"They've lost all morale. They're like a flock of sheep now."
"Without anyone stepping forward to lead them, they won't even think of resisting."
Charles spoke confidently.
And the reality was indeed so.
Among these orcs, there were no first- or second-tier orcs—only ordinary low-tier ones.
If there had been even a single first-tier orc, Charles would not have been so confident.
He might have needed to pick out those first- and second-tier orcs.
When they were nothing but a flock of sheep, how could they possibly think of resisting?
So, the next day, Charles announced the good news to the orcs.
"Orcs. You should know who I am!"
"I am Imril, a Sun Elf and an elven lord from the Lotheran Elven Court."
"You are now my prisoners. I have the right to decide whether you die or continue living."
"Do you wish to live, or do you wish to die?"
A great many orcs panicked. Some remained silent, but others shouted, "We've already surrendered! You said you wouldn't let us die!"
"Aren't you going to chop off our big toes?"
"Cut off all my big toes, then! I don't want them anymore!"
The orcs wailed and cried for their fathers and mothers.
But Charles pressed a hand down and said, "Don't panic. If you are willing to serve me, then you can live."
Hearing those words, they clutched at them like a lifeline.
Thus, many orcs shouted that they were willing to surrender.
The loyalty of these orcs was not worth mentioning.
Even if they rebelled later, Charles did not care in the slightest. It was enough as long as they could be put to use.
And so, a new allied army was assembled.
They began heading back toward the logistical center.
When the morning sunlight spilled down,