Second Orc War (19)

Fragrant Mountain Plains Fortress.

Viscount Landa, who was directing the fortress's reconstruction, received news of the Werewolves' sudden appearance. Alarmed, he hurried back atop the high walls and looked into the hazy light of the Northlands, where dense masses of Werewolves had gathered.

"The numbers are wrong."

"Have the scouts search the mountains on both sides. See if those treacherous Werewolves are planning a sneak attack."

Viscount Landa commanded the military with practiced ease. How could he have known all this from the beginning? He had learned it all through years spent at Fragrant Mountain Plains Fortress.

The enormous fortress entered a state of war. The soldiers tensed, watching as the Werewolves from the Northlands slowly approached.

"Prepare!"

The massive ballistae were drawn taut, ready at any moment to fire enchanted bolts.

Yet at that moment, the Werewolves to the north stopped. They threw several humans onto the ground, and in the space between the two armies, those humans captured by the Werewolves trembled their way toward Fragrant Mountain Plains Fortress.

They were terrified. Their legs shook so badly that even lifting them was immensely difficult.

Under the gazes of humans and Werewolves alike, the journey of less than two hundred meters took them nearly two hours. In the end, they finally collapsed beneath the fortress walls.

Their faces were pale, and every bit of strength had left their bodies. They would likely never again find the courage to set foot on a battlefield.

Viscount Landa could not understand it. After some effort, he had the people hauled up from the foot of the wall.

"Who are you? Why were you among the Werewolf army?"

The group could not even stand steadily. The moment the soldiers let go, they dropped to their knees, gasping for breath and unable to speak.