The numbers were terrifying—not just scattered groups of raiders, but an organized legion, moving as if driven forward by a single force.
At the front of the army, massive creatures, twice the size of an average human, advanced, wielding giant clubs and crude iron swords.
Their arms were covered in glowing tribal markings, as if burning with a hidden energy.
On the distant hills near the fortress, Gerom stood at the peak of a rocky plateau, gazing at the fortress walls that shimmered under the torchlight.
Behind him stretched the orc army's temporary command camp, where fires illuminated the tents and soldiers moved in clear preparation for the impending battle.
One of the commanders approached him—a hulking orc with dark gray skin, his arms covered in scars, and his eyes gleaming with savage excitement.
This was Kargas, one of the fiercest leaders in the orc army. In a gruff voice, he said, "Gerom, we are ready. The men await your orders."
