The battlefield had fallen eerily silent after the death of the Orc general. Ashar's victory was undeniable, but the price of it was heavy. He could feel the weight of every lost soldier pressing down on him, and his mind swirled with calculations. There were only about sixty of them left—far fewer than they had started with. The Orcs, on the other hand, had more than three hundred soldiers still standing, though their morale was shattered. The loss of their leader had thrown them into disarray.
For a brief moment, Ashar allowed himself to take a breath. His heart was still racing, and his muscles screamed in protest from the strain of the battle. He could barely feel the cold bite of the wind on his skin, his senses dulled by the exhaustion that had settled in.
But this wasn't over. It couldn't be.
"We need to move," Ashar said, his voice steady despite the fatigue in his bones. "We can't afford to stay here too long. They'll regroup, and when they do, it'll be worse."
The soldiers who remained around him nodded grimly. Kess and Rylah exchanged a look, their eyes haunted by the brutality of the battle, but they were soldiers, and they knew their duty. They knew they couldn't rest. Not yet.
"Rylah, take half the men and set up a perimeter. We'll stay here for tonight and regroup. I don't trust the Orcs to retreat fully." Ashar's eyes flicked over to the horizon. He could see movement in the distance, the Orc forces mustering, preparing to pull back to regroup.
Rylah nodded, her gaze sharp. "Understood. But we won't be able to hold this ground for long. It's too open."
"We'll fortify what we can. Kess, gather the wounded, make sure everyone who can still fight is ready by dawn." Ashar turned back to the field where the remains of their enemies and fallen soldiers lay. There was no time for mourning. There would be time for that when the war was over. "Get the weapons we can use. We'll need everything."
Kess gave him a nod and moved off to carry out his orders. Ashar took a moment to gather himself before setting off to speak to the rest of his men. His people were tired, hungry, and injured, but there was no turning back now. Not when victory was within reach.
He found his second-in-command, Mylan, standing over the fallen body of the Orc general. His eyes were distant, haunted by what they had just experienced.
"You did well," Ashar said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Mylan glanced up at him, his expression hard. "We can't stop here, Ashar. I know the victory means something, but the war's not over. It's far from it. The Orcs will regroup. And then they'll come at us harder."
Ashar nodded. "I know. But we have to take what we can from this, regroup, and press forward. We know their weakness now. And we know we can defeat them."
"We know their strength, too." Mylan's voice was quiet but firm. "And that's what worries me."
Ashar clenched his jaw. His mind raced with strategies, with the knowledge of what they could and couldn't do. The Orcs were formidable, and although their morale was shaken, their sheer numbers still gave them an advantage. But Ashar had seen something in their faces during the fight—something that told him they were vulnerable. They weren't invincible. They were a force, but a broken one. And broken things could be defeated.
"I'll need you to rally the men," Ashar said finally. "Prepare them for what's coming. We won't just survive—we will push back. This land, our people—this is our future now."
Mylan met his gaze. "And you think we can win this war?"
"I know we can," Ashar replied with cold certainty. "But we have to fight smarter. We can't rely on just brute force."
Mylan gave a sharp nod and walked off to implement the orders. Ashar turned back toward the camp where the wounded were being treated, his thoughts heavy with the burden of leadership. He wasn't sure how long they could hold out here. He wasn't sure how much longer they could keep fighting. But he knew one thing—they had a chance now. They were no longer slaves. They were free, and that freedom had to mean something.
The night passed in a blur of work. The remaining soldiers set up a makeshift camp as best as they could, building barricades with whatever materials they could scrounge from the battlefield. It wasn't much, but it would have to do for now. Ashar could see in their eyes the determination to keep going, despite everything they had lost. Despite the toll the war was taking on them all.
But in the early hours of the morning, just before dawn broke, a cry rang out from the perimeter.
"Enemy approaching! Orcs in force!"
Ashar's heart sank, and he stood immediately, rushing toward the sound of Rylah's voice.
"They're coming early," Rylah said, her voice tight with urgency. "We don't have much time. The reinforcements you were hoping for— they're still too far off."
Ashar cursed under his breath. He hadn't expected them to come so quickly. He had hoped for more time to fortify their position, to regroup and plan their next move. But there was no time now.
"Get the wounded inside the stronghold," Ashar ordered. "Everyone else, arm yourselves. We hold this ground— no matter what."
He turned to Kess, who was already rounding up the remaining soldiers.
"We don't have numbers on our side," Ashar said, his voice low. "But we do have strategy. Remember the drills. We can't beat them head-on. We have to outmaneuver them."
Kess nodded grimly. "I'll get the traps set up. They won't expect it."
Ashar took one last look at his men, watching them rush into position. They were scared, but they were ready. They had no choice but to fight. And fight they would.
As the first Orcs crested the hill, Ashar felt the familiar surge of adrenaline. His mind cleared, and he saw the battlefield as it would unfold. The Orcs were a hammer—they would come at them with brute force. But Ashar and his men were the anvil, and they would not break.
"We make our stand here!" Ashar shouted, his voice carrying over the field. "Today, we push them back!"
And with that, the battle for the stronghold began.