The battlefield was littered with the remains of the fallen. Blood pooled in the dirt, and the acrid smoke from the fire barrels lingered in the air. The silence that followed the death of the warlord was deafening. Ashar stood amidst it all, his chest heaving, sweat mixed with grime and blood on his face. His sword was still in hand, though it felt heavier now, as if the weight of the battle had made its presence known.
Around him, the survivors—humans and Orcs alike—took stock of what had just transpired. The Orc forces, leaderless and disoriented, were retreating. The humans, once cowering under the yoke of oppression, were now victorious. But the victory felt hollow. It wasn't complete yet.
Ashar turned to his closest advisors, his mind still racing with the next steps. "We can't afford to celebrate yet," he said, his voice cold and calculated. "They're retreating, but we need to move quickly. The warlord's death will hurt them, but the Orcs won't just fall apart. We need to press our advantage before they regroup."
Rylah nodded, standing beside him, wiping the blood off her blade with a grim expression. "Agreed. But we also need to consider the cost. We've lost many good men today."
"I know," Ashar muttered. "We all have. But their sacrifice won't be in vain." He turned to Garik, who was approaching with his band of warriors, a few of them limping but still holding their heads high.
Garik's face was smeared with dirt and blood, but there was a fire in his eyes. "The Orcs are retreating, Ashar. But they're not going far. They'll regroup, and when they do, they'll come back stronger. We've got to fortify the stronghold now while we can."
"Then we do it," Ashar said, clenching his fists. "We dig in. The stronghold is the key to holding this ground. If we lose it, we lose everything."
The decision was made swiftly. The retreating Orcs would have to be watched carefully, but it was clear that they needed time to recover and regroup. Meanwhile, Ashar's people needed to prepare for the inevitable next wave. The Orcs would not give up easily. They would come back, and this time, they would come with more force.
***
Inside the war room of the stronghold, Ashar sat at the head of a large wooden table, covered with maps and plans. The room was dimly lit, the shadows from the flickering torches casting an ominous glow on the walls.
"We've got a window of opportunity," Ashar said, his voice low. "But it won't last long. They'll be back before we know it, and they'll come with more numbers. We have to be ready."
Rylah sat across from him, her arms crossed over her chest. "What's the plan?"
"We need to strengthen the stronghold," Ashar said, glancing at the maps spread before them. "We need more traps, more fortifications. We'll need to rally the local human villages as well. This can't be just about us. We need to unite the humans in this region, and we need to be smart about it. If we're going to survive, we have to make sure that we're not fighting alone."
"Agreed," Garik chimed in, leaning over the map. "But there's something else we have to consider."
Ashar looked up, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?"
Garik hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I've heard whispers. The Orcs are struggling internally. There's infighting among the leaders. The death of their warlord—Gorn—has left a power vacuum. And from what I've gathered, not all of them are loyal to the high chieftain."
Ashar's interest piqued. "Internal strife? You think we can use that to our advantage?"
Garik nodded. "If we can strike at the heart of their leadership, we might break their resolve. It would give us a moment of respite, a chance to fortify before they regroup."
"That could be our edge," Ashar said, leaning back in his chair, his eyes glinting with calculation. "If we can exploit their divisions, we'll have a chance to strike before they can fully recover."
"But we need to act quickly," Rylah reminded him. "We're not the only ones aware of the infighting. The Orcs will move fast to fill the power gap."
Ashar clenched his jaw. "Then we move faster."
He looked at Garik, who was already marking the map. "Do you have any idea where we can strike?"
Garik's finger hovered over the northern edge of the map, where the Orcs had a major stronghold. "The high chieftain is most likely consolidating power at their main fortress. If we can infiltrate, create chaos, and weaken their leadership further, it'll buy us time."
Ashar studied the map, his mind calculating the risks. It was a bold move. A dangerous one. But it was their best chance. "We'll need a small, stealthy team. No more than a dozen men. And we'll need to be quick. The element of surprise is key."
Rylah stood, her eyes determined. "I'll lead the team."
Ashar shook his head. "I need you here. You'll help lead the defense. Garik, you'll go with the team. Take the best men we have."
Garik nodded. "Understood. We'll get in, cause disruption, and get out before they can retaliate."
Ashar's eyes hardened. "No room for error. We don't have time to second-guess ourselves."
With the plan set, Ashar dismissed the war council, each member retreating to prepare for the next phase of the war. The coming days would be critical, and Ashar knew that the outcome of this next strike would determine whether they would live to see the end of the war or be crushed under the weight of the Orcs' might.
As Ashar left the war room, his thoughts turned inward. The battle for survival had just begun. They had a small victory, but the Orcs were relentless. He could feel the weight of the future pressing down on him. The choices he made in the coming days would shape the fate of not only his people but the future of the entire region.