After Kurto Shatterskull stopped speaking, he fell silent for a moment.
A blaze of fury burned in his heart. Of course, this fury was not aimed at his wolf-rider commander.
It was aimed at Charles, that sun elf, and at the recent state of the war.
Suppressing the anger in his heart, Kurto Shatterskull asked, "Tell me, how many men do the various units actually have left?"
One orc officer after another stepped forward to report.
The numbers in each force varied, but added together, there were only a little over five thousand men left.
Kurto Shatterskull muttered, "Of those five thousand, how many are recruits?"
In this battle, it was not only the Scorched-Earth Warcry Tribe that had suffered grievous losses.
The Howling Children of the Wasteland had suffered no small losses as well.
What did they do when losses grew too great? They pressed able-bodied men into service, dragged recruits into battle.
In the final battle that had broken the Scorched-Earth Warcry Tribe, many of the cannon fodder soldiers had been able-bodied orcs seized from other clans of the Scorched-Earth Warcry Tribe.
Those orcs were now also treated as recruits, making do with them as best they could.
Inside the command tent, the other orcs did not dare voice any obvious opinions. They all knew Kurto Shatterskull's temperament.
The more furious he became, the more reassured they were.
On the contrary, seeing him this calm was truly enough to make orcs afraid.
One orc gathered his courage and said, "Why don't we kill our way back and drive off that sun elf?"
"They have at most a thousand men. As long as we move cautiously, they won't be able to inflict too many casualties on us."
Upon hearing this, Kurto Shatterskull did not immediately speak. Instead, he calculated.