The retreat was slightly chaotic. Some scrambled, some managed to run up, some fell and stood up, but they all withdrew.
It wasn't a clean pullback, not with the slope slick from blood and churned dirt, not with adrenaline turning legs into uncoordinated hammers. Orcs shoved past each other, ogres barked orders that came out as snarls, goblins vanished into anything that looked like cover, and a few lizardmen skidded on their own tails before catching themselves.
A wounded troll nearly toppled as it tried to move backward with a boulder still in its grip, then dropped it with a grunt and lumbered after the rest. Ludwig kept his position just long enough to make sure no one got left in the kill zone, then moved with the pack, fast, controlled, eyes flicking over shoulders to count bodies and gaps like a miser counting coins.
Then they watched what was happening after disengaging from the Red Orcs.
