Khao’khen with his unique mindset among all the orcs, with his scarred green skin and tusks protruding from his lower jaw, his gaze upon the horizon. Before him, a young orcish scout, barely a real warrior among the orcs, presented a crumpled scroll.

The scroll, secured with a strip of dried leather, detailed the Threian retreat from the Verakhs who were deep within the Lag’rana Mountains. The Verakhs with their expertise in camouflaging themselves remained undetected from the Threian sentries and scouts. Their sudden departure was unexpected.

Khao’khen examined the scroll with unhurried deliberation. His gaze lingered on the crudely drawn depictions of Threian weaponry – the “boomsticks,” long tubes that spat fire and death, and the “thunder makers,” larger devices that unleashed deafening explosions. He understood the strategic implications. The Threian retreat granted Khao’khen’s forces valuable time. Time to study their adversaries’ weaponry, to plan their next move, and to maximize their advantage, especially the weapons that they have taken as spoils.

The orcish camp, a sprawling collection of tents made from animal hides and rough-hewn timbers, was a scene of relative calm. Orcs, their faces grimy and scarred, went about their routine tasks.

Some sharpened their crude blades, the rasping sound of steel on stone echoing through the camp. Others cleaned their weaponry, the gleam of blood still visible on many of the axes and clubs.

The air hung heavy with the smell of sweat, blood, and roasting meat. A few younger orcs engaged in boisterous games of strength, their laughter a stark contrast to the grim determination etched onto the faces of the veteran warriors.

The Threians guard posts, a rocky outcrop overlooking the Threian encampment, was now deserted. Evidence of their hasty departure was strewn about: broken shards of Threian weaponry, discarded tools, and a lingering musky odor.

The Threians, known for their aggressive advances, did not typically abandon their camps without a compelling reason. The sudden absence piqued Khao’khen’s curiosity, adding another layer of complexity to the situation.

Khao’khen dismissed the messenger with a grunt. The young orc scurried away. Khao’khen then summoned his available commanders – Maghazz, an orc of few words but was efficient in leading the Verakhs; and Sakh’arran, a developing and adaptable strategist who is slowly being influenced by him. They arrived promptly, their expressions reflecting a cautious respect for their leader.

Khao’khen gestured to the map spread out before him, a crudely drawn depiction of the surrounding terrain. He pointed to the Threian camp, now eerily silent, and then to their observation post, marked by a small, blood-red symbol.

He used a crude bone pointer to trace the path the Threian army had taken in their retreat. No detailed information accompanied the map, the specifics left for his commanders to interpret and piece together through their own observations.

Maghazz, his face a mask of grim satisfaction, suggested an immediate pursuit. He was eager to engage the Threians in open battle. Sakh’arran, however, advocated for caution. He proposed using the Threian retreat to their advantage, to study their tactics and weaponry. He emphasized the need to learn from the enemy before launching a full-scale attack.

Khao’khen listened patiently, his expression unchanged. He weighed the options, carefully considering the risks and rewards of each approach. The information gathered by his scouts, while limited, indicated that a direct confrontation would be risky at this moment, regardless of Maghazz’s eagerness.

The Threian retreat had created an opportunity, a moment to gain knowledge instead of expending their resources directly in a high-risk engagement. The longer they waited, the better they could understand the capabilities of the Threian “boomsticks” and “thunder makers”.

Finally, Khao’khen made his decision. He would not pursue the Threians immediately. He would use the time to study their weaponry and tactics. He ordered his scouts to intensify their surveillance of the Threian camp and to gather any information they could about their movements.

He ordered his warriors to remain in camp, to rest and prepare for the inevitable clash to come, while he and his commanders began planning their next move. The slow burn of revenge would have to wait.

For now, intelligence gathering would dictate their strategy. The blood spilled today would be a small price for the victory that would surely come. The orcs, not very patient predators, would have to wait for their chance to strike.

Two days had passed since the Threians made their retreat. Major Gresham, positioned at his command post overlooking the Narrow Pass, observed the stillness.

