The newly constructed defenses, a significant improvement over their previous erected fortifications, stood as silent testament to the initial urgency that had now begun to wane.

Major Gresham, observing this shift, summoned Sergeant Odric and Agis to his tent. The tent, larger and better appointed than those of the other soldiers, reflected the Major’s position within the hierarchy.

He instructed them to scout the area and ascertain the orcs’ current activities. Odric and Agis, considered the best scouts in the camp, accepted the order without protest, though a flicker of apprehension crossed their faces as they left the tent.

The mission carried inherent risks; there was no guarantee of reinforcement should they encounter the orcs. The prospect of a confrontation, isolated and outnumbered, was undeniably daunting. Despite the gravity of the situation, neither man voiced objection.

The following day unfolded as a meticulous process of preparation. Twenty-four men, including Odric and Agis, methodically checked their equipment: ropes, field dressings, rations, and weapons. They aimed for a balance between preparedness and mobility, understanding that excessive weight would hinder their speed and efficiency in the challenging mountain terrain.

The group ascended the Tekarr Mountains, their movements deliberate and silent. Their expertise in camouflage and stealth allowed them to seamlessly integrate with the environment, their dark uniforms blending with the shadows of the craggy peaks. Their destination: the site of the previous battle.

Reaching the battlefield, they found it strangely pristine. The landscape was devoid of the usual carnage: no corpses, no discarded weapons, no scattered armor. Only the lingering scent of blood betrayed the recent violence.

“The orcs did this?” Agis asked, his voice carrying a note of disbelief. Orcs were not known for such a thing, they would always leave it to nature to deal with the battlefield.

“Perhaps,” Odric replied, equally perplexed by the unusual tidiness of the battlefield.

Further investigation revealed freshly turned earth in a relatively large area. The size of the disturbed ground suggested a significant number of bodies.

“Do you think they buried them here?” Agis queried, his gaze fixed on the disturbed soil.

“Only one way to find out,” Odric responded, his tone devoid of emotion. He then directed several men to begin digging.

After excavating approximately two meters, a hand emerged from the earth, followed by more remains. The systematic uncovering of the bodies revealed a grim reality – a mass grave. Layer upon layer of corpses were unearthed. The faces, when visible, were contorted in silent agony, and their uniforms showed the unmistakable signs of Threian soldiers.

“By the gods…” Agis muttered, his voice barely audible above the sounds of digging. The sight was horrific – a testament to a brutal and thorough slaughter.

“How many?” One of the scouts asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Odric didn’t answer immediately. He just pointed to another spot, and they continued digging. The gruesome task continued for hours, with the recovery of more bodies. The number continued to grow, painting a horrific picture of the battle’s true scale, a scene far more brutal than the previous, initial assessments had suggested.

“We should report this to the Major at once,” Agis stated, his voice strained. The sheer magnitude of the discovery was staggering.

“Agreed,” Odric replied, and the men stopped digging. They began reburying the bodies of their comrades. Odric, his face grim, led his Threain scouting party down the treacherous slopes towards their abandoned camp in the Narrow Pass. The path, barely more than a goat track, wound between jagged rocks and sparse vegetation.

The air hung heavy with the scent of fresh wood and damp earth, overlaid by the faint, acrid tang of iron and decay that clung to the passing wind. The camp itself appeared untouched. Tents, constructed from hides and wood, lay undisturbed.

“Spread out,” Odric commanded, his voice low and clipped. “Check for signs. Every inch of this ground.”

The Threains fanned out, their movements practiced and efficient. They meticulously examined the ground, their fingers probing the soil for disturbed earth, their eyes scanning for broken twigs or discarded refuse.

Hours passed in this painstaking search. They checked around the cooking area, running their fingers through ash and embers, searching for signs of recent activity. They checked the makeshift latrines, sniffing the ground for telltale scents of orc excrement. They found nothing conclusive to suggest orcish presence. Not even the slightest sign of a footprint, a discarded weapon, or a stray piece of orcish clothing.

