. The rest of the area was covered in darkness. Inside, the walls had collapsed in some places, and the ground was scattered with rubble. To the south, a staircase made of flagstones and rough timber spiraled upwards to the city wall. The north side was filled with shadowy buildings.
They split into groups. Their soft leather boots made no sound as they moved, and their breath misted in the cold air. Inside the camp, they gripped their swords and axes tightly, while Stone Fist's team prepared to search for the slave pens or dungeon where the half-orcs were imprisoned. Splitting Blade led his group towards the guards' quarters and warehouses. Cripple took his group to the city gate.
Suddenly, the door to one of the barracks creaked open. A sleepy guard stood in the doorway, tightening his fur cloak around him and mumbling curses about the cold. He stepped outside, moving to relieve himself against the wall. After a long yawn, he glanced around and was startled to see some shadows moving in the thick darkness. Huge dark figures emerged, surrounding him.
A dozen figures, all wearing identical armor with a strange blood-red symbol on their chest, closed in on him. The armor was standard but reinforced in the most vulnerable areas, and their muscular limbs easily wielded heavy axes and swords. Their faces, ugly and brutal, resembled the half-orc slaves in the dungeons, but their eyes held no hatred, resentment, or numbness. Instead, their gazes were calm and mocking, as if looking at a dead body.
Among them was a human figure.
The guard opened his mouth to shout, but before he could, a cold gleam flashed across the night. A sword swiped from left to right, and the guard felt his body spin violently. His head fell heavily to the ground.
In the darkness, death screamed from all directions.
On the city walls, several guards were swiftly killed by the waiting half-orc warriors. But some sentries still managed to send out a warning. A lookout hiding in the shadows raised the alarm, but before he could react, an arrow pierced his throat. Cripple's arrows were never off target. One after another, he took down several startled guards, then shouted, "Open the gate!"
At the same time, the guards' barracks exploded as Stone Fist's team tossed stone jars filled with firebombs inside. Terrified screams echoed throughout the camp.
Splitting Blade stood at the door like a giant, his great sword raised like a scythe, cleaving through any guards who attempted to escape.
The guards hired by the Bloodstone family were mostly inexperienced, having never undergone rigorous military training. The real veterans of the army would take more lucrative jobs as mercenary escorts or elite guards for royal families. Warriors like Splitting Blade, with years of battle experience, were more than capable of eliminating these poorly trained enemies.
The gate was thrown open, and a flood of warriors poured into the camp. Another barracks was set on fire, and while some guards reacted quickly and ran out in groups, they were overwhelmed by the half-orcs' spears and the cave-dwellers' crossbow bolts. One by one, they fell.
The mountain wind howled, and the bloodshed blended with the night. There was no hesitation—it was a massacre. Cripple crouched low on the city wall, drawing his bow and taking an arrow from his quiver.
He remembered a lesson from a training session: "A hunter becomes a hunter because even the strongest opponents can become prey."
Figures emerged from the barracks. He nocked an arrow, pulling the bowstring back. With a sharp whoosh, the arrow flew out, and the shadowy figure collapsed to the ground. Another arrow followed, then a third, a fourth.
In the dark, the arrows were invisible—only the deadly presence of death could be felt.
Whoosh!
Thud!
Whoosh!
Thud!
He didn't have to pick his targets. He took down one guard wielding an axe, another who jumped out of a window, and soon two more fell to his arrows. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Splitting Blade standing at the door like a heroic figure, and he couldn't help but laugh.
"What a show-off," he muttered, spitting toward Splitting Blade's back.
Splitting Blade seemed to sense something. Without turning around, he raised his right hand and gave a thumbs-up to Cripple.
A deep rumbling roar erupted from underground, and Stone Fist finally found the dungeon where the half-orc slaves were held. The slaves, most of them shirtless, followed Stone Fist out of the dungeon. Under the light of the flames, the half-orc warriors led them, chanting battle songs and attacking any remaining guards.
They used whatever they could find—wood, fists, anything at hand. Food from the warehouse and blood poured onto the ground. A massive half-orc charged toward Splitting Blade, his rage burning. But before he could reach him, a heavy blow to the back of his head knocked him unconscious.
"I said, only attack the guards!" Stone Fist shouted, swinging his massive fist and knocking down two more attackers. The half-orc slaves began to squabble and fight among themselves.
Soon, several slaves were pinned to the ground by enraged half-orc warriors.
The sounds of battle began to subside, and the last of the guards were wiped out. Amid the flames, emotions of confusion, excitement, anger, and disbelief spread among the half-orc slaves.
"I'm Stone Fist, the warrior of the Thorns Tribe!" Stone Fist roared with red eyes. "Even if you're not from my tribe, you should have heard of me! Did you think the earth spirits were protecting you today? Open your eyes and see clearly!"
"I come here in the name of Kent, your true savior! As for who Kent is, you'll find out when we leave this place. But now, listen closely—today is the day you will NEVER be slaves again!"
A great cheer erupted from the half-orc slaves.
Stone Fist continued, "But there's one condition: you have to join us and become warriors! Use your anger to fight those who have humiliated you, not the ones here to save you!"
"Remember! Whoever dares to cause trouble again, I'll break your legs and throw you back into the dungeon!"
He glared at the half-orc slaves, his gaze fierce.
"Understand?"