The small infiltration group waited in darkness at the mouth of the pipe.
No torches. No whispers. Only the cold breath of winter and the distant groan of Orc boots on stone.
In the camp, soldiers carried on with their usual activities to avoid raising suspicion.
The Duchess rested inside her tent, guarded by six men.
Regis, Jim, and the other commanders had positioned their soldiers at their marks.
Mangonels were hidden deep within the forest—far enough to remain unseen, but close enough to strike when needed.
Finally, the order arrived.
Edward and his group slipped into the pipe.
It was narrow and foul; the stench alone was enough to make a man vomit out his very soul. Above them lay the main yard, and every heavy step of the Orcs echoed through the stone.
Among those footsteps was one heavier, sharper, filled with something unnatural—the Orc Wizard.
Powerful creatures, these wizards. Orcs who had mastered the dark art of forbidden magic.
Dangerous. Cunning.
Capable of slaughtering dozens alone.
Their magic drew strength from Dark Mana, a rare and corrupt force born only from defiled corpses.
After a long, miserable crawl through the twisting pipe, the group reached the end—an empty well.
Edward hooked the stone rim and climbed silently to the top.
But he did not leave the well.
He only lifted his head enough to see four Orc guards positioned around the yard.
Killing four Orcs before they could scream for help was nearly impossible…
But Edward had expected this.
He climbed back down.
"Four guards," he whispered. "Others must be inside the building. Good. If we burn it, they'll be too distracted to notice the assault."
Count Migo frowned.
"All right, but how do we pass the guards before they call for help? We can't all climb out at once."
"Don't worry," Edward said. "Climb behind me and wait. When I give the signal, move west of the well. All of you."
They nodded.
Edward climbed up again.
From his belt he pulled the ball wrapped in thin leather.
Using his firestone, he lit it, tossed it beyond the mouth of the well, and smoke began to rise—thick and white.
The Orcs saw the smoke and approached with weapons drawn.
The mist hid everything.
Perfect.
Edward slipped out of the well, his presence masked by the choking fog.
The first Orc didn't even have time to grunt—Edward's knife slid across its throat, and he dragged the body silently into the mist.
He signaled the others.
"Move. I'll take care of the guards. You head for the gate."
He vanished again.
The second Orc prowled through the fog, searching.
Edward appeared behind him, driving his sword through its heart—clean, silent, deadly.
Two remained.
The smoke was thinning.
Edward sprinted before it vanished completely, sword in his right hand, dagger in the left.
The Orcs spotted him and charged.
Edward slid across the ground, stepping past them with inhuman precision.
His blade tore through the side of one Orc, splitting flesh and bone.
The second opened its mouth to shout for help, but Edward was faster.
He thrust the dagger up through the creature's chin into its brain.
Silence returned.
The yard was theirs.
Edward climbed the wooden stairs into the nearby building.
It was empty.
"Damn," he whispered.
He didn't hesitate.
He lit a small pile of thatch using his flame stone and poured one of his volatile potions over it.
Fire spread instantly.
He left the building before the flames consumed him.
By the time he regrouped with the others near the gate, smoke was curling into the night sky.
"I set the fire," Edward said quietly. "All we need now is for it to grow."
A harsh voice echoed from the main yard.
"My few Orcs…"
Most of the Orcs had gathered in a massive yard with a small rise at the far end.
On that rise stood a smaller, crooked Orc—
the Wizard—
and behind him, a giant: the Champion.
Hun peeked through a crack in the wall.
"That one must be the Wizard."
Edward glanced, nodded once.
"For three days, humans have starved us," the Wizard snarled.
"And now snow blocks their reinforcements. Tonight we assault their camp. We kill and capture them. They will make good food indeed!"
Laughter rippled across the yard.
"We will show them this land belongs to us," the Wizard hissed. "They are but bugs—"
But he never finished.
Edward stepped into the yard, sword in hand, drinking one of his potions as he walked.
"Big words," he shouted, "for such a tiny creature.
But if I were you—thank the Ruler I'm not—
I'd worry more about the fire than the starvation."
Behind him, flames roared skyward—turning night into day.
The Orcs panicked.
"Kill him! Put the fire out!" the Wizard shrieked, fleeing with the Champion.
The Orcs charged.
Edward struck first—his sword slicing through the air, releasing a luminous horizontal arc that cut down the front line.
The group split apart, each man moving toward a different position around the gate.
Edward broke through the Orc formation, reaching the gate's side.
Orcs poured into the yard in waves.
Hun and Captain Riace climbed to the top of the gate, holding back swarms from above.
Count Migo and Edward held the front.
Edward swung again, severing a head clean from its shoulders.
Two Orcs rushed him, with many more surrounding.
"Edward!" Migo shouted.
"Don't worry. Open the gate. I'll manage."
Edward's breathing was steady, calm.
His sword glowed faintly—then blazed.
He slashed backwards, creating another brilliant arc of light that tore through Orc flesh, throwing bodies aside.
He pierced through an Orc's chest, then used its falling corpse as a shield against the next incoming attack.
He slid across the ground, swung upward—another arc, another shockwave, bodies dropping like broken dolls.
He turned left, cutting his way toward the gate.
The others met him there.
Together they held the enemy back as Migo worked the lock.
The gate was about to open.