The fleeing Orcish Cavalry discovered in terror that their retreat had been completely cut off.
Aldo Army's Light Cavalry appeared from behind like ghosts. They formed three horizontal ranks, carbines held level. The cavalry officer at the front raised his bloodstained Curved Blade, his voice piercing the thin mist:
"Lay down your weapons! Surrender and you will not be killed!"
The surviving Orcish Cavalry looked at one another in bewilderment. Their War Horses breathed heavily with exhaustion, while the riders' battered bodies hung from the saddles. The fighting spirit in their eyes had long since been extinguished by last night's bloody massacre.
A young Orc warrior suddenly threw down his Curved Blade, dismounted, and fell to his knees. A second followed, then a third...
"Cowards! Get up, all of you!" Urgok roared, madness burning in his single eye. He kicked his War Horse into motion and charged toward the human lines with his battle-axe raised. "For the Orcs' glo—"
"Bang!"
A crisp gunshot cut off his final battle cry. Urgok's body abruptly jolted to a halt. He slowly lowered his head and looked at his chest, where a hole had appeared in his leather armor, blood gushing from it. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but only coughed up a mouthful of blood before toppling heavily from the saddle.
Makarov lowered the smoking firearm in his hand and stared expressionlessly at the Orc chieftain's corpse. The Orc prisoners around him let out suppressed whimpers, and several young warriors even began to tremble. They had never imagined that a warrior like Urgok could die so uneventfully. There had been no epic duel, no tragic final struggle—just a distant gunshot that ended the old warrior's life.
"Clear the battlefield." Makarov turned and ordered the soldiers, his voice eerily