"Did you hear that?"
"Yeah. Wolves. And some very loud Orcs."
The wind carried the noise drifting across the open plains—shouts, snarls, and the thunder of approaching hooves.
But inside the stone walls, it was eerily quiet.
To be honest, even with all the preparations, Eric was still nervous.
Unlike the vagabond crouching beside him, Eric hadn't seen many real battles. The thought of an Orc cavalry charging their way made his stomach twist. A hundred Orcs, several dozen mounted riders—it didn't sound like a lot. But if they surrounded them, it would be more than enough to trap and crush two defenders like sardines in a barrel.
He glanced at his backpack. Five stacks of iron ingots stared back at him. Regret gnawed at his gut.
'Should've bought some pumpkins back in Bree. Might've been able to test the Iron Golem recipe.'
"ROOAARRR!"
The beastly roar snapped Eric's head up.
"They're here," said Farodan.
The two of them crouched behind the battlement, eyes fixed on the direction the noise came from.
Clatter.
"CHARGE!"
The shouting grew louder. Out of the tree line, shadows burst into the moonlight—dozens of dire wolves surged forward in formation, each carrying a snarling Orc rider armed to the teeth. They charged straight at the walls, fast enough to rival horses and a whole lot meaner.
Farodan calmly drew his bow, plucked an arrow from his quiver, and let it fly.
Thwip!
The arrow struck the lead wolf cleanly in the chest. The beast collapsed mid-sprint, sending its rider flying headfirst into the dirt.
Another shot—this one split an Orc's skull. It crumpled without a sound.
By the time the cavalry reached the wall, Farodan had already taken out three riders and downed two wolves. But the rest didn't flinch. If anything, the blood only riled them up more. Their eyes glowed red with bloodlust. When they noticed the wall was guarded by only two people, some of them even laughed.
Of course, even a ten-man army wouldn't scale a fifteen-meter-high smooth stone wall without a ladder or wings. The first wave tried jumping or scrambling up the stone—but failed spectacularly, bouncing off the surface and tumbling back like oversized fleas.
"Whose brilliant idea was it to say the wolves could leap the wall?!" one of the Orcs roared.
"I swear it was half this height when I saw it last!" shouted a scout in the back.
"You useless dung pile!"
With their pride bruised and their wolves embarrassed, the Orc cavalry did what all good disorganized forces do under pressure—start yelling at each other.
Farodan tried to get off another shot, but the Orcs were ready now. Several archers aimed straight at him, forcing him to duck back behind the wall. He retreated further into the structure, making use of the narrow murder holes to snipe out a few more careless enemies. But once they caught on to the trick, they avoided the holes, rendering them almost useless.
Eric risked a peek over the wall and saw the remaining cavalry had gathered below.
Now it was a stalemate. They couldn't get in, and the defenders didn't have enough firepower to drive them away.
Frustrated, the Orcs shouted curses up at the wall.
But Eric remained unmoved. In fact, after listening to them for a while, he started to appreciate their… creativity. Their insults ranged from crude poetry to unintentional comedy, using metaphors, similes, and even some half-decent rhythm.
Still, Eric thought, compared to the internet flame wars I've seen, this is amateur hour.
"Pathetic scum!"
A deep roar suddenly cut through the chaos.
A massive Orc, at least three meters tall and carrying a war axe the size of a log, shoved through the crowd. With one arm, he knocked a dire wolf and its rider clean off their feet.
"Ah-ha! What have we here? Two cowardly rats hiding behind their little stone wall?"
He pointed at the battlement and started shouting insults with a wide grin.
"Cowards! Weaklings!"
"Cowards! Weaklings!" the others echoed behind him like a drunken choir.
If this were a normal siege, a morale-boosting counterattack would be expected right about now.
But Eric's side only had two people.
A hundred Orcs against two defenders—and they were calling him a coward?
'Come up here and say that to my face', Eric thought bitterly.
The Orc leader didn't care. He raised his axe and caught an arrow in midair with its flat edge.
"Bring it forward!" he bellowed.
THUD.
A group of Orcs struggled to carry something massive—an enormous wooden battering ram, thicker than a tree trunk.
The towering Orc took it in one hand like it was a stick.
And then he smashed it into the gate.
THUD!
Cracks split the wooden frame.
THUD!
The whole gate warped.
Orcs behind him were already cheering, ready to charge in and wreak havoc.
But Eric's expression didn't change.
THUD!
On the third strike, the wooden gate and barricade exploded into splinters.
And revealed… another wall.
A thick slab of stone, three meters deep, stood silently behind the ruined door.
The Orc army fell silent.
Steam practically puffed out of the leader's nostrils. He glared up at the battlements, eyes twitching.
"Want to get in? Good luck with that!" Eric shouted, popping his head over the edge.
Immediately, seven or eight arrows shot past him, and he ducked back down with a squeak.
Realizing the situation had gone from "quick raid" to "long siege," the leader snarled a few curses—then waved his arm.
"We're pulling back!"
And just like that, the entire army turned and retreated into the woods.
"…They're retreating?" Eric blinked. That was… fast. They just gave up?
"I don't think they're leaving," Farodan said, stepping up beside him. He pointed toward the forest.
CRACK!
A tree fell with a crash and was slowly dragged away.
A few moments later—
CRACK!
Another.
CRACK!
Then another.
Even Eric, slow as he sometimes was, quickly figured it out.
"…Are they building something?"
From deep in the forest, the unmistakable sound of hammers and saws echoed through the night.
"Ladders," Farodan said. "They're building siege ladders."
Eric looked stunned.
"They can do that?"
Farodan nodded with a hint of pride. "Never underestimate Orcs. Crude and savage they may be, but their smithing skills rival our best. If a human army can build it, so can they."
"And behind their skills… is him—the Dark Lord. The one who forged the Rings of Power. A master of dark craftsmanship."
Eric whistled softly.
"Alright. I've seen enough."
"You're not thinking of going out there?"
Eric nodded. "I'm not about to sit here while they build an IKEA siege kit."
"It's dangerous. I can't say I support it."
Eric grinned.
"Vagabond… you clearly don't know what kind of gamer I am."
"Relax."
He climbed down from the wall and made his way into the castle.
Inside, he rummaged through the materials chest. Sulfur. Saltpeter. Charcoal. Perfect.
He placed them on the crafting bench and got to work.
1 sulfur + 1 saltpeter + 1 charcoal = 3 gunpowder
5 gunpowder + 4 sand = TNT
By the time he was finished, his backpack held twenty freshly crafted blocks of TNT.
Eric chuckled to himself.
"You ever heard of aerial bombardment?"