The Defense, Part One

"Rustle, rustle~~~"

Flocks of birds burst into the sky from the dense forest at the foot of the Misty Mountains. Whole swaths of trees stirred without a breath of wind. Allen knew that what he had been waiting for was finally coming.

"How many of them are there?"

Mounted on the eastern bank, Allen watched the disturbance in the forest across the river with a grim expression, calculating how many troops the Orc King had gathered and whether the forces he had prepared could withstand such a threat.

At least tens of thousands of Half-orcs lived in the Misty Mountains, which wound on for eight hundred kilometers. They might live in caves, dense forests, or the tunnels running throughout the mountain range.

Their numbers were immense, but they were far from united. Sometimes they even fought among themselves over petty nonsense.

The Orc King was one of their rulers. He directly ruled the Half-orcs living in Orc Town, while numerous smaller tribes nearby acknowledged him as their king and recognized his authority. That was why he called himself the Orc King. In reality, he could not command every Half-orc in the Misty Mountains. Azog, for instance, was probably his equal.

He was an enormous orc, three or four meters tall. It would have been difficult to find another orc of his size anywhere in Middle-earth. He was highly intelligent and experienced, and all manner of ceremonial gestures came naturally to him. Judging by his attitude toward Oakswrit, the Beast-Biter, he was likely an ancient orc who had survived from some unknown age.

When he learned that the human captives he had sent as tribute to Sauron had been stolen, towering rage erupted within him. He stamped his feet and snarled at the wolf riders who had returned alive, "You lost the tribute, yet you still had the nerve to come back? Well?!" As he spoke, he slapped his terrified subordinates one after another, sending them flying into dark crevices in the cave. He immediately ordered messengers to summon the orc tribes that obeyed him, while sending his fully armed guards out on wargs to scout these reckless humans who had dared challenge his authority.

The extent of the Orc King's fury had clearly exceeded Allen's expectations. After learning the details of Allen's village, he gathered nearly two thousand orc soldiers. Though they wore rags and most carried crude weapons, there were nearly two thousand of them. Numbers were their greatest weapon.

In addition, the Half-orcs repeatedly sent messengers to negotiate with the wargs' leader. After paying a price, they secured more than a hundred wargs to accompany his elite guards in the assault. He even brought out two cave trolls from his treasured collection. All of this took him a great deal of time.

A week had passed by the time everything was ready. Furious but still rational, the Orc King ordered the assembled Half-orcs and trolls to avoid sunlight and advance through the dense forest along the edge of the Misty Mountains. To keep sunlight from weakening their fighting strength too much, he instructed the officers leading them to wait until full darkness the following night before crossing the Anduin River at the shallows near Carl Rock and attacking Allen's people.

The orders given to the hundred-odd Warg Riders were to depart a day later and wait in the forest near the Old Ford. At dusk, they were to head north along the river from the crossing and attack Allen, giving him a surprise while he was fighting two thousand Half-orcs.

The Orc King did not personally command this battle. His body was too large for running through mountains and dense forests anymore. He merely gave the officers leading the troops their orders:

"Bring every last one of those brazen humans back to me, alive or dead. Even if they're already in a wolf's belly, you'll ride that wolf back here. Understood? If you fail, you can feed the wolves yourselves."

That night, beneath the bright moonlight, masses of dark shapes began emerging from the pine forest several miles west of Carl Rock. At that same moment, a swift silhouette swept over the dense forest and vanished in an instant.

Klethi, who had spent the past several days on Carl Rock, was the first to spot those masses of dark figures. She knew she was finally free and would no longer be forced to stay there. She quickly took out her fire starter, lit the bonfire on Carl Rock, slid down the rope, and galloped back to camp on Sapphire. Yes, she had named the white horse beneath her "Sapphire."

Allen had been waiting a long time for this moment. As soon as he spotted the fire on Carl Rock, he ordered everyone to prepare for battle. He knew that a battle of attack and defense like this was a straightforward slugging match. It came down to whose resolve was stronger, who had more tricks in reserve, and whose forces were more powerful.

He had prepared plenty of gifts for the Orc King's troops: the hundred-odd archers and crossbowmen now stationed behind the wall, the fifty-odd professional infantry guarding the gate, and the fifteen heavily armored cavalry ready to charge at any moment. He needed to deploy these forces at the right times to win the battle. He believed the Orc King could never imagine that a village of roughly five hundred people had nearly two hundred professional soldiers.

Yes, both sides had gaps in their information. The Orc King truly had not expected Allen to have so many soldiers. One reason he had assigned so many troops to attack was that Allen's actions had enraged him. He wanted to capture everyone here in one sweep, and he needed a swift victory. He had no desire to clash with the elves living in Mirkwood.

The other reason was that the tribute he had sent to Sauron had been stolen right under his nose. This was unquestionably a challenge to his authority. He needed to demonstrate his strength and tell every orc in the surrounding area that he was still the biggest badass around.