Unseen, from the concealing shadows of the overhanging pines, a squad of Verakhs observed the Threains’ thorough but fruitless search. These Verakhs, elite orcish warriors known for their stealth and cunning, were unlike the common orcish warriors. They were trained to be stronger, and more adaptable, with a chilling proficiency in assassination and sabotage.

“Should we attack the pinkskins?” a Verakh whispered, his voice a guttural rasp barely audible above the wind’s mournful sigh.

Their leader, a hulking figure with scarred skin, shook his head. “We observe only. Our presence must remain unknown.”

Back at the camp, Odric surveyed the scene. The absence of any orcish signs was unsettling. “They believe our main army still occupies the Pass,” he announced, his voice echoing in the stillness. “That’s why they haven’t visited this place.”

After a brief rest, Odric led the Threains towards the other end of the Narrow Pass, where the main orcish encampment was believed to be. They moved with the silent precision of predators, utilizing the natural cover of the mountainsides.

Unbeknownst to them, the Verakh squad continued their covert surveillance, maintaining a safe distance while tracking their every move. Their silent tread was nearly imperceptible on the rocky ground. The Verakhs were the perfect shadows.

Reaching the crest of a ridge, Odric and his scouts finally saw the orcish camp. A sprawling city of crudely erected tents stretched as far as the eye could see, a neatly organized row of tents against the backdrop of the mountains.

“Over ten thousand, at least,” Agis breathed, his gaze sweeping over the countless tents, the flickering fires, and the milling orcs. The stench of decay and unwashed bodies was overpowering at this distance.

“They’re still here,” Odric confirmed, his voice flat. “They haven’t discovered our army’s withdrawal.”

Odric signaled for a retreat. The Threains silently melted back into the shadows, moving with practiced ease through the rough terrain, their mission accomplished. They moved quickly, their previous careful pace abandoned. The information they carried was vital, and speed was their only priority.

Again, unseen, the Verakhs followed, their silent pursuit relentless. They had observed the Threains’ hasty departure. The Verakhs exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them.

Their mission was to simply observe, for now.

The flickering lamplight cast long shadows across Major Gresham’s war-worn face as Odric and Agis entered his tent. The air hung thick with the smell of stale sweat, and dried mud – a familiar aroma in days of spending in the wilds. Odric, his face grim, placed a stained map on the table. Agis, his clothes torn is some places and covered with mud, stood rigidly at attention.

“Major,” Odric began, his voice low and even, “The orcish army seemed to believe that our army is still stationed in the Narrow Pass.”

Gresham ran a calloused hand over his stubbled chin. “Explain.”

“We arrived at our previous camp within the Narrow Pass,” Agis interjected, “And meticulously search for any sign of it being visited by the orcs but none were found.”

“That seems to be the reason why till now we still haven’t seen any sign of the orcs.” Odric suggested.

“Very likely,” Gresham replied, “And about the orcs, are they still within the Narrow Pass?” he questioned.

“They are still within the Narrow Pass. We observed their camp for a brief moment, and based on the number of tents that is erected within their camp, their number is well over ten thousand.” Agis reported.

“Hmm…Over Ten Thousand,” Gresham hummed to himself.

“You can go and take your much needed rest. Get some booze from the supplies to celebrate with your men of your successful mission,” the Major dismissed them and sat down on his chair while staring at the marked map in front of him.

With the orcs still not discovering their withdrawal, he would still have time to make some extra preparations before their next inevitable clash. Although he didn’t want to ask for help from that woman, he had to, in order to guarantee that he can deal as much damage against the orcs as much as possible.

The Major then began writing a letter, on it he was requesting additional troops, more of the Threian Marksmen and additional Thunder Makers. After finishing the letter, he sealed it with his personal crest then called for a messenger.

“The message needs to be delivered urgently. Take three horses along with you if needed, but that letter needs to reach her within a day.” Major Gresham instructed to which the messenger nodded his head in acknowledgement.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep