Rise of the Horde
Chapter 373 - 373

The certain possibility of Ishaq and his men participating in the upcoming battle didn't stop the horde. Instead of fearing a powerful foe, the orcs felt excited. Fighting someone as strong as Ishaq was like a shot of adrenaline to them.

During the march of the horde, the ground trembled a bit. The lands of the baron seemed to be quaking in fear at the presence of the orcs.

In the distance to the south, bald mountains can be seen as the sun shines down on the sand that stretches for miles. Near the river, scattered rocks reflect against the endless blue sky.

The desert extends as far as the eye can see; the sun blazing high in a cloudless blue sky. Most of the ground is brown and barren, the grains of sand hot and coarse. The only lands that had some vegetations were the ones close to the river.

The air tastes like hot sand, but so dry that it sticks to the tongue and is difficult to swallow.

The desert was a symphony of sand and wind and the howl of the wind.

The sand hissed at Khao'khen, his warriors, and their allies as they walked over it. As they march through the land, their feet kick up dust and stones.

But the harshness of the desert did not perturb Khao'khen and his warriors. The orcs can endure the extreme weathers much better than the other races because of their toughness. And the Ereians, they were already used to the heat of their homeland.

As they moved deeper into the desert, they noticed that the wind had picked up speed, and the sand was now whipping around them in all directions. Khao'khen knew they needed to find shelter soon if they wanted to avoid getting caught in a sandstorm.

He scanned the horizon, searching for any signs of shelter or refuge. And then he saw it. In the distance, a series of rocky outcroppings jutted out from the ground, offering some cover from the storm.

"To the rocks!" he shouted to his warriors, gesturing towards the outcroppings. "We need to seek shelter there before the storm catches up with us. We don't want to be buried by the desert before meeting the new enemy army."

They rushed towards the outcropping, their feet sinking deep into the hot sand with each step. As they drew closer, Khao'khen could feel the hot breath of the sandstorm on the back of his neck.

The situation was dire, but the orcs didn't look nervous at all, they just increased their pace and followed after their chieftain. A sandstorm was not a stranger to the Drakhars. They have already grown accustomed to seeing one or already experienced one while growing up.

Like ants returning to their home, the orcs and the Drakhars made a beeline for the rocky outcroppings. There was no need for Khao'khen to assign who goes to which outcropping. The horde moved in together with their warband. The same thing happened with the Drakhars.

The orcs and Drakhars quickly took shelter from the sandstorm, then waited patiently as it passed by in all its fury. After what felt like hours, the storm finally calmed down and Khao'khen could no longer hear the raging outburst of the desert.

The sun shone brightly again in a now crystal-clear sky and the winds had died down to a gentle breeze. Khao'khen and his warriors had endured the sandstorm safely and could continue their march towards Ishaq's army.

"Tell the commanders to account their warriors," Khao'khen ordered. "They should thoroughly check their numbers. Someone might have been unluckily buried by the sands."

After doing the checks, the horde moved forward with renewed vigor, knowing that their fight was close at hand. The ground beneath them vibrated with anticipation as they walked, as if something powerful was waiting for them around every corner.

They continued their march towards the enemy as if the sandstorm had never happened. As they moved closer to their destination, a strange feeling of anticipation filled them; something they could not explain nor express in words, but nonetheless exciting.

The journey was uneventful and the rest of the way. Khao'khen's horde and their allies made use of the same route that the Warghen Clan had taken during their scouting. They stuck close to the river banks. The sound of the river flowing nearby provided them with a sense of relief from the heat.

It was near noon; the sun was at its peak, and so was the heat that it gave off. Not far away was the fortress, the first obstacle that they must clear. They needed to take control of the fortress to secure their rear and have a path of retreat.

As they had expected, the scouts from the fort quickly took notice of the orcish horde. The bells within the town started ringing.

Khao'khen and his warriors halted their march, knowing fully well that the enemy had taken notice of their presence. They took cover behind large rocks and boulders, assessing the situation before making a move.

"Be prepared, a battle might break out any moment," Khao'khen ordered, his voice firm and commanding. "Stay focused and alert. We cannot afford to let our guard down."

The orcs and Drakhars readied themselves for battle, each warrior taking their positions behind cover. Khao'khen surveyed their surroundings, looking for any potential weaknesses in the fortress's defenses.

"The fortress is heavily guarded," he said to his commanders. "We must take them by surprise if we want to have any chance of victory." Trot'thar suggested using stealth to approach the fortress undetected. Khao'khen agreed, knowing that it was their best option.

"Very well," he said. "The Verakhs would be the ones to do the job then. They will approach the fortress under the cover of nightfall. Inform them to be ready to move out as soon as it gets dark."

When it comes to stealth, the Verakhs were the ones among the horde who were best at it. Although they usually work in the wilderness, they were up for the task.

