Sniping

As night fell, the din of battle temporarily faded from the land around Silver Moon Fort.

The orcs made camp three li away from the fortress.

Looking at the scattered lights in the distance, Amur let out a heavy sigh.

"Thousand-Man Commander!"

One of his subordinates came up behind him and said worriedly, "I feel like Lord Bayar isn't going to make it."

Amur immediately turned around. "Take me to him. Quickly."

He followed the soldier at a brisk pace to a tent somewhere in the camp. After taking several deep breaths, he ducked inside.

A strong herbal smell mixed with an equally strong stench of pus and blood rushed into Amur's nostrils.

Of course, to a military commander seasoned by countless battles, this was not unbearable.

The tent's floor was covered with animal hides, and a feeble figure lay on top of them.

Amur came to his side, crouched down with a solemn expression, and took one of his hands.

His body temperature was frighteningly high. That was what Amur felt when he touched Bayar.

During the day, Bayar, who served as his second-in-command, had led the archers toward the human position first.

The archers had borne the brunt of the humans' initial attack. Countless deadly metal projectiles had inflicted devastating losses on them.

Bayar, their commander, had been unlucky enough to be wounded. A projectile had pierced his thigh, and the soldiers beside him had immediately carried him away from the battlefield with all their strength.

Bayar had lost a great deal of blood. By evening, he had developed a high fever and drifted in and out of consciousness.

Amur frowned as he looked at his second-in-command.

Just as the soldier had said, his condition was extremely bad.

Bayar's eyes were narrowed, his entire face flushed with an