While the skirmish on Leon's flank had relatively settled with the orcs cornered, the situation on the eastern side of the camp was entirely different. Amidst the rugged, rocky terrain deep within the forest, Apollo and his men lay in wait, enveloped in a profound silence mirroring Leon's own unit. A band of forty-five orcs was steadily marching toward them. Appearing marginally more disciplined than the usual marauding warbands, this unit seemed exceedingly pleased with themselves as they advanced along the winding trail. The group's leader was clad from head to toe in rusted chainmail; with his half-bald scalp and a grotesquely deformed visage typical of Middle-earth orcs, he cut a truly horrifying figure. Apollo silently watched this menacing procession from its position of ambush above. He had strategically positioned his twenty men at elevated points. The orcs had to climb this steep hill behind them if they wanted to reach their camp, but it served as a natural fortress for the crossbowmen.
As the orcs marched with a relaxed, almost lazy gait, they conversed among themselves in their crude, guttural tongue, the Black Speech. An orc gripping a big, heavy battleaxe turned to his hideous kin and asked in a raspy, mocking tone.
"How long do you reckon Morgs can last under Tollo's command?"
Clearly amused by the question, the other foul orc replied in a similarly grating voice.
"I bet he'll cause trouble before they even make it halfway."
Another orc chuckled, chiming in with a thin, shrill pitch.
"I bet he caused trouble the moment he stepped into the woods! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Did you see his face when the Chieftain made the appointment? It was as black as my dung, and smelled just as bad!"
As the surrounding orcs joined in the crude joke, barking with coarse laughter, the leader marching at the rear shook his head side to side, letting out an exhausted sigh as he muttered.
"Fools..."
While the orcs continued their reckless trek deeper into the forest's gloom, Apollo gave a subtle hand gesture, signaling his men to take their positions. Hidden on either side of the woodland, two militiamen stood waiting in the thick brush across from one another, their hands gripping their axes white-knuckled. Their eyes were fixed on the taut, thick rope stretching precariously before them. This heavy rope held back two big logs suspended from the trees flanking the trail, and the orcs were stepping closer, inch by inch, into this corridor of death. Furthermore, this wasn't the only deadly surprise waiting for them.
The orc unit lumbered forward in a disorganized, utterly unserious, and sluggish manner, constantly shoving each other and cackling at crude jokes. Observing this display from the heights, the brows of Apollo and his militiamen furrowed in sheer disdain. Gritting his teeth, Apollo couldn't suppress the dark thoughts swirling in his mind.
'It's as if these bastards are underestimating us... even though I don't understand a word they're saying, I don't like this relaxed attitude one bit...'
Finally, unable to stomach this blatant lack of discipline any longer, the orc leader brought his steps to a grinding halt. He spun around and bellowed in the Black Speech, his thick, guttural voice echoing like thunder.
"SHUT YOUR MOUTHS AND PICK UP THE PACE!"
Startled by their leader's sudden roar, the orcs fearfully quickened their pace. As they scurried past him, they cast sullen, resentful glares in his direction. The leader merely released a savage snarl, delivering a vicious kick to the backside of one of his passing men, sending the brute stumbling hard forward. As the unit fell back into formation and resumed their march, their leader now trailed them from the very rear.
Trudging a little further up the path, they stepped directly between the two big, suspended logs. The militiamen held their breath, refusing to make a single move. That is, until the heavy, stomping boots of the five leading orcs snapped the concealed branches buried beneath the dirt.
CRACK!
The orcs froze in their tracks, looking around in sudden bewilderment. In that exact second, the five orcs marching at the vanguard abruptly plummeted into the earth, vanishing from sight. Screams of absolute terror erupted from the depths of the deep pit.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRR!" "HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRR!"
The orcs trailing behind blinked in stunned confusion, struggling to comprehend what had just happened. Just as they were about to lunge forward to peer into the gaping chasm their kin had fallen into, the militiamen finally struck. The two young men lying in wait among the bushes raised their axes high and brought them down violently upon the taut ropes.
THWACK!
THUD!
The severed ropes whipped wildly into the air. Hearing these two sudden, sharp snaps, the orc unit flinched and stalled; those in the back crashed into the ones in the front, shattering their balance. In that fleeting moment of chaotic tangled bodies, they saw the colossal logs swinging rapidly toward them, horizontally, from both the left and the right. Faced with these twin juggernauts of timber hurtling from the tree line, they could do nothing but shriek in blind terror.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
"HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAARR!"