Allen, too, had genuinely never expected the Orc King to gather such a vast army against him. He had thought five or six hundred orc infantry and another hundred-odd wolf riders would be the most he could face. His initial preparations had all been made for that level of threat. But as time passed and the orc attack still did not come, Allen realized he had guessed wrong. Growing increasingly anxious, he devised one contingency after another to face a crisis that had already far exceeded his predictions.

The moonlight that night was beautiful and bright. By its light, Allen watched the Half-orcs crossing the Anduin River with a grim face. They seemed endless, stretching away into the distant darkness.

Likewise, after leading his troops across the Anduin River and up the slope toward Allen's village, the Half-orc officer saw the guards waiting behind the wall. He paid them little mind. He had been one of the Warg Riders responsible for reconnaissance and knew the village had only forty or fifty professional soldiers at most. Everyone else was either one of the elderly, women, and children who had been stolen back, or a bumpkin who chopped wood and built fences. They had little fighting strength. His people had plenty of experience attacking villages like this. Once they killed the fighting men, everyone left would be fresh meat on a platter, theirs for the taking. Besides, he had nearly two thousand Half-orcs and two trolls with him this time. He was certain he could complete his mission, and was already imagining the rewards the Orc King would grant him after his victory.

Growing more excited by the moment, the Half-orc officer swung his whip at the nearby Half-orcs who were trudging along and bellowed, "You scum! You lazy, food-wasting pieces of trash! Move faster! Faster!"

The Half-orcs struck by his whip shuddered and whimpered, continuing forward, only faster than before.

When the Half-orc force reached a point five hundred meters from the wall, the officer stopped and began pacing back and forth. This time, he whipped the Half-orcs who were moving too quickly, shouting as he lashed them, "What are you running so fast for? Want to get shot dead? Stop advancing! Those in the back, spread out to both sides! Hurry, hurry!" Amid the crack, crack of his whip, the Half-orcs behind began gathering on either flank. The officer was experienced as well, and knew that ordinary human ranged weapons would have difficulty reaching his troops at this distance.

From Allen's perspective, the Half-orcs stopped advancing five hundred meters away and gradually spread out to either side, forming a line two hundred meters long, thick in the middle and thin at the flanks. Then, directed by a whip-wielding Half-orc shouting something Allen could not make out, the whole mass surged toward the camp. The thickest part of the formation attacked the gate, while the thinner flanks rushed toward the sides of the camp.

The view from the camp wall was excellent. A gentle slope ran from the wall down toward Carl Rock, creating a difference in elevation. People often said that a thousand men formed a boundless sea, but in truth, if you stood high enough, you could still see where that sea ended.

Allen's palms sweated as he watched the Half-orcs charging toward him. He carefully looked over his subordinates and found that each seemed calmer than the last. Klethi even pulled a face at him. Couldn't they see how many enemies were attacking (╯‵□′)╯︵┻━┻?

Allen had no time to complain. He raised his war bow and began taking shots at the approaching Half-orcs. His archery was exceptionally accurate. In game terms, his bow proficiency would have been at least four hundred, and his war bow had ample range.

Allen shot extremely quickly, loosing seven or eight arrows in a very short span. Each arrow brought down a Half-orc running uphill. But the enemies he killed did not make so much as a ripple in the main force. More Half-orcs quickly filled the places of the fallen. Soon, Deshavi joined him, shooting with her stiff bow.

It was not yet the best time for the crossbowmen to fire. Their range was short. The sharpshooters carrying siege crossbows had an effective range of no more than 120 meters, the trained crossbowmen with ordinary crossbows no more than eighty meters, and light crossbows had an effective range of only fifty meters at most. Yet all of them could inflict lethal damage at over a hundred meters. They waited silently for Allen's order.

The orc troops drew ever closer to the camp wall. Allen could now clearly see their hideous faces. Deciding the time was about right, he loosed several flaming arrows he had prepared earlier.

The flaming arrows streaked across the night sky and landed precisely in the prepared woodpiles, which had already been liberally doused with the oil Allen had purchased. The rising flames drove back the darkness for dozens of meters around them. This was the order for the crossbowmen to fire. The Half-orcs, who disliked bright light, skirted the fires, bunching together even more densely.

With a twang, more than a hundred crossbow bolts shot into the attacking Half-orcs. Dozens immediately fell beneath the volley.

The nearby Half-orcs faltered for a moment. Seeing this, the officer realized he had underestimated the enemy's ranged strength and shouted, "Faster! Run, all of you! Go, go, go!"

In truth, the Half-orcs were not running particularly slowly, considering that they were attacking uphill the whole time. But under their officer's orders and the threat of death, the Half-orcs around him ran faster still.

