The War Room.
Varg slammed a crude map onto the table.
"It's confirmed. 5 miles North-East. A massive logging camp."
He pointed to a clearing in the forest.
"There are about 60 Orcs. They are cutting down the Ironwood trees to build siege engines for the Empire. But that's not the worst part."
Varg looked at Kagan.
"They have slaves pulling the logs. Humans. Big ones. Tattoos on their faces."
Kagan's chair scraped loudly against the stone floor as he stood up. His massive hands clenched into fists.
"Frostblood," Kagan growled, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "They are alive."
"For now," Rian said, studying the map. "But if we attack head-on, the Orcs might kill the hostages just to spite us."
Rian looked at his commanders.
"This is not a brawl. This is a surgical extraction."
He moved pieces on the map.
"Phase 1: Silence. The Wolf Cavalry takes out the perimeter sentries. No horns. No screams."
"Phase 2: Thunder. My Grenadiers will throw the pots over the walls. We don't aim for the slaves; we aim for the barracks and the weapon racks."
"Phase 3: The Breaker. Kagan, you smash the main gate."
Rian looked at Kagan.
"Can you hold your rage for one hour? If you scream too early, your people die."
Kagan breathed heavily through his nose. He nodded slowly. "I will be silent as the grave. Until you say 'Kill'."
The Approach
Midnight.
The moon was hidden behind heavy clouds. Perfect.
Rian lay on a ridge overlooking the Orc camp. He wore his black-dyed Brigandine armor, blending perfectly into the dark.
Below, the camp was lit by torches. Massive, green-skinned Orcs whipped human slaves who were dragging logs in the mud. The Orcs were huge—seven feet tall, bulging with muscle. A single Orc could rip a human in half.
But they were arrogant. They had no guards facing the forest, only the road. They didn't fear humans.
"Varg," Rian whispered into the cold air. "Go."
Phase 1: The Ghosts
Varg and his 7 Wolf Riders moved through the treeline.
The wolves didn't make a sound. Their padded paws absorbed every step.
Two Orc sentries stood by the rear wooden fence, grunting and sharing a skin of wine.
Varg signaled.
Zip. Zip.
Two wolves launched from the darkness.
There was no battle.
Fang bit the first Orc's throat before he could draw a breath. The second wolf dragged the other Orc into the bushes.
Snap.
Varg waved his hand towards the ridge. Clear.
Phase 2: The Thunder
Rian stood up. Behind him, 20 men—his "Grenadiers"—lit their fuses.
They held the clay pots Rian had designed. Simple, crude, but packed with the "75-15-10" mixture.
"Light them," Rian whispered.
The fuses hissed.
"Throw."
Twenty clay pots sailed through the night air, arching over the wooden fence of the camp.
The Orcs inside looked up, confused by the sparking lights falling from the sky. "Fireflies?" one grunted.
The pots hit the ground near the sleeping barracks and the campfire.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM-BOOM!
The night shattered.
Orange fireballs erupted in the center of the camp. The sound was deafening. Shrapnel (nails and rocks Rian had packed inside) tore through the leather tents.
"GRAAAH!"
The Orcs panicked. They had fought mages before, but mages chanted spells. This was instant. This was loud.
Horses (Orc Boars) squealed and stampeded. The camp turned into chaos.
Phase 3: The Breaker
"NOW!" Rian screamed, drawing his sword.
From the front gate, a roar louder than the explosions tore through the air.
"FROSTBLOOD!"
Kagan charged out of the darkness. He didn't use the door.
He swung The World-Breaker with both hands.
CRASH!
The heavy wooden gate exploded inward, splinters flying like shrapnel.
Kagan stepped into the firelit camp, looking like a demon of vengeance. His Brigandine armor gleamed. His axe dripped with nothing yet, but that was about to change.
An Orc Captain, standing 7 feet tall, recovered from the shock. He roared and charged at Kagan with a rusty cleaver.
"Puny human!"
Kagan didn't dodge. He swung the massive Manganese Steel axe.
The blade hit the Orc's cleaver.
CLANG-SNAP.
The Orc's weapon shattered.
Kagan's axe continued its arc, burying itself into the Orc's chest, cleaving through crude iron armor and bone alike.
The Orc Captain fell without a word.
"Attack!" Rian ordered.
The Spear Phalanx marched in through the broken gate.
"Hoo! Ha! Hoo!"
They moved as a wall. Iron spears bristled forward.
The disoriented Orcs charged blindly, only to impale themselves on the disciplined wall of pikes.
And on the flanks, Varg's Wolf Cavalry circled, picking off any Orc trying to flee or rally the troops.
The Aftermath
It was over in twenty minutes.
The Orcs, terrified by the "Thunder" and the giant barbarian, broke morale. Those who didn't die ran into the forest, where the wolves hunted them down.
Rian walked through the smoking camp.
He checked his men. Two injured, zero dead.
The Brigandine had worked. One soldier had a dent in his chest where an Orc punched him, but the steel plates absorbed the blow.
In the center of the camp, the slaves were huddled together, terrified.
Kagan stood before them. He was covered in Orc blood, breathing heavily.
An old woman among the slaves looked up. She touched Kagan's face with trembling hands.
"Kagan? Is... is it you? The Little Bear?"
Kagan dropped his terrifying axe. He fell to his knees and hugged the dirty, starving people.
"I am here, Elder. The Frostblood lives."
Rian watched from a distance, letting them have their moment.
He looked at the pile of dead Orcs.
He looked at the terrified but free slaves—about 30 of them.
And he looked at the massive piles of cut Ironwood logs.
"Lara," Rian called out to his scribe who was waiting by the medics.
"Inventory. We take the slaves. We take the weapons. And we take every single log of this wood."
[Ding! Battle Won: The Logging Camp Raid]
[Casualties: 0 (Light Injuries: 2)]
[Loot: 30 tons of Ironwood, 30 New Citizens (Barbarian Tribe)]
[Renown: The "Thunder Lord" legend begins.]
Rian sheathed his sword.
"Load the sleds. We have an empire to build."
End of Chapter 35