In the darkness of the narrow corridors, Garon's men crept silently, using the darkness as cover for their movements.
But suddenly, the lights flared up, followed by screams and the screeching of weapons. Before they could react, the castle's forces had surrounded them with astonishing speed.
As the attack intensified, Garon noticed something that sent a cold shiver down his spine.
Everything had changed... They were no longer facing disorganized, inexperienced soldiers as before.
Instead, they were confronted by a terrifyingly organized force, moving with military precision and high discipline.
Each soldier carried a heavy spear over two and a half meters long, made of solid ash wood, ending in a sharp iron head.
These spears were not for show; they were used to form a "shield wall"—a solid defensive tactic that was hard to penetrate even by heavy units.
At their sides hung short swords designed for close combat, along with oval wooden shields covered in leather and reinforced with iron strips, providing effective protection against arrows and light strikes.
The organization and combat preparation were far from ordinary.
This formation not only showcased high weaponry strength but also reflected professional training and clear battlefield discipline, making these soldiers a truly reliable fighting unit.
But what worried Garon the most was that these soldiers were on high alert, as if they had anticipated this attack long before.
In a moment of shock, Galmer froze in place, before the disturbing truth hit him:"They've spotted us... even before we arrived, a trap!""
One of the orcs suddenly shouted, but his cry was cut short—a spear tore through his chest, and he fell to the ground with a muffled thud, blood spilling between his trembling fingers.
Garon realized the terrifying truth in an instant.
Their plan had been exposed... their movements were being watched.
In that moment, he understood the painful reality:"We're not the hunters now... we are the prey."
And to make matters worse, the rest of the new forces in the fort, responsible for its defense, had also changed their tactics and were now lined up along the walls, ready for any imminent attack.
Their numbers had also noticeably increased, along with their unified appearance and the formidable military discipline they now exhibited.
What appeared before them was a formation of infantry unlike any random assembly.
A scene of infantry appeared, unlike any random formation.
The castle's soldiers wore iron ringtail armor covering their bodies up to mid-thigh, with padded tunics underneath to absorb the shock, providing protection without restricting movement.
Their heads were topped with hemispherical metal helmets equipped with nasal barriers, complemented by steel guards for their limbs—hands and knees.
Everything about them pointed to one thing:"This was not a random force, nor were they recruits new to battle."
They were facing an organized army... expertly trained... an army created for killing.How did this sudden shift in their aura and momentum occur?
He raised his hand and signaled for retreat, but it was too late.Arrows rained down like a storm from hidden positions, embedding into the bodies of the orcs, while castle soldiers surged from shadowed corners, closing off escape routes.
"There was no way out…"All that was left was to fight, but they were on enemy ground, completely surrounded.
Garon muttered, raising his sword to block an incoming strike, sparks flying from the clash of metal.In the blink of an eye, the ground turned into a burning hell.
From behind the barricades, human soldier formations appeared, moving with terrifying discipline.Long spears extended in tight ranks, their sharp heads glinting in the torchlight, while archers lined up behind, preparing their next shot.
"There was no room for retreat, no chance for repositioning…"The orcs had fallen into the heart of the trap, with no mercy and no escape.
Yet, despite everything, Garon was not a foolish leader.When he saw that the battle was lost from the very first moment, he raised his hand once again, signaling for a final retreat.
But... would anyone really escape?
Despite the chaos and bloodshed, Garon was not the type to give up easily.
Moreover, where could they run? They would die either way, so they could only choose to die in battle.
In a way, he was also an orc warrior, for they knew how to choose their death.
With every passing moment, arrows fell like rain, spears thrust forward with deadly precision, and the corridors grew narrower and narrower, until the castle walls seemed to close in on those within.
This was not just a battle… it was a meticulously planned slaughter.
Retreat, resistance, and death were the worst choices, for victory was impossible. It could be said that replacing their lives with the lives of the soldiers in front of them was the only thing they could do.
His red eyes blazed with fury, and his broad chest heaved with every breath, as if trying to swallow the poisoned air around him.
With a war cry that shook the very stones, he raised his double-bladed axe and swung it through the air, shouting in a voice like thunder:"Charge! Break their lines before they close in on us!"
Like the fuse of a volcano being lit, the orcs surged forward with fierce determination toward the human wall, their massive bodies slamming into the ground, their steps thundering like artillery fire.
They were a storm of chaos, advancing with brute force, swinging massive swords and axes, trying to carve their way through the tightly packed spears.
Some were fast enough to reach the front lines of the soldiers, where a terrifying battle broke out... a clash of iron and blood, with no mercy or respite.
A scream of pain, the sound of steel piercing flesh, moans stifled in throats, the echo of bones breaking—death harvested lives on both sides, but slowly, tilted in favor of one.
One orc raised a heavy sword like a sickle of death and struck a powerful blow toward a human soldier, but the latter didn't meet it with force.
Instead, he dodged it with the fluidity of an expert, and without hesitation, bent low and drove a dagger precisely between the orc's neck and shoulder joint.
The orc's scream quieted as hot blood flowed, and his body fell, twisting on the stone floor.
