First taste of battle part-3

"The huuu-mannsss have come!" snarled an orc scout, bursting into the clearing where the rest of the raiding party waited. The warboss, a hulking brute with an iron-tipped axe, turned with a snarl, his painted face twisted in rage.

"Man-cattle dare come here?" he growled, his yellowed teeth flashing as he barked orders. "Kill them! Take their heads! Show them what it means to defy us!"

Another orc, smaller but faster, sneered. "They're weak! Little men with toys! We crush them!"

The warboss's grin widened, his guttural laugh shaking the smaller orcs. "Yes. We smash their toys, and then we take their shiny things."

He raised his axe high, his roar echoing through the woods. "MAN-CATTLE WILL DIE!"

Hadrian watched as The orcs burst from the tree line, a seething mass of muscle, crude weapons, and painted faces. They roared and screamed, their guttural voices carrying across the field as they charged.

"I WILL TEAR YOU APART, MAN-FILTH!" one howled, saliva dripping from his jagged teeth.

Hadrian's grip on his musket tightened as the ground seemed to tremble beneath the onslaught. He raised his hand, his voice cutting through the growing tension. "Spearmen, shields up! Matchlocks, ready!"

The spearmen formed a solid wall of shields, their spears angled forward in deadly precision. Behind them, the matchlock militia raised their weapons, their eyes darting nervously toward the approaching horde.

"Hold!" Hadrian barked, his voice steady as the orcs closed the distance. The air was thick with the stench of sweat and smoke, the tension palpable.

The orcs came closer, their snarls deafening. "YOUR TOYS WON'T SAVE YOU!" one bellowed, his rusted axe raised high.

Hadrian raised his musket, his finger hovering over the trigger. "Front line, fire!"

The first row of matchlocks roared to life, the thunderous cracks tearing through the air. Smoke billowed from the barrels as lead balls ripped into the charging orcs, sending several sprawling to the ground in sprays of blood.

The orcs hesitated, their roars faltering as confusion spread through their ranks. "What is this?" one snarled, clutching his bleeding chest. "Man-magic?"

The first line of matchlockmen crouched, reloading with practiced speed as the second line stepped forward and fired. Another volley of lead tore into the horde, cutting down more of the orcs.

"They're still coming!" a spearman shouted, his voice wavering as the remaining orcs surged forward.

"Hold the line!" Hadrian commanded, his voice like steel. "Matchlocks, keep firing! Spearmen, brace!"

Alexander sat atop his horse From his vantage point on the western flank, he watched the scene unfold with growing astonishment. The orcs, so often unstoppable in their ferocity, were faltering—confused and bloodied under the relentless volleys of Hadrian's militia.

"Not bad, little brother," Alexander muttered, drawing his sword and raising it high. "Knights, with me! Sweep their flank!"

The mounted knights thundered forward, their armored steeds shaking the ground as they barreled toward the disoriented orcs. The clash of steel and the screams of dying raiders filled the air as Alexander and his men cut through the remnants of the horde with brutal efficiency.

The orc warboss roared in frustration, his bloodshot eyes darting across the battlefield. "What is this?" he bellowed. "Man-magic? No... NO!"

Another volley rang out, and the orcs nearest him crumpled under the relentless fire. The warboss raised his axe, shouting, "FIGHT! FIGHT OR DIE!"

But the orcs were breaking. Their snarls turned to cries of panic as the constant fire and the charging knights shattered their will.

"RETREAT!" one screamed, dropping his club and running for the woods. Others followed, their weapons abandoned as they fled the unrelenting assault.

The field was chaos, the air thick with smoke and the coppery tang of blood. Hadrian's men held their ground, their volleys cutting through the orcs like scythes through wheat. The spearmen stood firm, their shields absorbing the impact of the few raiders who made it close enough to attack.

"Reload and advance!" Hadrian shouted, his voice steady despite the chaos. The militia moved as one, stepping forward with their matchlocks ready.

Another volley tore through the retreating orcs, leaving only a few stragglers to escape into the woods. Hadrian lowered his musket, his chest rising and falling as the adrenaline began to fade.

