The days following the battle were filled with a tense kind of stillness. The victorious humans had taken control of the battlefield, but the Orcs' defeat was not one that would end the war. Ashar could feel the heavy weight of responsibility settle upon him, the victory over Gorn's forces barely softening the pressure of what lay ahead. As the leader, he had to make decisions that affected the lives of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of his people. It was a constant balancing act between strength and compassion, vengeance and mercy.
He sat in the dimly lit command tent that had been hastily erected after the battle, the sounds of men and women working outside, preparing the stronghold for the inevitable Orc retaliation. He looked down at a map spread out before him, tracing the lines with his fingers as if they could somehow offer him the answers he so desperately sought. The map showed the territories of the Orcs and the surrounding lands they could use for reinforcements. His eyes lingered on the Orc war camps, now nearly empty after the defeat, but he knew they would soon regroup.
Rylah entered the tent, her armor dented but her eyes sharp and focused. She was holding a bundle of papers in her hands—reports from the scouts.
"We've got some updates," she said, her tone grave.
Ashar glanced up, his brow furrowed. "What have you found?"
Rylah unfurled the papers on the table, pointing to a marked area. "The Orcs are licking their wounds, but they're far from finished. They've already sent for reinforcements from the northern camps. A large force is expected to arrive within a week."
Ashar cursed under his breath. He had expected as much, but hearing it confirmed made the reality of the situation sink deeper. They had won the battle, but the war was far from over. The Orcs would return, and they would come with greater numbers.
"Can we hold them off?" Ashar asked, not looking at Rylah, but instead at the marked lines on the map.
"We can try," Rylah answered, her voice softening for a moment. "But we need more time. More resources. The stronghold isn't fully ready for a siege, and we're still short on food, weapons, and supplies. Our numbers are strong, but they can only last for so long."
Ashar nodded, rubbing his hand across his face, his mind racing. He'd always known this moment would come. But now that it was here, he couldn't afford to be anything less than decisive. He had to act, and act fast, before the Orcs' reinforcements arrived.
"What's the plan, Ashar?" Rylah asked, her eyes steady. She was waiting for his decision, as she always did. There was no room for hesitation in a leader.
Ashar stood up, pacing for a moment before stopping. He looked at Rylah, his expression firm.
"We can't wait for the Orcs to come to us," he said slowly, each word weighed with the gravity of his decision. "We need to strike first."
Rylah raised an eyebrow. "Strike? Against a force larger than ours?"
Ashar nodded, his jaw clenched. "We'll use guerrilla tactics—harass their supply lines, hit them at their weakest points. We can't take them head-on, not yet. But if we wear them down, force them to fight on multiple fronts, it might just be enough to break their morale."
Rylah seemed to consider it for a moment, then nodded. "It's risky, but it might work. We'll need to be fast, coordinated. And we'll need the support of the neighboring villages."
Ashar's eyes darkened. He had been thinking about that too. The human villages were scattered and disjointed, each one too focused on its own survival to care about a larger war. But if he could unite them, if he could make them see the bigger picture, they might stand a chance against the Orcs.
"Get the generals together," Ashar ordered. "We'll need to discuss our next move. I want to know exactly how much manpower we have for these strikes. And we need to send envoys to the other villages."
Rylah saluted sharply and turned to leave, but paused at the entrance. "Ashar…" she began softly, her tone unusually cautious. "There's something else."
He turned to her, the concern in his eyes. "What is it?"
"There's been talk among the men," Rylah said. "Some of them think you're pushing too hard, too fast. They're afraid that if we go after the Orcs before our defenses are solid, we'll just be throwing our lives away."
Ashar's fists clenched at his sides. He had anticipated this. The people had just fought their first major battle, and the scars from it were still fresh. They had survived, but they had seen too much death. Too much bloodshed.
"I know they're scared," Ashar said quietly, his voice rough. "But if we don't take the fight to them, we're just going to be sitting ducks waiting to be slaughtered. We have to show them that we're not afraid. That we can win."
Rylah gave him a long look before nodding, her expression unreadable. "I'll speak to them. They need to understand that this is the only way forward."
As Rylah left to carry out his orders, Ashar sank back into his chair, his mind spinning with the weight of his choices. Leading wasn't about always being right; it was about making the hard decisions when they mattered most. And right now, he had no choice but to move forward, no matter how much it scared him. The future of his people was at stake, and he wouldn't let fear stop him.
***
The next few days were filled with hurried preparations. Ashar's generals gathered, discussing tactics, weapons, and the layout of the Orcs' supply lines. Each plan was met with skepticism from some and support from others, but Ashar's leadership was firm, and eventually, the group settled on a series of hit-and-run raids against the Orcs' supply depots.
"We hit them hard and fast," Ashar said as he stood before the gathered commanders. "We don't give them time to regroup or counter. We target their supplies, their communication lines, and their reinforcements."
His eyes scanned the faces of his generals. "We'll need the help of the villages. Some of them might be unwilling, but we can't afford to be picky. Every hand will be needed."
Rylah stood beside him, nodding in agreement. "The neighboring villages are hesitant, but we're sending envoys to them. It won't be easy, but we'll make them see the truth—that if we don't unite, we'll all fall to the Orcs."
Ashar paused, his gaze lingering on the map in front of him. "Time is our enemy. We need to move before the Orcs reinforce."
As the plans were set in motion, Ashar felt the full weight of leadership pressing down on him. Each decision he made would affect not just his own people, but those in the surrounding villages who were still trapped in the Orcs' grip. He had promised them freedom, and now it was time to make good on that promise.
The days leading up to the first raid were tense. Ashar could feel the unease in the air—his people were on edge, unsure of what would happen next. But he knew they had no choice but to push forward. The Orcs had given them no quarter, and it was time for Ashar and his people to take what was theirs.
That night, as Ashar stood overlooking the camp, the distant sound of war drums echoed through the trees. The Orcs were waiting, preparing for their next move. Ashar's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. The battle was far from over.
And he would be ready.