The stronghold stood firm against the morning light, its walls bustling with movement as people trained, reinforced fortifications, and prepared for the inevitable clash. Ashar walked the perimeter, noting the progress made. Despite the relentless pace, the morale seemed higher than it had been since their rebellion began.
Sorin approached, his face set with grim determination. "Ashar, we've received word from one of our scouts. Gorrok's forces are repositioning."
"Repositioning how?" Ashar asked, pausing to focus entirely on Sorin.
"They've moved a small detachment—perhaps fifty Orcs—toward the western forests. Likely a patrol or a test to draw us out," Sorin said. "But Gorrok himself hasn't moved. He's fortifying his main camp. It's as if he's daring us to attack."
Ashar's lips pressed into a thin line. "He's trying to bait us. He knows we can't match him in numbers."
Sorin nodded. "Exactly. But there's more. Our scouts report that one of Gorrok's lieutenants, Varok, is leading the patrol."
"Varok," Ashar repeated, the name sparking recognition. "He's the brute who led the assault on Brethar's village. I remember hearing the stories—he's brutal, but predictable."
"This could be an opportunity," Sorin suggested. "Taking him out would not only weaken Gorrok's forces but also send a message."
Ashar considered the risks. "We'd need to strike quickly and cleanly. Any hesitation could leave us vulnerable to retaliation."
"I'll lead the strike team," Sorin offered.
"No," Ashar said firmly. "I need you here, helping Rylah train the new recruits. I'll lead this mission myself."
Sorin frowned but didn't argue. "Who will you take with you?"
"I'll assemble a small team—Rylah, Varen, and two others who can move quietly. This isn't a fight; it's an assassination. We hit them hard and disappear."
The Assembly
Ashar gathered his chosen team in a secluded corner of the stronghold. Rylah stood beside him, her bow slung over her shoulder, while Varen's sharp eyes gleamed with anticipation. Two others joined them: Leona, a former hunter with unmatched tracking skills, and Bren, a wiry man whose quick reflexes made him deadly in close quarters.
"This mission is simple," Ashar began, his voice steady. "Varok is our target. We'll move under the cover of night, take him out, and retreat before the rest of his patrol can respond. Speed and silence are our priorities. Understood?"
The group nodded, their expressions resolute.
"Good," Ashar said. "We leave at dusk. Get your gear ready and rest if you can. This won't be easy."
The Enemy Camp
Night fell swiftly, cloaking the forest in shadows. The team moved like ghosts through the undergrowth, their movements precise and deliberate. Ashar led the way, his senses attuned to every sound and scent around them.
The enemy camp came into view—a crude but efficient setup with a central fire and scattered tents. Orcs lounged around the fire, their guttural laughter grating against the stillness of the night.
"There," Rylah whispered, pointing to a larger tent near the edge of the camp. "That must be Varok's."
Ashar nodded. "Leona, Bren—circle around and position yourselves near the sentries. If things go south, take them out quietly. Rylah and Varen, you're with me."
As Leona and Bren melted into the shadows, Ashar turned to Rylah and Varen. "We move in fast. No hesitation."
They crept closer, using the cover of trees and bushes to stay hidden. As they reached the edge of the camp, Ashar signaled for them to stop.
"Wait," he whispered, his eyes narrowing. "Something's not right."
The Trap
The moment the thought crossed his mind, the camp erupted into chaos. Orcs leaped from their positions, weapons drawn, their eyes gleaming with cruel anticipation.
"Ambush!" Ashar hissed, drawing his sword.
The team sprang into action. Rylah loosed arrows with deadly precision, each shot finding its mark. Varen moved like a whirlwind, his blade cutting down Orcs who got too close.
Ashar fought with brutal efficiency, his strikes precise and calculated. But the sheer number of Orcs was overwhelming.
"This wasn't just a patrol," Ashar growled, parrying a heavy blow. "They were waiting for us."
A deep, guttural laugh echoed through the chaos. Ashar turned to see Varok stepping forward, his massive frame illuminated by the firelight. He wielded a spiked mace, his expression twisted with amusement.
"You thought you could take me down so easily, human?" Varok sneered. "Fools."
Ashar met his gaze, his grip tightening on his sword. "We'll see who the fool is."
The Duel
The battle seemed to fade away as Ashar and Varok faced off. Varok charged with a roar, his mace swinging in a deadly arc. Ashar sidestepped, countering with a swift slash that grazed the Orc's arm.
"You're quick," Varok admitted, his tone mocking. "But that won't save you."
Ashar didn't respond, focusing on the rhythm of the fight. He studied Varok's movements, looking for patterns, weaknesses.
The duel was brutal and unrelenting, each strike echoing with the force of their determination. Ashar's sword danced in the firelight, deflecting Varok's powerful blows and striking with precision.
But Varok was no ordinary opponent. He was stronger, faster, and his strikes carried a weight that forced Ashar to stay on the defensive.
"Is this the best you've got?" Varok taunted, his mace slamming into the ground where Ashar had stood moments before.
Ashar gritted his teeth, his mind racing. He needed an opening—a way to turn the tide.
The Turning Point
As Varok raised his mace for another devastating blow, Ashar spotted his chance. Feinting to the left, he drew the Orc off balance. In a flash, he drove his blade into Varok's side, twisting it for maximum damage.
Varok roared in pain, swinging wildly. Ashar dodged, pulling his blade free and stepping back.
"Not so confident now, are you?" Ashar said, his voice low and steady.
Varok's eyes burned with rage. "You'll pay for that, human."
Before the Orc could retaliate, an arrow struck him in the chest, followed by another. Rylah emerged from the shadows, her bow trained on Varok.
"Stay down," she warned.
But Varok refused to yield. With a final, desperate roar, he lunged at Ashar.
Ashar met him head-on, his blade finding its mark. The Orc collapsed, his lifeblood staining the ground.
The Aftermath
The remaining Orcs scattered, their morale shattered by Varok's death. Leona and Bren rejoined the group, both unscathed but visibly shaken.
"We need to move," Ashar said, his voice firm despite his exhaustion. "Gorrok will know what happened here soon enough."
They retreated into the forest, leaving the broken camp behind.
As they walked, Ashar felt a glimmer of hope. Varok's death was a victory, a step toward weakening Gorrok's forces. But he knew the war was far from over.
For every Varok they defeated, there would be another. And Gorrok himself still loomed, a shadow over their fight for freedom.