The men cheered, their shouts of triumph filling the field. Hadrian allowed himself a small smile, though his mind remained sharp. "Hold formation. Sweep the area."

Alexander's knights circled back, their polished armor streaked with blood. Alexander rode up to Hadrian, his grin wide. "Well, that was something. Those matchlocks of yours might just be worth the effort."

"They're effective against a small group," Hadrian replied, his tone measured. "But this was a weak tribe. No magic. No trolls. We were lucky."

Alexander raised an eyebrow but said nothing, his gaze drifting toward the smoldering village. Hadrian turned his attention to the supply carts, a faint unease settling in his chest.

The girls.

The battle had been won, but unease still churned in Hadrian's chest as he strode through the ruined village, his musket clenched tightly in his hands. Smoke curled lazily from the remnants of burned-out homes, and the ground was littered with broken wood and discarded belongings. His sharp eyes scanned every shadow, his breath steady but quickened.

"Helena!" he called, his voice cutting through the still air. "Sophia! Cassandra!"

The knot in his stomach tightened when there was no answer. He quickened his pace, his boots crunching over debris as he moved toward the supply carts. They were empty. A cold chill ran down his spine. They wouldn't wander off. They know better.

Hadrian's pulse quickened as he moved deeper into the village. A low, guttural laugh stopped him in his tracks. The sound was followed by a deep, growling voice.

"Man-girls," it snarled, thick with anticipation. "Soft... weak... mine to take."

Hadrian's grip on his musket tightened as he rounded the corner, his heart pounding in his chest. An orc—massive, bloodied, and grinning with jagged yellow teeth—stood just a few feet away from his sisters, who were huddled behind a broken wall. Helena had positioned herself in front of Sophia and Cassandra, holding a jagged piece of wood like a makeshift club. Her eyes burned with defiance, though her trembling hands betrayed her fear.

The orc's eyes gleamed with cruel delight as he stepped closer. "I'll start with you, little one," he said, his voice a low, guttural growl as he leered at Helena. "Man-cattle women scream so sweetly."

Helena's knuckles whitened as she tightened her grip on the club. "Stay back!" she snapped, though her voice wavered.

The orc laughed, licking his cracked lips. "Try and stop me, little mouse."

Hadrian stepped out from behind the corner, his voice ringing out with cold authority. "Back away from them."

The orc turned, his grin widening at the sight of Hadrian. "Another little man," he sneered. "I'll take my time breaking you after I finish with them."

"Helena, get down!" Hadrian shouted, raising his musket.

Helena hesitated for only a moment before dropping to the ground, pulling Sophia and Cassandra with her. The orc roared, lunging forward just as Hadrian fired.

The musket roared, the lead ball striking the orc in the abdomen. Blood sprayed from the wound, and the creature staggered back, clutching his side. His cruel grin faltered, replaced by a snarl of pain and rage.

"You... little worm," the orc growled, blood dripping between his fingers. "You think that's enough to stop me?"

Hadrian discarded the spent musket, his hand instinctively going to the short sword at his belt. But instead of engaging, he backed away, his mind racing. The shot had hit a vital organ—he could see the way the orc's movements slowed, the way his knees buckled slightly under his weight. It's dying. I just have to stay out of its reach.

The orc lunged at him, swinging a rusted axe in a wide arc. Hadrian sidestepped, his boots skidding slightly on the blood-soaked ground. The creature's strength was waning, but its swings were still powerful enough to kill if they connected.

"I'll rip you apart!" the orc snarled, stumbling as he swung again. "And when you're gone, I'll take them... all of them!"

The words sent a jolt of fury through Hadrian's veins, but he kept his focus, evading each strike with precision. The orc's movements grew more erratic, its snarls turning into ragged growls as blood pooled beneath it.

Finally, the creature collapsed to one knee, its axe falling from its trembling hands. It glared up at Hadrian with bloodshot eyes, its jagged teeth bared. "You think you've won, little man?" it rasped, its voice thick with venom. "You'll all die. Your kind... will all die."

Hadrian stepped back, his breathing steady despite the pounding of his heart. "Not today," he said coldly, watching as the orc slumped forward, its body going still.