Chapter 138: Roasted Pork
Yulena’s mane crackled like a storm, her claws tearing sparks from the Breaker’s armored hide. The mutated orc howled in rage, its massive fists pounding down again and again, but she matched it strike for strike, her every blow shaking the earth.
The two clashed like titans — her claws carving deep gouges across its chest, its fists slamming into the dirt and stone, sending shockwaves up the wall. Soldiers on the battlements could only gape, some pausing mid-battle as the ground itself trembled from their fight.
Yulena ducked a wide swing, raked across its stomach, then pivoted, her mane flaring bright. With a thunderous roar, she drove her claws into its throat, blood spraying in a crimson arc. The Breaker staggered, bellowing, stumbling back.
She bared her fangs, eyes blazing. "End of the line."
Her muscles coiled, ready to rip the beast apart—
—but then the ground shook again.
Another mutated orc, larger and bulkier than the first, came barreling out of the fog. Its tusked face twisted with rage, chains dragging from its wrists as it charged. Its roar drowned out even the clash of battle on the walls.
Yulena’s eyes widened. "Another one?!"
She braced—too late.
The second monster lunged, its massive arm swinging like a tree trunk. She twisted, but the force clipped her side, sending her skidding back through the dirt, leaving gouges in the earth. Pain flared through her ribs, but she snarled, crouching low, refusing to fall.
The new hulking orc thundered closer, its red eyes locked on her. Soldiers on the wall shouted in panic, some drawing their bows to fire, but their arrows bounced off its thickened hide.
And then—
"RAHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
A deafening roar split the chaos.
From the battlements above, a blur of white and gold descended.
Baron Silverfury leapt from the wall like a falling star, his golden eyes blazing. His gauntlets extended, three curved blades snapping into place on each fist. The beast raised its head just in time to meet him—
SCHHHHK!
The Baron’s claws punched through its forehead, the blades driving deep into the soft gap between its armored plates. The mutated orc jerked, shuddered, then collapsed forward with a thunderous crash, blood pouring out beneath it.
Baron ripped his claws free, landing in a crouch beside his wife. He shook the blood from his blades, eyes still glowing fiercely.
"Yulena!" he barked, his deep voice sharp with urgency. "It’s getting worse down here. Too many of them. We climb—NOW."
Yulena’s chest rose and fell, her claws dripping with gore. For a moment, pride burned in her eyes—then she saw the shapes moving in the fog. Dozens more orcs, some mutated, surging forward through the smoke and fire.
She exhaled, mane dimming slightly. "Tch... as much as I hate to admit it... you’re right."
More war cries echoed across the field, orcs pounding their shields, rushing toward the two of them like a black tide.
The Baron gripped her wrist, pulling her back toward the wall. "We’ve made our point. Time to live to fight again."
Yulena spat blood to the side, then nodded, her fangs glinting. "Fine. But next time... I finish what I start."
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The wall shook again, dust falling from between the stones as another round of spiked flaming boulders smashed against the battlements. Soldiers ducked, others pressed themselves flat against the inner walls.
Arrows hissed down from above, orcish shafts rattling against shields and biting into flesh. Screams followed, but no one stopped.
"Push it! Push it down!" a sergeant roared.
Rukh, knuckles white on his spear, shoved against the ladder, teeth clenched as snarling orcs clawed their way up. He jabbed forward, catching one in the jaw, the impact shuddering through his arms. The beast toppled backward, dragging others with it.
"Keep at it, recruit!" the sergeant barked.
Another ladder slammed against the battlement, and this time three orcs vaulted over the lip. Rukh froze, but before he could move, an ursarok soldier slammed into them like a boulder, throwing one over the side, snapping another’s neck in his grip, then shoulder-checking the third until it tumbled screaming into the mass below.
The ursarok spat, lifting his axe. "These pigs don’t learn."
But they didn’t always win. Two more ladders went up further down, and screams tore through the line as soldiers were dragged down beneath blades.
Still the trebuchets fired. Even with orcs clambering up the ladders, their commanders kept the boulders coming. Spikes ripped into their own kind — but the siege engines didn’t stop.
To them, it was acceptable loss.
On the field, an orc commander reclined on a palanquin of blackwood, his tusks capped in iron, his body painted in crude red symbols. A dozen chained slaves heaved the litter across the muddy ground. The commander raised one hand lazily.
"Release... the second line," he growled.
The drums changed rhythm.
Another wave marched forth. This one thicker, more disciplined. The ground shook as siege towers, creaking monstrosities of wood and iron, rolled forward on wheels taller than an orc. Behind them marched orc lines with heavy shields, protecting the towers with a wall of iron.
Atop the towers, banners of crude hides whipped in the wind.
"Archers!" the orc commander bellowed.
A thousand heavy bows drew as one.
"Loose!"
The sky blackened.
"INCOMING!" the generals on the wall shouted.
The hail of arrows fell like rain, punching through armor, thudding into shields, some even piercing wood. A lupen archer beside Rukh cried out, an arrow jutting from his collar. He slumped forward, dead before he hit the stone.