With every passing moment, the situation grew clearer: things were getting worse.
When a group of orcs attempted to retreat to reposition, they found the rear routes closed—new battalions of armored infantry, equipped with weapons specifically designed for narrow corridors—short swords, curved daggers, and even arrows with barbed tips for greater penetration.
"They're surrounding us!"
A sub-commander screamed, his voice laced with pain, after taking a brutal blow to his shoulder that forced him to drop to one knee.
But no enemy gave him the chance to rise again.
A human soldier approached quietly, driving his spear into the chest of another orc leader, lifting him off the ground like a ragdoll, before pulling the weapon free and letting the body fall with a muffled thud, like the sound of all hope coming to an end.
This was not just a defensive battle for the fortress… it was a meticulously planned encirclement operation.
The most humiliating thing about this was that the human soldiers in front of them didn't behave as usual.
They didn't charge recklessly as the orcs had experienced in their previous battles; instead, they moved with a clear plan, following silent orders and sequential tactics.
Every unit knew its role.
Even when one of the orcs broke through a human line, the soldiers didn't panic or retreat… instead, they split smoothly, then closed in on him like a vice, finishing him off within seconds.
Aron, watching his soldiers fall one by one, felt the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders.
Everything pointed to the end, but his pride wouldn't allow him to believe it.
And so, in the heart of hell, beneath a sky filled with the smoke of war and the cries of the dying, Garon realized the harsh truth: this night… no one might survive.
The hell around him was not a traditional battlefield.
The spears at the front formed a deadly wall, arranged like the fangs of a beast, preventing the orcs from advancing or even flanking.
The archers behind didn't act recklessly but fired their arrows like a deadly melody, hitting every gap, every weakness, every exposed neck with terrifying precision.
And on the flanks, support units moved with malicious speed, sealing off every side passage, cutting off any path for retreat or flanking.
All of this turned the battle into a shift in the balance of power—the orcs, who were used to dominating through force and savagery, became prey to a cold and effective tactic.
They were being drained. They had no space to impose their usual style of open combat, nor did they have the chance to regroup.
Garon, despite being a giant among his men, suddenly felt the weight of his weapon… he raised his axe to block an incoming blow, but it was slower than usual.
Blood flowed heavily from his side, and a faint pain pulsed in his chest.
Before he could regain his balance, a human soldier lunged at him with a short sword and drove it into his chest without hesitation.
The strike was not just physical… it was the end of a spirit.
Time stopped.Garon looked at the sword embedded in his chest, then at the soldier's face in front of him…He locked eyes with him for a moment, as if trying to memorize his features, then slowly fell to his knees, as though he had broken inside before his body died.
...
At the top, on one of the castle towers, Arthur stood.
He watched the scene from above, arms crossed, his face expressionless, as if watching a play whose ending he already knew.
One of his summoned soldiers approached, the same soldier who had ended Garon's life.
His footsteps were soft despite the hardness of the stone floor, and he bowed lightly before speaking:"As you expected, Vixthor. you are genius"
Arthur said in a calm voice, without taking his eyes off the massacre below:"thanks, my lord..."Vixthor responded , continuing to watch the battle with a certain coldness.
"They thought we were unprepared… and now, they're paying the price."
Few words... but they were enough to summarize everything.
The infiltration planned by the orcs, along with the intelligence they had gathered for it, was a plan conceived by Vixthor.
Arthur had initiated it with a bold and surprising step, which ended in the humiliation of the orc tribes' pride.
Every movement, every ambush, every arrow shot seemed to follow a meticulously designed script... no room for chance.
Although the spy who revealed their position had fled quickly, there were other methods that had thwarted his attempt.
Whenever any of these methods were used, ten archers would unleash their fire at once.
Even if the spies tried to move in winding paths or change their patterns, their efforts were in vain. It was impossible to cover up the arrows that would strike in an instant.
With this effective weapon, along with the tight protection from the crossbowmen, the orcs' first infiltration attempt was a complete failure.
Many spies were tragically killed, falling victim to the merciless arrows.
They had no chance to escape or even to regroup.
Although all the invading spies had been killed, the losses in the castle were not insignificant.
More than 15 soldiers were killed in precise and vengeful assassinations, while five vital firing positions were destroyed, along with dozens of thatched huts and tents in the square that served as the soldiers' quarters.
There were also poisons and traps that had been planted, which the special inspection battalions had to carefully investigate, adding a heavy burden on the soldiers in reorganizing the defenses.
The combat abilities of the spies were not particularly strong, but the damage they caused was enough to open Arthur's eyes to the reality of the situation.
As long as the attack was unpredictable, it was difficult to assess the extent of the damage that could be inflicted on the castle.
Perhaps this was why the leaders preferred to use such tactics—who wouldn't prefer to achieve a massive victory with the least effort possible?
In reality, this trick was also linked to the level of the new soldiers, whose defensive experience was weak, and they lacked the ability to adapt to invasions.
Had it not been for the summoned soldiers who served as their direct leaders and took care to train them in discipline and basic tactics over the past few months, the situation would have been far worse.