His expectation of an immediate orcish counter-offensive had not materialized. The pass remained eerily quiet, devoid of any sign of orcish activity. The landscape, scarred by previous conflicts – shattered trees, pitted earth, and the lingering stench of decay – served as a stark reminder of the battle’s ferocity.

Gresham ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the lines on his face deepening with each passing moment. His initial assessment of the orcs as a disorganized rabble was now under serious scrutiny.

The memory of Captain Baldred’s warnings resurfaced: “These aren’t the orcs we’ve faced before, Major. Treat them as a proper army, with command, strategy, and discipline.” Baldred’s words, previously dismissed as hyperbole, now echoed with chilling accuracy.

The way that the orcs conducted the previous battles were evidence enough to support the Captain’s claim about the orcs. They have displayed something that no orcs have ever shown before. He had always treated the orcs as barbarians but with far more physical prowess and resilience, but now, he had to reevaluate them.

The previous engagement replayed in his mind. The orcs hadn’t simply blundered into a frontal assault. They had demonstrated a level of tactical awareness previously unseen in orcish warfare. Their strategy to draw out the Threian artillery had been audacious in its simplicity, yet flawlessly executed.

The orcs had skillfully engaged the Threian soldiers stationed on the Tekarr Mountains, drawing their fire and revealing the positions of the Threian “Thunder Makers,” as Gresham’s men called the artillery pieces.

This was followed by a swift, decisive strike against the artillery emplacements, a brutal and efficient operation. The initial barrage from the Threian artillery, which the orcs weathered with surprising resilience, was followed by a swift, deadly counter-attack that overwhelmed the artillery group. The destruction of Faris’ artillery group had left Deramis’ infantry hopelessly exposed and vulnerable. The subsequent Threian retreat was disorganized and costly.

Gresham reviewed the battlefield reports. The accounts detailed brutal close-quarters combat, with orcs wielding proper and sharp weaponry. Many of the Threian soldiers had perished not from distance attacks, but from hand-to-hand fighting, their weapons broken or knocked from their grasp, their bodies mutilated.

The brutality of the orcish assault was evident in the detailed descriptions of mangled limbs and crushed skulls. The reports spoke of organized squads, coordinated movements, and a level of discipline far exceeding anything Gresham had previously encountered in orcish engagements. The orcs displayed a methodical approach, moving swiftly and efficiently, utilizing the terrain to their advantage.

He reviewed the casualty reports, the numbers stark and unforgiving. The destruction of the artillery battery had led to a cascading effect, leaving several Threian battalions dangerously exposed. Their withdrawal had been chaotic, resulting in heavy losses.

The battlefield was littered with the remnants of the conflict – broken weapons, discarded shields, and the grim tableau of the fallen. The precise nature of the orcish attack, their calculated movements and effective use of tactics, demonstrated a sophistication he’d never before witnessed in orcish warfare.

Gresham’s fingers traced the map, his gaze lingering on the strategic points of the previous battle. The orcs’ calculated movements, their ambush tactics, and their decisive strikes painted a picture of military prowess far exceeding his initial assessment. Their control of the Narrow Pass and surrounding terrain allowed them to dictate the terms of engagement, the terrain itself becoming a weapon of war.

The absence of further orcish movement was itself a worrying sign. It suggested patience, a willingness to wait for a more advantageous opportunity. They were not simply a brute force, but a calculated and methodical enemy. The silence was heavier than the sound of battle.

The orcs were not merely savage beasts; they were a disciplined and strategically-minded force capable of inflicting devastating losses. Their calculated, measured actions had undermined his strategic planning. The confidence he’d possessed two days ago was gone, replaced by a profound unease.

Gresham let out a low groan, the sound muffled by the weight of his realization. “Oh, what a headache,” he muttered, the words barely audible above the wind whistling through the ravaged landscape.

The seemingly simple task of repelling an orcish advance had transformed into a complex, potentially catastrophic situation, demanding a fundamental reassessment of his strategy and his understanding of the enemy.

He was facing an enemy far more cunning, far more dangerous, than he had ever imagined. The quiet of the pass held a far more ominous weight than the roar of battle. The silence was a prelude, not an end.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep