The war drums echoed across the battlefield, marking the beginning of a conflict Ashar had long anticipated. The stronghold, now standing tall and fortified with crude stone walls, was under siege by a new Orc faction—a vicious, power-hungry warlord named Azgar, who had recently claimed dominance after Ironclaw's death. Azgar's forces were vast, numbering nearly 2,000 strong, while Ashar's army, though growing, could muster only 600 soldiers, many of them fresh recruits and former slaves still in the early stages of training.
Ashar stood atop the high wall, overlooking the battlefield, his breath heavy in his chest. The battle was not what he had imagined. The weight of leadership, of holding these lives in his hands, felt unbearable at times. There was no room for error now. The Orcs, their bloodlust driven by the promise of destruction, had come to reclaim what they believed was their right.
"Azgar is a dangerous man," Rylah's voice broke through his thoughts. She stood beside him, her arms crossed, eyes narrowed as she observed the approaching Orc forces.
Ashar's gaze never wavered. "A tyrant driven by his own ambition. This is more than just a war. It's a power struggle among the Orcs themselves. Azgar is challenging the old order left behind by Ironclaw, trying to unite the fractured Orc factions under his banner."
"Is he any different from Ironclaw?" Rylah asked. Her tone was sharp, almost bitter.
Ashar exhaled slowly, turning to face her. "Not in the ways that matter. But he's more cunning. He knows how to manipulate those under his command. That makes him dangerous, but it also makes him vulnerable. Every power-hungry leader has enemies within."
"Do you intend to exploit that?"
He hesitated, his mind racing. He had already seen how Azgar was willing to play dirty—using the fear of human rebellion to unite the Orcs under his banner. But Ashar also knew the prophecy, a shadow looming over everything. The Orcs had enslaved humans for generations because of a prophecy foretelling the rise of a human leader who would destroy their civilization. Ashar couldn't deny the weight of his role in fulfilling—or preventing—that prophecy.
"I intend to survive, Rylah. For our people. For the future of this war. If we can break Azgar's alliance with the other warlords, we might stand a chance," Ashar said, the resolve in his voice clearer than ever. "But we need more than just tactics. We need to understand what makes them tick—what drives Azgar and his faction."
"Then we need to understand their culture, their leaders, and their weaknesses. We need to be smarter than they are."
Ashar nodded, the path ahead growing clearer. As much as he loathed the idea of playing their game, it was becoming evident that understanding Orc politics and exploiting their divisions was key. He had no intention of playing the Orcs' game by their rules, but if he was going to win, he would have to play the game nonetheless.
Later that night, Ashar sat in his war room, his fingers tracing the map spread across the table. The dim torchlight cast shadows over his face, but the weight of his decisions was all too clear. The battle tomorrow would not be won on the strength of numbers alone.
"Azgar is a warlord. But I can't just beat him in a battle," Ashar muttered to himself, mostly thinking out loud. He looked up at Rylah, who had come to sit by his side. "I need to make him distrust his own army."
Rylah raised an eyebrow. "How?"
"The same way the Orcs have always feared us. Divide and conquer. He's got a faction of Orcs loyal to him, but that loyalty is fragile. He doesn't lead them with respect, but through fear. If we can sow discord among his ranks, create doubt..."
"A civil war in their ranks," she finished for him.
"Exactly," Ashar said, a sly smile forming at the edge of his lips. "I'll make them fight each other."
The next few days were tense. Ashar's soldiers, bolstered by their new strength and determination, prepared for the incoming siege. But they were also preparing something else—an information campaign aimed at splintering the Orc factions. Ashar knew there were key Orc leaders who were dissatisfied with Azgar's rule. The question was how to turn that dissatisfaction into a full-blown revolt.
Meanwhile, Ashar found himself at a moral crossroads. Every decision he made seemed to weigh more heavily on his conscience. For every successful skirmish, there was a part of him that questioned whether he was doing the right thing. The Orcs had enslaved his people for generations. Revenge was tempting—almost intoxicating—but at what cost? Would they be any better than the Orcs if they became tyrants themselves?
"Rylah," Ashar said quietly one evening as they stood at the edge of the stronghold, watching the sun set over the distant mountains. "I've thought about this—about how far we've come. How much I've changed since I first started this fight. Sometimes... I wonder if we're just becoming the thing we fought against."
Rylah didn't answer immediately. She watched the horizon, then turned her gaze to him. "We're not the Orcs, Ashar. We're fighting for our freedom. We fight to protect those who can't protect themselves. You've become a leader because people believe in you. They follow you because you gave them hope. That's something worth fighting for."
Ashar's chest tightened at her words. He had to believe that. He had to.
Days passed, and the day of the battle arrived.
Azgar's forces arrived at dawn, and the siege began. Ashar's soldiers were ready. The battle raged, and while Azgar's forces were more numerous, Ashar's soldiers had the advantage of home turf and a deep understanding of guerrilla tactics. Every stone in the stronghold's walls was a potential weapon, and Ashar had planned for every possible attack.
For hours, the battle was a whirlwind of blood, steel, and fire. But slowly, Ashar saw the cracks in Azgar's forces. His plan was working—Azgar's Orcs were starting to turn on one another, distrust creeping into their ranks. The power struggle that had begun with Azgar's rise to power was now playing out on the battlefield. Orcs who had once fought loyally for their warlord were now questioning his authority, and it showed in the chaos of the battle.
But just as victory seemed within reach, a new complication arose. A larger force of Orc reinforcements, sent by Azgar's rival warlord, Gork, appeared on the horizon. It was clear now that the true battle was just beginning.
Ashar stood firm, his heart pounding in his chest. "Hold your ground!" he shouted. "We're not done yet. We finish this fight now—together!"
As his soldiers rallied, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something much bigger.