Ashar's heart hammered in his chest as he raced with Rylah and Kess toward the secondary defenses. The clang of metal, the war cries of the Orcs, and the shouts of his people echoed behind him. Their retreat had been chaotic, with many of the fighters injured or scattered in the frenzy. The second wave of Orcs, led by the general himself, had arrived, and the battlefield had turned into a nightmare of steel and blood.
As they reached the secondary walls, Ashar ordered the gates closed behind them. His breath came in ragged gasps, his muscles aching from the constant combat. His mind raced, calculating their dwindling options. They had fewer than fifty soldiers left standing, and even some of them were on the verge of collapse.
"Get the injured inside the walls," he barked, turning to Kess. "The rest of us need to fortify the defenses. We can't let them breach this line."
"Understood," Kess replied, his face hardening as he gave orders to the remaining fighters.
Ashar turned to Rylah. "How many arrows do we have left?"
"Enough for one more volley," she said, her voice tight. "But they're coming fast. We need something to slow them down."
Ashar scanned the surroundings. The secondary walls were built with stone and reinforced with wooden spikes, but it wouldn't hold against the full might of the Orcs for long. If they didn't act quickly, they would be overrun.
He spotted a group of villagers huddled behind one of the walls, fear and exhaustion written on their faces. These were the people they had saved from slavery, the ones who had never held a weapon until now. Their faces were pale, and Ashar could see the fear in their eyes. They had no choice now; they were fighters, whether they were ready or not.
He gritted his teeth. They were ready—or they would be forced to be.
"Rylah," Ashar said, his voice calm despite the rising tension. "We need to buy time. Gather whatever you can—rocks, timber, anything to slow them down. I'll organize the villagers to help fortify this position."
Rylah gave him a sharp nod, turning immediately to rally the remaining archers and fighters to gather materials. Ashar felt a surge of admiration for her focus under pressure. The woman was a natural leader, and in many ways, she was already as much a symbol of hope as he was.
Ashar moved toward the villagers, his steps firm but gentle. He knew what he was asking of them—what he was demanding. "Listen up!" he shouted, his voice carrying over the noise of the battle. "We don't have much time. We need to fortify this position and make it as strong as we can. I know you've never fought before, but you've survived this long because you're strong. It's time to prove that strength."
A murmur ran through the villagers, but they didn't hesitate. Ashar could see their resolve hardening. They were afraid, yes—but they were also desperate. For some, this was the last fight they would ever face. For others, it was their chance to take control of their future.
"We'll start with the walls," Ashar continued. "Anyone who can carry timber or rocks, get them here now. We'll use anything we can to reinforce our defenses."
The villagers scrambled into action, their fear turning into focused urgency. Ashar moved among them, directing the flow of materials to the weakest points of the walls. There was no time for mistakes, no time for hesitation. Every minute they bought now could make the difference between survival and annihilation.
As he worked, Ashar's mind never stopped calculating their odds. The Orc general's army, now numbering close to three hundred, was relentless. They had the advantage of superior numbers, and Ashar's forces were running low on supplies. Even with the walls reinforced, it wouldn't take much for the Orcs to breach them, and when that happened, they would be fighting for their lives in close quarters.
"We've done what we can," Ashar muttered to himself, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the work. "Now we hold."
Rylah reappeared, her eyes scanning the perimeter. She was breathless, but there was a fire in her gaze. "The Orcs are closing in. Their general's just behind the first wave."
Ashar nodded. "We've got one shot at this. If we can take down their leader, we might break their morale."
He turned to Kess, who had rejoined them with a grim expression. "How many bombs do we have left?"
"Not enough to make a dent in their numbers," Kess answered, shaking his head. "But if we use them wisely, we can disrupt their formation and force them to retreat."
Ashar thought for a moment, weighing the risk. "Then we'll use them in the narrowest part of the gate. The moment they break through, we'll hit them with everything we've got."
Kess nodded, signaling his team to prepare the explosives. "It's our only chance."
The sound of Orc war drums grew louder, and Ashar's heart raced. He could see them now—orc warriors, with their crude armor and vicious weapons, charging toward the gate. They were a living tide of destruction, unstoppable in their rage.
Ashar's grip tightened on his sword as he took his place at the front of the line, alongside Rylah and Kess. The villagers had done their part, but now it was up to him and his soldiers to defend the last bastion of hope.
He looked around at the faces of the people who had fought alongside him, the ones who had placed their faith in him as their leader. Some were scared, some were determined—but all of them were ready. They had no other choice.
"They're here," Rylah said, her voice cold but steady. "This is it."
Ashar stood tall, meeting her gaze. "We fight."
The gates creaked under the pressure as the first wave of Orcs crashed against them. Ashar's blood surged in his veins, and the world seemed to slow around him. The fight was here, and he was ready.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, as the first Orc warrior broke through the gate, Ashar gave the command.
"Now!"
Explosions rocked the earth as the bombs detonated, sending a cloud of dust and smoke billowing into the air. The Orcs staggered, disoriented and confused, but Ashar's forces didn't hesitate. They surged forward, attacking with everything they had.
Ashar swung his sword with lethal precision, cutting down the nearest Orc. His eyes locked onto the Orc general in the distance. He was a towering figure, clad in dark iron armor, a massive battleaxe raised high.
This was it. The battle would be won or lost based on whether they could take down the general.
"Follow me!" Ashar shouted, leading his warriors toward the general.
They charged into the heart of the battlefield, a wave of defiance against the overwhelming tide of Orcs. Ashar's mind was focused on one goal: survival. The Orcs would break, or they would die trying.
As the two armies collided in a frenzy of combat, Ashar's eyes locked on his target. The general.
This would be the turning point.