Then came the thunder.
Mutated hulks lumbered forward, each one gripping a javelin as long as a tree trunk. With guttural roars, they hurled them skyward.
The missiles screamed through the air, slamming into the arrow slits of the lower battlements. Stone cracked, soldiers screamed, whole sections of the wall’s firing lines were torn apart in an instant.
"Gods..." Rukh whispered, trembling.
More hulks lowered their heads and charged, smashing against the curtain wall with bone-jarring force. Dust rained, cracks spreading across the outer stone.
Another three slammed into the massive gates, their skull-helmets denting the wood but failing to break through. The iron hinges groaned under the impact.
A ballista from the lower wall fired, its massive bolt slamming into one of the beasts. The projectile punched through its shoulder, pinning it to the earth. The creature screamed, thrashing until its own weight tore it apart.
Behind the gates, a very different sound rose.
Clank. Clank.
Armored ursarok knights mounted on massive wolf-beasts stood ready. Their armor gleamed even in the dim firelight, etched with runes and family crests. The wolves snarled, claws tearing at the stone floor, eager for blood.
The knight commander at their front raised his sword high. His voice thundered through the chamber.
"Knights of the Valley! Sons and daughters of the Wall! Tonight, you hold not for chieftains, not for nobles, not for silver — but for your brothers, your sisters, and the lives that sleep behind us!"
The wolves howled in answer.
He lowered his visor with a clank. His voice dropped to a growl.
"Steady. Hold until my mark. Let them come."
Above, the ballistas shifted their aim. Crews scrambled to switch bolts — heavy iron tips replaced by roped bolts, coils of thick hemp rope tied to their bases.
"Ready!" the engineers cried.
In the lower battlements, men hauled buckets of thick, black oil to stone canals carved along the inner walls. The air already stank of it. A slot was pulled, and the canal filled with gleaming liquid, waiting.
"Hold it!" a captain ordered. "Wait until they’re under the wall!"
The creak of siege towers grew louder.
Rukh peered over the battlement, his heart hammering. The towers were almost halfway. Orc shields overlapped, a wall of wood and iron moving forward under the storm of arrows. More ladders slammed against the walls, more orcs clawed their way up.
"Spears at the ready!"
The soldiers braced again.
Rukh tightened his grip, sweat dripping down his brow. He could hear his own breath over the chaos.
The drums of the orcs pounded louder, faster, shaking the very stones.
The siege towers rolled on.
The pounding of the orcs against the wall echoed through the air like thunder. Their voices were a rough growl of fury, an unrelenting tide of violence crashing against the city’s defenses. Rukh’s heart hammered in his chest, each step he took to the battlements seeming heavier than the last.
His first sight as he arrived at the top was a fresh line of orcs—several hundred—climbing ladders toward the wall. They screamed and howled, their brutish figures silhouetted against the grey sky. Some wore heavy armor, but most carried nothing but their own raw strength and desperation.
"Man the wall!" a general barked, hoisting his sword. "Keep them from gaining ground! Don’t let them breach the top!"
Rukh’s hands shook as he gripped his spear, his legs feeling unsteady on the high battlement. He heard the sound of more ladders clattering against the stone, and then the first orc appeared, its gnarled face twisted into a cruel grin.
"Die, pup!" the orc spat, swinging an axe that cut through the air with deadly precision.
Rukh’s instincts kicked in. He parried the axe with his spear, feeling the impact reverberate through his bones. He shoved the orc back, but another climbed up, his massive frame looming over the ledge.
"Rukh! Don’t just stand there! Push them down!" the veteran shouted from beside him.
Rukh’s throat went dry. He was trembling, but the veteran’s command snapped him into focus. He jabbed his spear forward, piercing the orc’s side. The orc yelped in pain, but it didn’t fall. Instead, it retaliated with a brutal strike. Rukh barely managed to dodge it, and the orc’s axe missed his face by mere inches, cutting through the air.
He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready for the violence. Yet, the weight of the moment pushed him forward.
With a roar, the veteran swung his sword, decapitating the orc. Its body fell backward, crumpling onto the soldiers below. Rukh watched as another orc leaped up onto the battlement, but this time he was ready. He thrust his spear forward, hitting the orc in the chest, pushing it off the wall.
"Good job, recruit!" the veteran shouted, but Rukh barely heard him. His eyes were wide, the battlefield spinning around him as he struggled to steady his breathing.
More orcs began to climb, and this time they brought shields. The first one reached the top and swung his shield with all his might, sending Rukh stumbling back. The veteran roared orders, but it was all becoming a blur.
The soldiers on the battlements fired arrows down into the orc swarm, but the shieldbearers easily blocked them. An orc with a two-handed axe swung toward the soldier next to Rukh, and with a sickening crack, the soldier’s shield splintered. The axe cut through it like butter, and then the blade dug deep into the soldier’s side.
"Hold fast!" the general shouted from across the battlement. "Hold the wall! Reinforcements will arrive soon!"