The two immense logs collided with catastrophic force, mercilessly crushing the orcs trapped between them. The sheer violence of the impact sent a sickening spray of blood and shredded flesh erupting into the air and raining onto the soil. Within the tree's merciless embrace, seven or eight orcs were crushed and torn to pieces in seconds. The survivors stood frozen in shock at this horrific sight, while the orc leader, in a hoarse, deep voice, shouted harshly in the Black Tongue.
"AMBUSH!"
As his roar echoed, a lethal volley of crossbow bolts rained down from the ridges and the flanks. Tearing through the curtain of the night, the whistling projectiles found their marks in a matter of seconds. Orcs began to collapse to the bloody earth, struck ruthlessly in the head, chest, or arms. Screams of pure agony melded with cries of sheer panic, violently shattering the forest's ancient silence.
Relying on pure reflex, the orc leader threw his shield up, narrowly deflecting a bolt aimed squarely at his face at the very last second. The heavy metal tip embedded itself halfway through the reinforced wood, the shaft quivering violently just an inch from his eye. The leader merely let out a dismissive, contemptuous snort at the close call. Though he cast a fleeting glance at his men dying in droves around him, he cared little, continuing his savage roars.
"TAKE FORMATION, YOU IMBECILES!"
Jolted back to reality by their leader's furious bellow, the surviving orcs hastily hoisted their shields, scrambling to protect themselves. Though disorganized, they managed to form a crude "U" shaped shield wall. Yet, of the forty-five who had entered the woods, only twenty-four remained standing, and several of those still on their feet were already wounded by bolts protruding from their arms or shoulders. Standing dead center of the makeshift formation, the orc leader scanned the treacherous surroundings with a predator's scrutiny. Though the volley of bolts continued, they now mostly struck and ricocheted off the locked shields. Realizing the shifting dynamic, Apollo pursed his lips and mimicked the sharp, haunting call of an owl. It was the absolute order to cease fire. The barrage of crossbow bolts stopped instantly, but the suffocating, deadly tension hanging in the air did not wane for a single heartbeat.
Down below, the orcs waited behind their battered shields with cautious, terror-filled eyes. One of them swallowed hard and asked the leader standing behind him in the Black Speech.
"Swagg, what do we do?"
Swagg let out a wrathful snarl, his eyes intensely sweeping the high ridge before him, searching between the trees and gigantic boulders. He desperately wanted to spot his unseen enemies, but there was not a single trace of movement in the pitch-black forest. While he grunted in frustration, trying to formulate an escape, Apollo had already prepared their next welcoming gift.
A dangerous, predatory smirk crept onto Apollo's lips as he looked down at the clustered orcs. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he let out a long, piercing whistle. Startled by the sudden, sharp noise, the orcs raised their shields a fraction higher, their eyes darting around in extreme paranoia. At the very peak of the unseen ridge, three militiamen had taken up positions behind a colossal boulder. Wedging thick wooden poles beneath the massive rock to use as levers, they drove all their physical might into the task. After a few grueling seconds of immense effort, the militiamen managed to dislodge the monolith. The gargantuan mass of stone shifted slowly at first, then began to roll, picking up a terrifying, unstoppable momentum as it hurtled down the steep incline.
Every rotation of the massive boulder sent faint tremors through the earth. When the orcs heard the thunderous rumbling and looked up in bewilderment, they saw death itself accelerating rapidly toward them. Their eyes bulged to the point of popping from their sockets, jaws dropping open in sheer horror. Just as Swagg fully grasped the reality of the situation and opened his mouth to issue an order, only a single, desperate thought flashed through his mind:
'This is just unfair, damn it!'
"SCATTER AT ONCE, YOU IDIOTS!"
The orcs scattered, driven by the raw instinct to survive. As they threw themselves left and right in a desperate bid to evade the crushing stone, their formation instantly dissolved, and inevitably, their shields dropped. Waiting for this precise opening, the militiamen immediately unleashed another deadly volley with their crossbows. Bolts tore through the air, whistling a grim tune as they rained down upon the exposed orcs. Absolute chaos reigned supreme. Hesitating for a split second, the orcs scrambled wildly to avoid being flattened, but not all were blessed by luck. The titanic boulder crashed right through their center with an apocalyptic roar, mercilessly rolling over a cluster of orcs who had failed to dive away in time. As the surface of the great stone was painted in black blood and torn flesh, it left a gruesome, meters-long smear of carnage in its wake before finally coming to a halt by snapping a few thick trees like twigs.
Left utterly defenseless by the sheer terror the boulder had wrought, the surviving orcs began to drop one by one under the militiamen's unyielding hail of bolts. Every projectile whistling through the air either claimed an orc's life, maimed them severely, or forced them to dive desperately for cover. The brutes didn't have a single second to collect themselves. Seeing that the situation had entirely spiraled out of control, Swagg bellowed with one final, desperate effort.