The Verakhs waited patiently as the sun set over the horizon, giving way to the darkness of night. It was time to make their move. Darkness was the orc's old friend.

They made their move towards the fortress, moving in absolute silence. They moved like shadows in the night, blending perfectly into the surrounding darkness. The Verakhs were so quiet that even their breathing was barely audible.

As they drew closer to the fortress, they could see the guards walking along the walls, their torches casting flickering shadows on the ground below. The Verakhs knew they had to be careful not to be detected.

Quickly and quietly, they climbed up the wall and over the edge, landing silently on the other side. They moved towards the nearest guard, their movements almost too fast to see. Before the guard could sound the alarm, a dagger from a Verakh found its way into his throat.

The rest of the guards were taken out in the same manner, one by one, without making a sound. The Verakhs were like ghosts, slipping through the fortress unnoticed.

"Don't you find their gear odd?" Bakrah was the first to notice the gears of the guards that they had taken out. "Something doesn't feel right." he felt that something was amiss but he can't point his finger at it.

"Cautious bastards," an annoyed voice from one of the nearby towers sounded. A huge man wearing the same armor as the guards that they had taken out showed up. Right behind him were dozens of soldiers with weapons at the ready.

"It's a trap! Retreat!" Bakrah shouted. The Verakhs quickly responded to the situation and started showering their foes with bolts of iron.

Barika, who was at the forefront, took a few shots, but he was lucky that the bolts just graze him. He was the first one to react after seeing that the orcs were pointing something at them. His instinct screamed danger and so he quickly got on the ground and rolled away.

The Verakhs continued to fire their crossbows, their bolts piercing through the armor of the enemy soldiers. But they were outnumbered, and soon enough, the enemy soldiers began closing in on them.

The Verakhs quickly realized that they were trapped and their only way out was to scale down the wall. They fought fiercely, taking down as many enemies as they could. The fierceness of the Verakhs planted a seed of fear in the hearts of their enemies.

"Bakrah, grab the wounded and fall back first." Kroth shouted at his brother. "We will hold them off!"

Bakrah and the wounded Verakhs were able to get off the wall. The sound of battle continued on the walls. Kroth and the remaining Verakhs demolished anyone that came too close to them.

Although they were powerful and more durable than their foes, Kroth and the remaining Verakhs who were with him on the walls got exhausted. Their surroundings were littered with blood, body parts and corpses of the fallen.

The screams of pain of those who were wounded echoed through the night. Fear engulfed the walls.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, an iron bolt came whistling by and nailed two of the Verakhs to the walls. "Ballista..." Kroth turned his gaze towards the direction where the bolt came from. There, he saw a few ballistas line up and aimed at them.

Seeing that two of their opponents were quickly dealt with, the Ereians who were on the walls fought again with renewed vigor. Kroth and his remaining comrades fought with everything that they had.

"Captain go! We will hold them back for as long as we can," one of the Verakhs shouted at him.

"I will not leave you guys behind. We will get through this together or we'll all die here to— "his words were cut short as he was thrown out of the wall. A bolt had impaled him on the shoulder.

Kroth's eyes widened as he felt the pain shoot through his body. He landed hard on the ground, his vision temporarily blurred from the impact. He looked around and realized that he was far from the fortress walls. His Verakh companions were nowhere to be seen, probably still fighting for their lives up there.

Blood gushed from the wound, but he refused to let it slow him down. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, Kroth managed to get up and stumble forward. He quickly made his way towards Bakrah and the wounded Verakhs, his heart heavy with the loss of his comrades.

"We have to retreat," Kroth said grimly, catching his breath. "The fortress was a trap."

Bakrah nodded in agreement, his face tense with worry. "We need to go back to our camp and inform the chief. The enemies had been waiting for us."

Upon hearing the news about the ambush, Khao'khen ordered the orcs and Drakhars to fall back to their camp, their hearts heavy with loss but still determined to win this war. The ambush at the fortress was only the beginning of their long journey towards victory.

"It looks like they won't let us take the fortress easily," Khao'khen muttered. He didn't expect that their foes to set up an ambush so quick. "Get the siege engines ready! We will rain down hell upon them."

The orcs and Drakhars worked quickly to prepare the siege engines before their enemies would launch a counter-attack. They loaded the onagers with massive rocks and boulders, ready to unleash their fury on the fortress.

Khao'khen watched as the siege machines were loaded and aimed at the fortress walls. With a signal from him, they were launched, hurtling through the air towards the enemy stronghold.

The sound of rocks hitting stone echoed through the air as the boulders destroyed parts of the wall. Those who were unlucky among the defenders got squashed by the rocks. The First Kanikarr Corps rained down rocks upon the enemy for half an hour.

The once mighty walls of the fortress were now riddled with cracks. Some parts of its battlements thoroughly destroyed.