But even as he spoke, more orcs flooded onto the wall, their sheer numbers overwhelming the soldiers.
"Keep them back!" another officer yelled, firing off more arrows as he stood next to a ballista.
Rukh fought with everything he had, shoving back another orc that appeared before him. He glanced sideways, meeting the eyes of another soldier—one of the veterans. The older lupen’s face was full of grim determination, his armor battered, his weapon streaked with orc blood.
"This is our duty, recruit," the veteran said with a snarl. "Don’t think about it. Just fight!"
But Rukh couldn’t help it. He saw a soldier next to him, barely older than him, fall—his body pierced by an orc’s spear, blood spilling onto the stone. A high-pitched scream followed as the orc yanked the weapon free and pushed the dead soldier’s body off the wall.
"That’s another one," Rukh muttered to himself. "Another casualty."
The orcs didn’t care. They didn’t care for the bodies they trampled over or the screams that echoed across the battlements. All they cared about was breaking through.
And that’s what they were doing—bit by bit, slowly.
The sound of orc war drums thundered in the distance, growing louder as more and more of them stormed toward the wall. It was a roar of unrelenting force, and it was clear: there was no end in sight.
The ground shuddered as the first and second orc lines slammed together at the base of the wall. A roar went up, hundreds of throats bellowing as crude hammers and axes smashed against stone.
"Break it down!" one orc bellowed in guttural tones, slamming his rusted maul against the wall’s base.
Another shoved his shoulder against a ladder as he climbed. "Up da wall! Take da top!"
Inside the curtain wall, defenders thrust their spears through the narrow arrow slits. Steel pierced flesh. An orc screamed as a spear burst from his chest, blood spraying across his shield.
"Die, pig!" a kobold spearman growled, yanking his weapon back.
But another orc lunged forward, trying to grab the spear tip. "I’ll gut ya, runt!" he spat, only to be met by another thrust that drove through his throat.
The clash was endless — steel stabbing through stone gaps, orc blades hammering at weak spots, blood pouring into the cracks.
Then the creak of the siege towers reached its peak. Enormous wooden hulks, taller than the battlements themselves, groaned as they rolled across the mud. The defenders’ hearts clenched — they were almost upon the wall.
"Open the canals!" a general roared.
With a heavy pull, the slots were opened.
Black liquid poured down like rain, drenching the orcs beneath. They laughed at first, spitting as the thick oil coated their bodies.
"Bahaha! Wall piss! Just water!" one orc jeered, licking it from his tusks.
Others howled, raising their crude weapons. "Ain’t hurtin’ us, weaklings! More! More!"
Above, ursaroks rolled barrels to the edge. Yulena herself heaved one larger than herself, hurling it down onto the roof of a siege tower. The wood cracked under the impact as black oil spread across its beams.
More barrels followed, splattering onto the towers and the orcs pushing them.
For a moment, it seemed like nothing. The orcs jeered louder, raising their weapons.
"WALL’S GOT NO TEETH!" a shieldbearer bellowed. "PUSH HARDER, BOYZ!"
Then a general’s voice cut through the chaos.
"Burn them down!"
Archers lit their arrows, the flames dancing bright against the smoky sky. Dozens of bowstrings pulled taut.
"Loose!"
A hail of fire streaked downward.
The moment the flames touched the oil, the world erupted.
FWOOSH!
The black liquid ignited in an instant. Orcs howled as fire engulfed them, oil clinging to their skin and armor, burning too hot to douse. Siege towers became blazing pyres, their wooden beams groaning and cracking as flames raced upward.
"GAAHHHHH! FIRE! FIRE!" orcs shrieked, flailing as their flesh blistered and melted.
From the walls, the defenders roared in triumph.
"Ballistas, fire!"
With a heavy thwump, massive roped bolts fired into the sides of the burning siege towers.
"Pull!"
Dozens of soldiers grabbed the ropes, muscles straining, feet digging into stone. Slowly, agonizingly, the first tower tilted. Flames licked higher, the wood splintering under stress.
"PULL, DAMN YOU!" the general screamed.
With a final groan, the tower tipped over.
It crashed into the ranks below, crushing scores of orcs beneath its burning weight. Fire spread like a wave, rolling across the blackened field.
Another tower began to tilt, soldiers screaming in triumph as it, too, fell into the horde.
Behind the wall, the catapult commander raised his arm. "Load the barrels! Give them more!"
Crews scrambled, rolling forward barrels of oil. Each was hoisted into the catapult baskets.
"Release!"
The siege engines hurled the barrels high, arching over the battlefield. They fell into the orc ranks, shattering and spreading black liquid across the rear lines.
"Archers, fire again!"
Another volley of flaming arrows rained down. The barrels ignited, bursting into firestorms that spread across the horde.
From the wall, Rukh and the recruits stared, eyes wide, as the battlefield below became a sea of fire. Orcs writhed, their screams mingling with the roar of flame, the crash of collapsing towers, and the thunder of drums still pounding in the distance.
Hell itself had descended upon them.
And yet — even through the inferno — the orcs did not stop moving.