79 The Ritual (1/2)

The mournful wailing of a horn sounded over the battlefield, and the attacking Orcs paused in their attacks and retreated. As they pulled back, some of the Orcs even kicked their fallen companions, waking them up. Those fallen Orcs with wounds that would have ordinarily killed a normal person just stood up and rubbed their heads grumpily before limping back to their lines.

Major Frank stood inside the Sawtooth Mountain Pass Defense Command Center, watching from cameras overwatching the Pass. He noticed an Orc with his arm blown off and a gory exit wound on his back, woke up from the battlefield when his own kin gave him a good kick.

It groggily shook its head and stood up, scratching his armpit with his good hand and stumbled after the rest. Frank frowned as he watched similar scenes happening throughout the battlefield.

”It seems like the Orcs don't die so easy,” Frank pointed out to Master Sergeant Pike standing at the tactical table.

Pike looked up from the map and glanced at the displays before commenting, ”Bloody things just soak up all the damage like a fucking bullet sponge.”

”Looks like about a hundred or so dead, maybe less and three, four hundred wounded,” Frank did a quick calculation from the images he saw on the displays.

”They are retreating, looks like the battle is over for the day,” Pike came next to Frank staring at the display. ”So far there isn't any serious casualties except for some dumb fucks who don't know how to duck when the rocks from the catapults hit the walls.”

”Those catapults are quite irritating,” Frank highlighted the dozens of man-portable catapults on the screen, that the Orcs were carrying back.

The crudely made catapults were just more like a very simple trebuchet made out of wooden spars lashed together and using muscle power to throw 40 to 50 kg rocks by having two or more of the orcs acting as counterweights, pulling the ropes while another Orc held on to the basket holding their ammunition of choice.

Once enough force is being applied or the poor Orc could no longer hold on to the basket, it will release the basket, throwing its contents towards the target, sometimes with the unfortunate Orc along as he couldn't release his hand in time, much to the enjoyment and laughter of its peers.

”Rotate the men for some rest and hot food,” Frank said, ”Double the watch tonight, I got a feeling they might change their tactics or try something funny soon. Send the men out to clear the field and replace any barb wires that need to be repaired.”

Pike saluted and left, smiling as he watched how the green Lieutenant had mature over the past few months and now a Major.

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Empire Camp, 1st Fallowfall Regiment of Swords, The Duke's Own.

Inside a gaudy looking tent large enough to house 20 to 30 people, Duke Sturm hunkered on a beautifully carved chair made out of darkwood. The tent was decorated lavishly with other furniture made of darkwood, making it a full set, which probably is worth over a thousand gold coins, while thick and rich carpets covered the tent floor. A small gold brazier kept the cold away, but with the crowd of officers surrounding a large table in the middle of the tent, the atmosphere inside felt stifling instead.

”My Lord,” Commander Elosen of the 3rd Fallowfall Regiment of Swords spoke, ”The Oerkin have been stuck in a stalemate with the rebels at the Pass for more than three days! Give me two days and my regiment will take the Pass for you!”

”Tsk,” A dark lean elf, armored in an ornate full plate with markings and colors identifying him as a Lancer, scorned Elosen. ”The distinguished 3rd Imperial Lancers had been wiped out fighting the rebels at the Pass, and that is without any defensive walls in place. What do you think your three thousand men can do when your better peers failed to do so?”

Commander Elosen growled at Luisa, Commander of the 2nd Fallowfall Lancers, ”You impertinent fool, shut your trap, who are your betters here?”

”Just stating a fact, well if you want to rush off to die, I shouldn't stop you,” Luisa gave a dismissal wave at Elosen, who turned red with rage, and stood up, going for his sword.

”ENOUGH!” Duke Sturm roared, banging the darkwood tabletop in front of him, scattering the silver plates of meat and fruits. ”Cease this nonsense now!”

Both Elsoen and Luisa, bowed and gave their apologies while sending glares at each other. The rest of the officers just shrugged as those two were always going for each other throats.

”We learned something in the past when dealing with these rebels,” A scholar looking elf wearing a monocle stood up and said, ”Since the last time we fought with them, they appeared to be capable of casting multiple Level 10 spells simultaneously. Also, it appears that the 'thundersticks' artifacts have changed, they now spew a large amount of smoke.”

”What are you trying to say here, Dular?” Elosen impatiently grumbled. ”Get to the point!”

”I am trying to say that, the rebels are much stronger than before,” The scholar Dular, dressed in a dark blue trench coat, with silver runic markings replied. ”We must be more careful this time.”

Lord Sturm nodded, he had already taken a few more measures compared to previously. His lifeguards ringed his tent, and sentry wards were placed to cover all approaches to the camps. Even his own tent, spells were woven to protect him from any attacks, both physical and magical.

”The Oerkin commander had informed me that they are gonna, cast the Ritual tonight,” Sturm told his men, who started to whisper among themselves uncomfortably. ”Let the dogs have their chance then we see.”