Allen had been searching for the whip-wielding Half-orc officer all along. To his eyes, all the Half-orcs looked much the same. Buried in their ranks at night, the officer had been impossible to distinguish. Now that he had drawn attention to himself, Allen picked him out immediately, aimed his bow, and sent an arrow whistling toward him.

The orc officer had no inkling of the danger. He was swinging his whip at the two cave trolls crawling forward nearby, shouting at them to run and smash through the camp gate. Just as his whip fell, the first arrow pierced his palm. In agony, he hurriedly ducked his head and clutched his pierced hand with the other. Allen's second arrow grazed the officer's scalp. Realizing he had been singled out, the officer quickly crouched behind several orc soldiers and vanished from Allen's sight.

Allen could no longer spare him any attention. He had spotted something else he had not anticipated. A hundred meters away, two cave trolls were accelerating madly toward the camp gate. They trampled more than a dozen Half-orcs to death along the way.

"Everyone, concentrate fire on those two trolls first!"

Allen shouted while pouring arrows into the trolls. Though the others did not know what trolls were, they saw two hulking creatures three or four meters tall charging wildly toward the gate and naturally understood which targets to attack first.

Under the relentless barrage, the trolls realized they were being targeted. Bolts and arrows kept striking their green-scaled bodies. Though they could not inflict much damage, they hurt. The trolls were dim-witted, but they still knew to take measures to avoid being hit. One casually scooped up several Half-orcs, held them in front of its head and chest, lowered its head, and charged toward the gate. The other tried to copy its companion, only to discover that it had already run beyond the Half-orc ranks. It paused, scratched its head, and pondered whether it should go back and grab a few Half-orcs before charging again.

In that fleeting opening, Klethi raised her heavy javelin and hurled it with all her strength. It flew straight toward the troll's large, bewildered eye and buried itself deep inside.

"Awooo!"

With its eye and part of its brain grievously wounded, the troll threw back its head and howled. Then another javelin drove into its mouth and burst out through the back of its head. Wounded again, the troll kept clawing at its mouth and struggled for quite some time before collapsing heavily to the ground.

By then, the cave troll using several Half-orcs as shields had reached the gate. Taking it down with ranged weapons was no longer realistic. Allen steadied his breathing, released his war bow, and gripped the heavy cavalry lance beside him with his right hand. Planting his left hand on the wall, he heaved himself up and stood firmly atop it. He reached back, pulled his great helm onto his head, and stared hard at the troll charging with its head lowered.

When the troll came within four or five meters of the gate, Allen took a deep breath, gripped his lance with both hands, and kicked hard off the wall. Clad in full heavy armor, he launched himself into the air and met the charging troll head-on two meters above the ground. His heavy lance pierced an orc's abdomen and plunged deep into the troll's chest. Crack! The old lance he had owned for only a few days snapped. The troll's charging body slammed into him and sent him flying. He tumbled into the camp gate before coming to a stop, rolled over, pushed himself up with both hands, shook his head, and stood. Reaching behind him, he undid the clasp, drew the greatsword secured to his back, and charged at the maddened troll. (A slot cut into the scabbard on the side opposite the direction of the draw would make the sword easy to remove, while a clasp at the scabbard's mouth would keep it from falling out normally.)

The sudden, grievous wound and collision with Allen halted the troll's charge and sent it stumbling back several steps. Seeing the enemy charging toward it, the troll hurled one of the Half-orcs in its hands at Allen. Allen dodged aside, rushed to its feet, and swung his greatsword, hacking deep into its left leg. The troll dropped into a sitting position in pain, then swung another Half-orc clutched in its hand at him.

After landing his strike, Allen quickly pulled back, wrenching his greatsword out of the troll's leg while dodging the orc swung at him. He then stepped to the seated troll's side. Before it could react, he gripped his greatsword in both hands and thrust with all his strength, driving the blade into the side of its head and giving it a hard twist. The frenzied troll then slapped him away.

Allen staggered to his feet once more. Seeing the troll slowly fall still, he knew the camp wall was safe for the moment. He walked over, pulled his greatsword out of its brain, and flicked off the muck of indeterminate color coating the blade. Then he raised the sword and charged toward the Half-orcs who had crossed the ditch and pressed up to the wall.

At that moment, the gate behind Allen opened, and more than fifty Rhodoks Veteran Spearman emerged. Following Firentis's orders, they ran swiftly with their broad shields raised and formed a shield wall more than forty meters long, two meters out from the camp wall. They watched the charging Half-orcs intently and tightened their grips on their war spears. Meanwhile, ten Nords Royal Guards, having thrown all their throwing axes, leaped straight down from the wall and raised their great axes to hack at the Half-orcs already reaching both ends of the shield wall.

The Half-orcs who had been moving around the sides of the camp saw the enemy come out of their own accord and shrieked as they swarmed toward them. Meanwhile, our protagonist Allen was already in the midst of the Half-orc horde, slaughtering them in droves.