The clash of metal rang through the air as Ashar's forces took their positions, fortified with what little they had. The Orcs were coming—he could feel the ground vibrate under their heavy march, the rhythmic beat of their boots like the ticking of a time bomb. The first volley of arrows flew through the air, but Ashar had prepared for this. His soldiers were ready.
"Hold the line!" he shouted, his voice sharp as steel. He stood at the forefront of his men, watching the movement of the Orcs. Their numbers were overwhelming, more than two hundred strong, but Ashar's advantage was their lack of knowledge about his tactics.
He motioned for Rylah, who was at the far edge of the camp, to take her position. With a quick nod, she disappeared into the shadows, gathering the last of the men to execute their guerrilla strategy.
The Orcs charged forward, their heavy boots pounding against the earth, their war cries filling the air like thunder. But they didn't expect the traps.
"Now!" Ashar shouted.
From the hillsides surrounding their camp, ropes tightened and spears shot up from the ground, catching a handful of the Orc soldiers off-guard. Screams rang out as the Orcs struggled against the traps, but it was enough to delay their charge.
"Form up!" Ashar commanded, rushing forward as his men formed tight defensive lines.
The Orcs recovered quickly, their brute strength allowing them to break through the traps, but Ashar knew this was just the beginning. The Orcs, for all their numbers, lacked the discipline his soldiers had gained through months of training. His army wasn't large, but they were sharper. They would make every strike count.
As the first wave of Orcs collided with their defenses, Ashar felt the heat of battle intensify. The clash of steel against steel was deafening. Ashar parried an Orc's strike with his sword, the force of it rattling his arms. The Orc's eyes gleamed with hatred, but Ashar didn't falter. He had learned how to fight with precision—how to use the Orc's strength against them.
He stepped into the Orc's reach, sidestepping just as the creature swung its axe. Ashar drove his sword into its side, using the momentum of the Orc's swing to finish the blow. The creature fell with a roar, but Ashar didn't linger. There were more coming.
"Keep moving!" he yelled to his men, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Do not give them time to regroup!"
Despite their ferocity, the Orcs were now facing the consequences of their initial underestimation. They were disorganized, each soldier too eager to strike down the enemy. Ashar had carefully planned for this—the Orcs would rush in, relying on their numbers and strength. But that wouldn't be enough against a force that had learned to strike from the shadows, to move like ghosts across the battlefield.
Suddenly, an explosion of dust and smoke erupted from behind the enemy lines. Ashar's heart skipped a beat as he saw the figures emerging from the haze—Rylah's team, moving swiftly through the smoke. The smoke bombs had worked. The Orcs were disoriented.
"Attack from the rear!" Ashar shouted, his voice booming across the battlefield.
Rylah and her team, now hidden by the cover of the smoke, struck from behind the Orc lines, throwing the enemy into chaos. Ashar took the opportunity to press forward, his soldiers following him like shadows. With his quick, calculated strikes, they began to whittle down the Orcs' numbers. They had the advantage of speed and surprise, and they used it to devastating effect.
But then, as the dust began to clear, Ashar saw something that made his blood run cold. A large figure, easily twice the size of any normal Orc, stepped out from the center of the battlefield. It was an Orc war chief, his massive axe gleaming in the fading light.
The war chief's presence sent a ripple of fear through Ashar's soldiers. Even Rylah, whose confidence had never wavered, took a step back, her eyes narrowing. This was no ordinary foe.
"Stay focused!" Ashar barked, rallying his men. He could see that the Orcs' morale had taken a blow, but this war chief was a different threat entirely.
The war chief bellowed, raising his axe high as he charged toward Ashar, his roar deafening. Ashar could feel the weight of the moment—if he fell here, the battle would be lost. But he wasn't about to let that happen.
"Ashar!" Mylan shouted from his side. "We'll hold them off! You need to stop that monster!"
The war chief closed the distance in an instant, swinging his axe in a wild arc. Ashar ducked, narrowly avoiding the swing. The Orc's strength was enough to split a tree in half, but Ashar had something else—the agility to evade and the skill to strike when the time was right.
The war chief swung again, but Ashar was ready. He sidestepped and lunged, aiming for the Orc's exposed side. His sword cut through the air, but the war chief's thick armor deflected the blow. Ashar gritted his teeth. He had to get around the armor.
With a sudden shift, Ashar rolled to the side as the war chief swung once more. The axe missed by inches, and Ashar took his chance. He darted behind the war chief, using his speed to get into a better position. With a single, precise movement, he drove his sword into a gap in the Orc's armor, just beneath the shoulder.
The war chief let out a roar of pain but swung around with terrifying speed, his axe catching Ashar across the chest. Pain exploded in his side, but Ashar didn't relent. His blood was running hot with fury, his vision blurring with the intensity of the fight. He was close. He could feel it.
With a final surge of strength, Ashar launched himself forward, dodging another swing of the axe, and drove his sword deep into the war chief's throat. The beast let out a strangled cry, stumbling backward before collapsing to the ground with a thunderous crash.
For a moment, there was silence. The battlefield paused, the men on both sides catching their breath. Ashar, standing over the fallen war chief, his chest heaving with exertion, dared to hope that this could be the turning point they needed.
But there was no time to celebrate. The Orcs were regrouping, their forces still strong. And though their morale had taken a hit, they were not yet broken.
Ashar turned back to his soldiers. "We push forward!" he shouted. "They are not invincible! We win this today!"
And with that, the battle raged on.