The Howling Children of the Wasteland's pursuers—the closest unit—were directly crushed by Charles.
They had not even managed to inflict many casualties on Charles.
One night raid and one dawn assault had slaughtered nearly all of them.
The surrendered prisoners had their thumbs chopped off, hands and feet alike, according to the old rules.
Even if these orcs were released, they probably would not survive for long.
This was an era where people ate people. Even the strong-bodied were exploited, let alone useless trash rendered worthless by injury.
At first, the Howling Children of the Wasteland might feed them for a while.
But as their numbers grew, how could they keep feeding them?
They no longer had any productive capacity. There had originally been over two hundred orc wolf riders, and now there were another three hundred or so.
Five hundred orcs were not so easy to keep alive.
When Kurto Shatterbone, leader of the Howling Children of the Wasteland, received word that this force had been defeated, he fell silent for a moment.
Inside the tent, the other orcs were roaring and clamoring.
"This is an insult! We must kill them!"
"They can't have gone far!"
The tent was a noisy mess. After hearing the full account of the battle, Kurto Shatterbone finally spoke coldly. "Enough!"
His voice was not loud, yet every orc instantly fell silent. No one did not fear this chieftain.
Kurto Shatterbone said, "Send someone to ask them what it will take to stop the war."
"Boss! We can't just let this go!"
"If we do, anyone will dare lay hands on us!"
Kurto Shatterbone looked at the orc who had spoken, grabbed him by the braid atop his head, and slammed his face straight into the table.
Bang! The tremendous impact nearly burst the