"FALL BAC— UGH!"
Before he could finish his command, a razor-sharp bolt darted from the oppressive shadows, burying itself flawlessly into his temple. He stiffened exactly where he stood, his eyes wide open in an eternal stare of shock, before toppling sideways like a lifeless sack of meat. Aiming his crossbow from the high ground, Apollo smirked, deeply satisfied with his perfect shot. He muttered to himself.
"Let's see what they do now that they've lost their head."
Witnessing Swagg hit the dirt, the remaining orcs succumbed to absolute panic. Those still able to run scrambled madly into the depths of the forest, not daring to cast a single glance behind them. Several of those attempting to flee were shot square in the back, collapsing dead in their tracks. A few blood-crazed orcs tried to charge up into the tree line to hunt down the militiamen, but they became easy prey for the bolts long before they could even get close. Watching the utter decimation below with grim satisfaction, Apollo let out a low chuckle. Inevitably, his mind drifted back to the time they had drafted the ambush plan.
---Flashback---
Back then, Apollo stood calmly over a crudely drawn map etched into the dirt.
"Alright, gentlemen! Let's begin the ambush plan!"
He used the tip of his dagger to point at the elevated ridge and the winding path leading to it, both sketched into the mud.
"If the enemy intends to come from this direction with a large group, they have to follow this path! Before being sent to this world, we gathered sufficient intelligence regarding the orcs of Arda. Excluding the Greater Orcs, there are two variants of Arda orcs. The first is the legion-trained orc; these possess discipline and equipment akin to our own Calradian Imperial legions."
He paused for a brief moment, looking at the young militiamen gathered around him, their faces smeared with mud, dust, and sweat. Every single one of them was listening to him with rapt attention. Pleased by the heavy silence in the air, he continued in a smoother tone.
"The other consists of orcs living in nomadic tribes, entirely focused on raiding—essentially acting as bandits or brigands. The group approaching us falls into the second category, which is excellent news for us. Our opponents are not particularly intelligent; they are arrogant, driven entirely by plunder and loot. They will likely attempt to take the camp by besieging it from all four sides."
He then looked back down at the markings in the dirt, emphasizing a few key points with his blade before turning back to his men.
"Three men will position themselves to the left of the trail, and three to the right. Keep your distance from the path between thirty to forty meters. This range is absolutely ideal for shooting; though the dense forest might challenge you a bit, I don't foresee it being a major issue."
The young militiamen silently nodded in agreement with their commander's words. Using a thin twig he had picked up, Apollo pointed to three large boulders situated behind their sketched line on the map.
"Once the orcs fall into the pit Kios prepared and align perfectly with the kill zone, these groups will sever the ropes to trigger the traps. Additionally, three men will stand by these three boulders providing covering fire, and upon my signal, they will roll one of them straight down."
The militiamen turned their heads to look at the designated ridge where the mentioned boulders rested. One of them timidly raised his hand.
"Sir, how did Commander Kios manage to get those boulders up there?"
The very instant this innocent question left his mouth, the faces of several militiamen nearby instantly darkened, their shoulders slumping heavily. Noticing the sudden, oppressive tension in the air and the drastically altered expressions of his men, Apollo cleared his throat, attempting to salvage the moment.
"...with the help of his brothers-in-arms..."
Seeing the pitch-black expressions of his comrades around him, the man who had asked the question finally grasped the grim reality and flinched. Scratching the back of his neck in deep embarrassment, he mumbled.
"...must have been tough..."
The youths who had personally carried out the grueling task spoke in unison, their voices dripping with phantom pain.
"You can't even begin to imagine..."
That singular moment was sheer psychological torture for all of them. The agonizing memory of the torment Kios had subjected them to while they pushed those monolithic rocks uphill came flooding back into their minds.
---When the trap was being prepared---
Divided into groups of five, fifteen bare-chested young men were practically roasting under the unforgiving sun. With rivers of sweat pouring down their bodies, they were pushing against the massive, spherical boulders before them with every ounce of their remaining strength. Their arms had gone numb, their legs were shaking violently, and the burning sensation in their muscles had reached an unbearable threshold. They had spent the last half-hour solely attempting to drag these colossal stones up the steep incline, but the rocks were far heavier than they had ever anticipated.
"AAAGGGHHHHHH!"
"HHHAAAAAAAHHHH!"
The militiamen grunted through tightly clenched teeth, forcing their bodies to the absolute limit just to avoid giving up. Yet, the truly infuriating part of the ordeal wasn't the crushing weight of the boulders, but the unique way Kios—the man in charge of setting the traps—chose to motivate them.
