Just as the first group of orcs stepped onto the opposite bank, a row of torches suddenly lit up the riverbank. The Alda garrison, lying in ambush, was already on high alert. The roar of cannons and volleys of gunfire instantly shattered the tranquil night. Countless jets of water exploded on the river's surface, and orc warriors who were hit sank into the water, their blood spreading on the surface before being quickly dispersed by the turbulent current.
The one-eyed general, who was personally leading the expedition, roared and ordered a retreat in the middle of the river. His warhorse was hit by a cannonball, and its heavy body nearly dragged him to the bottom of the river. In the end, the soaking wet orc remnants retreated in disarray to the east bank, and the river crossing operation ended in a disastrous failure.
"Messenger!" The one-eyed general grabbed a soldier beside him, his only eye burning with resentful rage. "Go tell the Great Chieftain that Stone Bridge Town is a tough nut to crack; we need siege equipment and more troops!"
As the retreat horns sounded, the orc vanguard camped two miles outside the city. The groans of the wounded rose and fell in the firelight. On the city walls, Major Hodgson gazed at the distant, scattered campfires, knowing the real test was yet to come— Abar's main army was on its way.
The orc messenger's warwolf screeched to a halt before Abar's golden tent, kicking up a cloud of dust. The Great Chieftain, who was enjoying roasted venison with his generals, raised his cup high when he saw the newcomer.
"They took it so quickly?" Abar's laughter shook the brazier inside the tent. "Looks like that Gluck kid has some skill after all!"
The messenger suddenly knelt down, his forehead pressed against the carpet: " Great Chieftain, Stone Bridge Town... we can't get in!"
The laughter inside the golden tent abruptly ceased. The wine glass in Abar's hand suddenly shattered, and amber-colored wine dripped through his fingers.
"Useless!" His furious roar made the totem banners on the tent flap flutter. "Gluck led five thousand elite troops, yet couldn't even take a small border town?"
Someone inside the tent whispered, "Perhaps the defenders are stronger than expected."
"Bullshit!" Abar slammed his fist on the low table in front of him, sending the roasted venison rolling onto the wool carpet. " The main force of the Northwest is clearly in Laois!" His bronze face flushed purple, and the veins on his neck writhed like earthworms. "Go tell Gluck that if he's still squatting outside the city when I arrive in person—" His battle axe slammed into the ground, "I'll fill the moat with his head!"
Outside the tent, the night wind carried the distant stench of blood across the battle flags. As the messenger scrambled out of the golden tent, he heard the Great Chieftain roaring, urging the engineers to speed up the assembly of the battering ram.
Keluge's fingers nearly crushed the message scroll, Abar's words, "Fill the trench with his head," still ringing in his ears. Cold sweat seeped from his rough palms, soaking the frantic handwriting on the scroll. In the distance, the outline of Stone Bridge Town loomed in the twilight, the lights on the city walls like mocking eyes.
"Summon the night raiders." Keluge's voice was colder than the night wind, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed his fear. He clearly remembered the fate of the last general who had disappointed the Great Chieftain —that man's skull was now a wine glass in the Golden Tent.
The one-eyed orc general decided to organize a night raid before dawn.
As the moon was swallowed by the clouds, five hundred elite orcs had assembled. They coated their armor with mud to eliminate glare and wrapped their weapons in strips of cloth to prevent impact. Keluge personally inspected each warrior's equipment, his fingers trembling as he tightened the leather straps of a young orc's armor.
"Remember," he whispered to the front of the ranks, a bitter taste of bile rising in his throat, "either return victorious, or fill the trenches with our corpses." The soldiers silently bumped fists, their fangs gleaming in the shadows.
Led by Keluge himself, under the perfect cover of night, the group approached the city walls like ghosts. Compared to human soldiers, orcs had excellent night vision; even with the malnutrition on Great Prairie, night blindness was extremely rare. He clearly spotted the sentries on the battlements—they were vigilantly observing their surroundings, but unfortunately, they failed to notice the approaching small orc force.
The orc scout at the forefront had already reached the edge of the city wall and was using sign language to indicate that it was safe.
Keluge growled, and the orc warriors immediately drew steel grappling hooks from their waists. These three-pronged hooks gleamed coldly in the moonlight, their ends wrapped with oil-soaked hemp rope. With a whooshing sound, a dozen grappling hooks precisely gripped the crenellations of the city wall.
"Go!" Keluge commanded in a low voice, and the strong orc warriors immediately began to climb, gripping the ropes. Their muscles were taut like bowstrings in the night, and their sharp claw boots dug deep into the crevices of the rocks.
Just as the first group of soldiers had climbed halfway up the city wall, a sharp whistle suddenly rang out. Immediately afterward, several blinding white lights burst forth, the glaring light pouring down like divine punishment.
This is a magnesium powder flare, the latest creation of Northwest Bay Chemical Technology, which has just been deployed to the military.
"The curse of the gods—!" Keluge closed his eyes in agony; the orc's keen night vision had become a fatal weakness. The figures clinging to the wall were clearly visible in the bright light, like insects nailed to a specimen board.
"Fire!" The calm command of the human officer rang out from the city wall. Amidst the roar of volleys of gunfire, the climbing orcs plummeted like overripe fruit. One warrior, though hit, clung desperately to the rope, leaving a long trail of blood on the wall.
Keluge staggered backward, the green flare still lingering on his retina. He heard Militia cheering from the city walls, and the clicking of the teeth of the soldiers behind him, chattering with fear.
The Great Chieftain's threat still echoed in our ears, but at this moment, the walls of Stone Bridge Town appeared higher and more insurmountable than mountains in the intense light.
Keluge let out a heart-wrenching roar, his single eye flashing with final madness. He yanked out two battle axes, his eyes reflecting a blood-red light in the flare's glow.
"For the glory of Zarg—!"
He charged toward the city wall like a wounded beast, his boots trampling over the still-warm bodies of his comrades. On the wall, a dozen rifles simultaneously locked onto his sprinting figure.
The first bullet struck his left shoulder, exploding in a cloud of blood. Keluge staggered, but instead ran even faster. The second bullet pierced his thigh, causing him to kneel on one knee, before struggling to his feet again. When the third bullet pierced his lung, he finally collapsed, spewing blood, at the foot of the city wall.
"Continue." His bloodied fingers dug five bloody marks into the stone wall, his one eye fixed on the top. Then, the fourth and fifth bullets struck his back almost simultaneously, making the orc general tremble like a rag doll.
Finally, Keluge fell face down in a pool of blood, his two battle axes clattering to the ground. His body lay precisely at the beginning of the road paved with orc blood—a blood-soaked path that stretched from the city walls all the way to the orc camp, littered with the blood of the warriors who had fallen that night.
The flares on the city wall gradually went out, and moonlight once again enveloped the battlefield.