The high sun cast long shadows across the blood-soaked field. Lieutenant Deramis, his face grim, barked orders in Threian, his voice barely audible above the roar of the orcish advance. His infantry, a ragged line of tired men, desperately tried to hold the line against a tide of brutal savagery. Their shields, battered and splintered, offered meager protection against the relentless onslaught.

“Hold the line! For the marksmen!” Deramis yelled, his voice hoarse. He thrust his sword, a scarred and dented blade, into the chest of an orc that lunged at him. The orc’s guttural shriek cut short as he collapsed, a gurgling mess of blood and viscera.

Around him, the Threian infantry fought with grim determination. Swords clashed against axes and crudely fashioned clubs. The air filled with the stench of sweat, blood, and the raw, animalistic odor of the orcs. Each Threian soldier fought with the desperate knowledge that their stand bought precious time for the Threian Marksmen to find a suitable position.

“They’re almost there!” a soldier shouted from the rear, pointing towards a rocky mound on the rear.

“Keep them back! Just a little longer!” Deramis responded, thrusting his sword through the throat of another orc, this time a larger one, adorned with crude bone jewelry.

The orcish horde pressed forward, a wave of muscular flesh and sharpened weapons. Their numbers seemed endless. The Threian line, already stretched thin, began to buckle under the relentless pressure.

A particularly large orc, clad in tattered furs and wielding a massive greataxe, began to carve a path through the Threian ranks. His armor was a patchwork of scavenged metal and leather, and his face was a mask of brutal ferocity. This was Dhug’mur, the orc warlord.

“It’s a chieftain!” a soldier screamed, his voice filled with terror.

Dhug’mur’s greataxe cleaved through shields and men alike. His every swing was a death sentence. The Threian line shattered before his onslaught as if it were merely a fragile curtain.

Men fell, screaming, their bodies torn asunder. The organized defense quickly transformed into chaotic retreat, punctuated by the screams of dying men.

“Fall back!” Deramis shouted, but his voice was lost in the chaos of battle. He tried to fight his way back, desperate to organize a last-ditch defense, but the orcs were everywhere.

Dhug’mur, spotting Deramis, let out a roar that shook the very ground. He charged towards the lieutenant, his greataxe raised high. Deramis managed to deflect the greataxe, but the follow-up attack which was a kick, hit him squarely in his chest.

The impact sent him flying, a ragdoll hurled through the air, landing hard on the ground several feet away. He landed with a sickening crunch. The force of the blow knocked the air from his lungs, and he felt a sharp, searing pain ripping through his ribs.

The world spun before his eyes as he heard the sounds of battle fading into a muffled roar. Blood welled up in his mouth. The sounds of the battle faded into a low, ominous hum.

The orcish horde surged past him, their brutality echoing in their deafening war cries. Dhug’mur, indifferent to Deramis’s fate, turned to continue his bloodthirsty advance, leaving the lieutenant lying amidst the carnage.

The Threian Marksmen, finally reaching their vantage point, began to fire, but their shots were too late to save those who were being overrun by the orcs. Their line of infantry were shattered and the fate of the lieutenant was unknown. The sounds of death and destruction continued ringing out across the ravaged field.

“They’re firing!” a soldier yelled to his comrades. He coughed up blood and tried to lift his head. The marksmen’s shots started to take their toll. The sounds of falling orcs mingled with the cries of the dying. However, it would not be enough to turn the tide.

The Threian infantry are fighting bravely, but they were being overwhelmed by sheer brute force. Their sacrifice, however, had bought their marksmen the time they needed to take their positions.

The world swam back into focus for Deramis. His vision, previously a dizzying vortex, sharpened. A searing pain lanced through his chest, a dull throb replacing the earlier, agonizing intensity.

“That freaking hurts, you bastard!” he roared, the sound raw with pain and fury. A palpable surge of energy erupted from him, a bluish luminescence enveloping his body. His battle energy, dormant until now, flared to life.