"STOP WHINING LIKE LITTLE GIRLS, YOU USELESS BASTARDS! YOU'RE JUST PUSHING A TINY ROCK UP A HILL! IF YOU CAN'T EVEN MANAGE THIS, HOW DO YOU EXPECT TO FIGHT IN A WAR?!"
While the young men were utterly drenched in sweat, Kios stood in the cool shade in a highly relaxed posture. Tearing a massive bite out of the dried venison in his hand, his face wore an expression of deep dissatisfaction and relentless complaint.
"EVEN MY GRANDMOTHER COULD DO BETTER! ARE THE YOUTH OF TODAY REALLY THIS WEAK?!"
The faces of the militiamen, already gleaming with exertion and trembling as they pushed the stones, grew even darker upon hearing these taunts. At that very moment, a single, unifying question echoed loudly in all of their minds:
'WHY THE HELL IS THIS BASTARD EATING MEAT ON THE SIDELINES INSTEAD OF HELPING US?! WASN'T HE THE ONE WHO MADE THE PLAN?!'
But they dared not voice their protests. Kios's authoritarian bark rang out once more.
"STOP LOITERING! NO FOOD FOR YOU LADIES UNTIL YOU FINISH THIS SIMPLE TASK!"
Then, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary, he greedily tore off another hearty chunk of meat. The hour had long passed mid-afternoon. Having eaten absolutely nothing since morning, and having worked like bees across every sector of the forest to lay the preparations, these young men were completely drained from the intense physical exertion. As fierce, rumbling sounds of hunger erupted from the stomachs of every group, the dried meat in Kios's hand made their mouths water profusely. The militiamen were simply out of luck; the Vaegir soldiers, who possessed the ideal physiques for such grueling manual labor, were currently stationed at the forward perimeters alongside the other Imperial crossbowmen and militiamen, standing guard and scouting for enemies. Meaning, all the heavy lifting had fallen directly upon the shoulders of the militia. When Kios and Maximus had asked for "strong male volunteers" earlier that morning, they now bitterly regretted having acted tough and stepping forward to prove themselves.
---Moments of ambush preparation---
Recalling this highly traumatic memory, the militiamen almost vividly heard Kios's mocking voice ringing in their ears once more. They shuddered involuntarily as phantom pains flared in their aching muscles. Thankfully, at Kios's request, Leon had ensured they were provided with generous portions of food, allowing them to fill their bellies properly. Nevertheless, an unshakable, unanimous resolution was firmly forged in the minds of these fifteen young men:
'Never volunteer for Commander Kios or Maximus's tasks again!'
Letting out a soft sigh, Apollo surveyed the current situation and the deeply weary faces of the men standing before him. Knowing his friend Kios's abrasive personality fairly well, he perfectly understood the deep-seated trauma these militiamen were suffering. Clearing his throat, he expertly drew their attention back to the strategy at hand.
"Remember, our primary focus is on repelling them. It is highly preferable that they do not breach the deep forest. If they arrive in larger numbers than we anticipate, these traps scattered throughout the woods will serve as our single-use, ultimate line of defense."
Assuming a dead-serious demeanor, the militiamen nodded firmly, confirming they understood their commander's tactical briefing. Apollo asked once more.
"Any questions?"
Total silence answered him. Every man knew his duty flawlessly. Seeing this, Apollo gave a satisfied nod and began methodically assigning them to their specific battle stations.
"You three to the left of the path, you three to the right."
He then pointed squarely at the most physically imposing men in the unit.
"You three, get behind the boulders!"
Finally, he turned his gaze to the solitary man remaining. This young soldier, named Harry, was the finest marksman in the squad and a prime candidate to become a future elite sniper.
"Harry, you will take up a position at my elevation, halfway up the ridge. The two of us will pick off targets from above."
Harry nodded firmly in response.
"Understood, sir!"
---End of Flashback---
Within seconds, his mind snapped back from the echoes of the past to the brutal reality of the present. Apollo watched the broken remnants of the orcs fleeing frantically through the trees until they completely vanished from his line of sight. As the forest was once again cloaked in its eerie, foreboding silence, he swept his calm gaze across the perimeter, ensuring no secondary force was approaching, and nodded in profound satisfaction. Without breaking his concealed stance, he let out the soft call of an owl solely to check on the status of his men.
After a brief, tense silence, slightly clumsy answering owl calls echoed back at varying intervals from different hidden vantage points within the dark woods. Exhaling a deep breath of relief, Apollo muttered quietly to himself.
"Everyone is safe... I wonder if things went as smoothly on the other flanks as they did here?"