"All hail the King!" the men shouted together, their voices strong. Joy filled them, and their fear turned into courage. Just seeing their king so bold gave them strength to fight beside him.
Ragon looked at them and felt proud. The fire in their eyes was what he needed most for the battle ahead.
"With me!" Ragon called, lifting a heavy club high.
"Yaaah!" the men answered, raising their clubs too. They stood up from their stools where the women had painted their disguises and followed closely behind Ragon.
By nightfall, nearly a thousand men crouched in the bushes at the edge of the orc camp. The moonlight touched their painted skin, making them look like real orcs. From afar, no one would know the truth. They waited in silence, watching the campfires burn and the shadows of orcs moving about.
"Bring in the boats," Ragon ordered.
A group of men slipped away toward the river. Carefully, they pushed small wooden boats out from the reeds. The water made soft ripples, but no sound loud enough to give them away.
Ragon stood tall, gripping his club. The time to strike was almost here.
"Saboteurs and Shadow teams, with me," Ragon ordered in a low, steady voice.
"Defense team, you'll hold this ground. If we don't return, you fight to protect the families. Our lives are theirs to shield," he declared firmly.
"Yes, sir," the men whispered back, careful not to raise their voices. Then, without delay, they pushed their small boats into the water and began paddling toward the orc camp.
The defense team stayed behind, crouched in the shadows with their weapons ready, prepared to strike if the orcs pushed too close.
For an hour, the boats cut silently across the river, the only sound the soft splash of paddles and the croak of night frogs. Every man were alert as they gripped their weapon tightly. Their first goal was simple: draw out some of the orcs, splitting their numbers before the main attack.
As the boats neared the shore, a lone orc guard spotted them. He frowned, confused by the sight of so many figures rowing toward camp. The paint and horns fooled him...he thought they were his kind.
He stepped forward and called out,
"Which squad are you with? I didn't hear the chief give orders."
Ragon was the first to step onto the sand. He gave a slight nod as if about to answer. "I am...."
But before the words left his mouth, his hand flashed. A dagger slid from his coat, his other hand clamping over the orc's mouth. One swift slash across the throat, and the orc crumpled. Green blood splattered the rocks, steaming faintly in the cool night air.
"Decoy team!" Ragon snapped, pointing toward the far side of the camp.
The men moved at once, slipping into the dark, ready to pull the enemy's attention away.
The decoy team crept into the western forest and set several trees ablaze. The flames licked upward, orange against the dark sky, smoke curling thick and fast. Then, mimicking guttural orc cries as they shouted,
"Fire! Fire!" Their voices carried into the night, convincing enough to fool even the best of ears. It took nerves of steel to get so close, but the men did not falter.
Across the camp, the sudden glow caught the orcs' attention. Roars and shouts erupted as they scrambled to see what was happening. From the largest tent stomped Grel'thak, their chief...a hulking beast with muscle and scars, with a jagged blade strapped across his back. His steps shook the ground as he bellowed, his voice cutting through the noise like thunder.
"Who dares set fire to my land?" he snarled as his tusks glintedin the firelight.
Confused underlings rushed forward, their eyes darting toward the flames.
"Chief, it must be the Bonecrushers!" one stammered. "They've struck before."
"No, no—it's the Stone Fangs," another argued, his voice trembling. "They've been sniffing at our borders for weeks."
"Idiots...This is not Orcish Realm!" Grel'thak roared, backhanding one of them so hard the orc tumbled to the ground. His glare burned hotter than the fire. "Take fifty warriors and ride. If it's Humans, I want their heads on pikes by dawn."
The order was obeyed instantly. Within minutes, dire wolves thundered out of the camp, carrying armed orcs into the burning forest. Their absence left a gap a weakness Ragon had been waiting for.
From the treeline, Ragon raised his hand in signal. The sabotage team moved like shadows, slipping into the camp unnoticed, their painted green skin helping them melt into the dim torchlight.
"Poison, traps, then retreat," Ragon whispered, his voice steady and low.
At the water barrel by the bonfire, two men worked fast, crushing poisonous herbs between stones and dumping the dark slurry inside.
"Done," one muttered.
Nearby, others tore into the food tent, slashing open grain sacks and sprinkling pungent powders that would rot the orcs from within. The shadow team wove through the camp, laying tripwires near weapon racks and digging shallow pits disguised with brush.
Ragon watched it unfold, his silver eyes gleaming. "He won't know what hit him," he murmured, a smirk breaking through his calm.
Inside the camp, confusion grew.
"Why isn't the fire out yet?" an orc grumbled, glaring at the rising smoke.
"Shut up and grab your axe," another snapped.
But before he could move, a warrior's foot caught on a hidden wire. The ground exploded with a sharp crack, sending rocks and splinters flying. The orc howled, collapsing as blood poured down his leg.
"Ambush! We're under attack!" he bellowed, his cry shaking the camp.
The orc camp fell into disorder. Warriors shouted over each other, unsure whether to fight the flames, chase the noise, or defend the camp.
"Get water! Put out the fire!" one orc yelled.
"Forget the fire....grab your weapons!" another barked.
"Shut up! Do as the chief commands!" a third roared, already panicked.
Buckets of poisoned water were carried and passed around, many drinking without thinking. Grain spilled into the mud as traps snapped, sending orcs tumbling.
Grel'thak roared above the chaos, "Fools! Hold the line!" But even his booming voice couldn't bring order.
Hidden in the shadows, Ragon whispered, "Perfect."