His weapon, previously dull, now shimmered with the same bluish light, its edge honed to razor sharpness. An orc, charging with a guttural roar, met Deramis’ blade. The encounter was swift, brutal.

A single, casual swing cleaved the orc in two, a fountain of blood erupting from the severed torso. The orc’s legs continued their forward momentum for a few steps before collapsing in a heap.

“My turn!” Deramis bellowed, his eyes burning with anger. His rampage began. Orcs fell before him in a relentless tide of precisely executed strikes. Their crude weapons glanced harmlessly off his battle-energy-enhanced armor, their blows causing minor stings at most. He moved with terrifying efficiency, his blade a blur of motion.

Periodically, he unleashed bursts of blade energy, concussive waves of bluish light that tore through clusters of orcs. Explosions of gore and scattered limbs punctuated the battlefield as his energy attacks found their marks.

A wide swathe around Deramis quickly became a charnel house, a testament to his brutal efficiency. The carnage attracted more orcs; their inherent bloodlust driving them towards the source of the slaughter. This was precisely what Deramis intended. The orcs, as expected, swarmed him, presenting him with a concentrated target.

For over an hour, the battle raged. Wave after wave of orcs crashed against Deramis, their attacks proving utterly futile. He fought with a grim determination, fueled by adrenaline and rage.

His breathing grew ragged, his muscles screamed in protest, but he showed no sign of tiring. The ground around him was a carpet of orcish corpses, a testament to his unrelenting assault.

“There you are!” Deramis grinned, spotting Dhug’mur amidst the chaos. The orc who had initially hurled him away stood defiant, his eyes gleaming with a savage intensity.

Their weapons clashed, a jarring clang that resonated across the battlefield. Dhug’mur’s raw strength met Deramis’ battle-enhanced might. Unexpectedly, Deramis pushed back, his grin widening as he forced the larger orc to retreat.

“A worthy foe!” Dhug’mur roared, his voice a guttural bellow. He braced himself and unleashed a torrent of attacks, a frenzied assault designed to overwhelm his opponent.

The ensuing duel was a whirlwind of clashing metal and flying gore. Both combatants moved with blinding speed, their attacks a maelstrom of brutal efficiency. Neither warrior gave an inch, their exchange a dance of death played out amidst the carnage of the battlefield.

The sheer power of their attacks kept all other combatants at bay, creating a vacuum of space around their titanic struggle. Dhug’mur swung a mighty blow, nearly cleaving Deramis in two but the blade was deflected at the last moment. A counter-attack by Deramis sent a geyser of orcish blood into the air as his blade found its mark, slicing deep into Dhug’mur’s shoulder.

Dhug’mur roared in pain, his fury escalating. He retaliated with a savage, desperate ferocity, aiming for Deramis’ exposed chest. Deramis parried the blow, the force of the impact sending him staggering.

His breath hitched in his throat, his body momentarily weakened. He used the opportunity to deliver a swift kick to Dhug’mur’s knee, bringing the enormous orc to his knees.

Exploiting this opening, Deramis moved in for the kill, his blade arcing downwards toward the orc’s neck. Dhug’mur reacted swiftly, deflecting the blow with a desperate motion of his arms.

Yet, this mere deflection was insufficient to completely evade Deramis’s lethal blow. The blade still sliced deeply across Dhug’mur’s chest, opening up a gushing wound. Dhug’mur roared and curled up a fist striking Deramis’ face in retaliation. Deramis staggered back after receiving the punch and shook his head to get rid of the its effects on him.

The clash resumed with a flurry of Deramis’s strikes. His blade, a shimmering silver, danced a lethal ballet, connecting repeatedly with Dhug’mur’s crudely fashioned armor.

The blow sliced through Dhug’mur’s armor or what was left of it, leaving a ragged gash across his shoulder. Another found its mark on his forearm, drawing a roar – a guttural, animalistic sound – as the blade severed tendons and muscle.

Deramis pressed his advantage, a series of precise thrusts and parries creating a whirlwind of iron and blood. Dhug’mur staggered, his face contorted in a mask of pain and fury.

Blood streamed down his face, obscuring one eye. Another blow opened a deep wound on his thigh, causing him to stumble, nearly falling to his knees. Despite the accumulating injuries, Dhug’mur remained on his feet, his rage fueling his resilience.

“You are a great warrior, pinkskin,” Dhug’mur roared, his voice thick with pain and exertion. “But you will not break me!”

Deramis, momentarily pausing to assess his opponent, noted the deep crimson staining Dhug’mur’s crude armor, and the increasingly desperate nature of his opponent’s parries.

He continued his assault, targeting gaps in the armor with calculated precision. A deep cut bisected Dhug’mur’s left eyebrow, narrowly missing his eye. He felt the edge of victory, a certainty that this brutal exchange would soon conclude in his favor.

“Is that all you’ve got,” Deramis mocked, his voice steady, betraying no sign of the exertion visible in his slightly ragged breathing. He moved with a predatory grace, his blade finding openings with frightening ease. A swift strike across Dhug’mur’s chest forced the brute to cough up a mouthful of blood.

Another strike caught Dhug’mur squarely across his knee joint, bringing him down to one knee. He roared again, an earth-shattering bellow of pain and defiance. Deramis raised his blade for the killing blow.

“It ends now,” Deramis stated, his words sharp as the blade poised above Dhug’mur.

But Dhug’mur, despite his grievous injuries, grabbed Deramis’s leg with surprising strength, yanking him off balance. Deramis reacted swiftly, recovering his posture; however, the unexpected action allowed Dhug’mur to get his axe, a brutal weapon seemingly carved from a single, immense piece of petrified wood, within striking range.

With a grunt of exertion, Dhug’mur swung the axe with raw power, ignoring the searing pain in his wounded knee. The axe grazed Deramis’s left side, slicing through his armor, tearing into his flesh. The attack shocked Deramis, who had underestimated his opponent’s tenacity.

“Fool!” Dhug’mur bellowed, his voice a ragged whisper. “You underestimated my resilience!”

Deramis stumbled back, clutching the wound in his side. Blood blossomed across his tunic, staining his once pristine armor crimson. The initial advantage was gone.

The fight had shifted. Dhug’mur, despite his considerable injuries, was slowly but surely regaining his footing. The initial burst of aggressive attacks, which initially seemed overwhelming, were slowing in speed and power. The wounds sustained by Deramis were impairing his mobility and reducing the efficiency of his defense.

“I will not lose to an orc!” Deramis gritted, his voice strained but firm. He lunged forward with a desperate attack, a series of thrusts aimed at Dhug’mur’s vulnerable spots, the effectiveness lessened by his pain.

Dhug’mur parried the blows, his axe moving with a clumsy but unexpectedly effective efficiency. Each parry chipped away at Deramis’s stamina and resolve. A blow to the head, although only a glancing one, caused Deramis to stumble. The steady, aggressive attacks of Deramis were replaced by a desperate defense.

Dhug’mur, fueled by a ferocious adrenaline rush and an almost supernatural endurance, pressed his advantage. His movements were slower, less graceful than Deramis’s but carried a raw power that was slowly overwhelming the pinkskin.

His axe, now heavy with blood, connected heavily against Deramis’s armor, sending shocks up the smaller warrior’s limbs. With each strike, the sound of metal against metal became less sharp, the power behind the attacks of Deramis noticeably weakening.

Another blow landed, this time connecting solidly with Deramis’s shoulder, dislocating the joint with a sickening crunch. Deramis screamed, a sharp, high-pitched sound that was swallowed by the sounds of the battle. He fell to his knee, his blade falling from his weakened grasp. Dhug’mur roared in triumph, his axe raised high, ready to deliver the final blow.

Deramis, his body battered and bruised, watched as the axe descended. He could only raise a weary arm to protect himself.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep