Before the smoke of battle had cleared from Blackwater Lake, Chief Abar issued the order to retreat.
The royal guards silently relayed orders in the darkness, and the massive orc army began to slowly move eastward.
The battlefield was littered with corpses, supply wagons rolled silently by, orc soldiers dragged broken siege equipment, and wounded soldiers groaned on stretchers.
When they first arrived, their morale was as high as a black tide, but now all that remains is silent exhaustion and the gloom of defeat.
Abal, riding his tall warhorse, looked back at the Austrian fortress one last time.
The four fortresses stood silently in the morning light, like four iron nails driven into the grassland, while the outlines of the gunboats were clearly visible on the calm lake surface.
The Great Chief already knew that the loss of Blackwater Lake was a foregone conclusion. The Ordos had not only seized the water source, but also the strategic initiative in the western part of the grasslands.
All he could do was withdraw the royal forces back to the heart of the grasslands, build a new defensive line, and prevent the iron hooves of humans from further penetrating the depths of the grasslands.
"Issue the order!" His voice was hoarse, yet still authoritative. "All tribes around Blackwater Lake, move east with the royal court. This land has been defiled and is no longer suitable for orcs to inhabit."
However, few responded after the order was issued.
When the royal messengers arrived at the various tribal camps, they received different responses.
Some of the older tribes, such as the Wolf Fang and Iron Hoof tribes, immediately began packing up their tents, driving their livestock, and following the royal tent. They regarded Abar as the overlord of the grasslands, and although the royal tent had suffered a humiliating defeat, their loyalty remained unchanged.
However, another group of tribes, especially those on the fringes who had been forced to pay tribute to the Aldor army, chose a different path.
Instead of moving east, they quietly moved southwest under the cover of night, entering the edge of the Austrian-controlled area.
They set up camp in a designated area outside the Rock Fortress and handed over their surrender documents to the Austrian outpost.
These tribes did not hate the Royal Tent, but rather experienced firsthand the order of the Ordos. The offerings collected from humans were minimal, their doctors even treated the sick, there was no unwarranted warfare, and no private feuds between tribes. Although life was not wealthy, it was much more peaceful than enduring the harsh conscription and years of war under the Royal Tent.
When the news reached the royal camp, the generals were furious.
"Cowards!" Aguire, clad in heavy armor, slammed his fist on the table, making the oil lamp flicker. "For a few bags of flour and a few pieces of iron, they betrayed the bloodline of the grasslands! Have they forgotten the glory of their ancestors?"
"Disgraceful!" Arroyo's voice was grim. "These fools have been blinded by the sugar-coated flesh of humanity, willingly becoming slaves to other races, munching on the scraps they offer!"
The fire in the royal tent crackled, illuminating angry and distorted faces. They could tolerate the distant relatives from the forest, but they couldn't accept that some grassland beastmen had chosen to submit to humans.
Abar sat on the wolf-skin throne, remaining silent for a long time. He did not roar like the generals, but the great chieftain's silence was more chilling than any roar.
When all the tribal chiefs gathered in the royal tent, whether they had already migrated east or were still observing, Abar slowly stood up, his eagle-like gaze sweeping over everyone, finally landing on the empty seats belonging to the tribal chiefs who had submitted to the Aldor.
"They chose comfort." His voice, though not loud, reached everyone's ears clearly. "They thought it was more dignified to eat a piece of bread on their knees than to stand and wield a battle axe."
The chieftain paused for a moment, a cold, resolute glint in his eyes.
"But the memory of the grasslands will not be forgotten, and the noble soul of the orcs must not be defiled."
He raised his right hand, the battle axe gleaming coldly in the firelight, like a testament to his oath.
"I, Bloodhand Abar, hereby swear—when the royal tent is restored, when the steppe is once again unified, those tribes that have betrayed their bloodline and willingly become slaves will be punished..."
The chieftain's voice suddenly turned cold, like the biting wind on an icy plain:
"They will be uprooted, and their names will be completely erased from the epic of the grasslands."
Inside the command room of the Rock Fortress, the flickering shadows of candlelight danced on the stone walls, and a map covered the entire oak table, with red lines and blue crosses marking the movements of both sides.
Sir Andrew, the commander of the Austrian army, stood before the table, his brow furrowed, his fingertips unconsciously tapping the edge of the table, his gaze still fixed on the trail of dust left by Abar's retreating army.
The door was gently pushed open, and Scholar Alvis entered. He was wearing a dark gray robe with ink stains on the cuffs, and he carried a scroll of animal skin map and several recent intelligence reports.
He put the things down, his gaze swept over the map, and his voice was deep and clear:
"Abar has left, but it's not a defeat; it's a strategic retreat."
Andrew looked up: "I know this wolf won't give up easily. He's retreating to the heart of the grasslands to regroup."
Alvis slowly sat down, tapping his finger lightly on the vast area east of Blackwater Lake on the map. "So we can't let them catch their breath, and Abar is very likely to march south again. The Marquis is preparing his army south of the Rocky Mountains, and we need to give him time."
A sharp glint flashed in his eyes: "We should stick to Abar like glue, so he has no time to rest."
Andrew was slightly taken aback.
Alvis continued, "Use the tactics that orcs are good at against orcs."
He unfolded the animal skin map and pointed to the tribal camps that had submitted to the Aldor: "These tribes were oppressed by the Royal Tent, some were even forcibly conscripted and had their livestock plundered. Their resentment towards Abar is far deeper than we imagine, but this resentment has always been suppressed by the Royal Tent's powerful prestige and strength."
"But now we are here, and we offer him a second possibility—overthrow Abar! We can recruit warriors from among them—not by forcing them, but by promising them freedom and protection, to recruit orcs who are willing to oppose the Warchief."
"They are familiar with every gully, every water source, and every depression on the grassland that can be used for hiding."
Alvis's voice grew louder.
"Let them form a light cavalry force, keep their expertise in archery, and equip them with some light firearms. When Abar's army retreats, this force will follow closely behind, harassing supplies, sniping those who slack off, and creating chaos."
"When Abar retaliated angrily and tried to encircle and annihilate them, they immediately scattered, broke into smaller groups, and disappeared into the depths of the grassland, vanishing like the wind. When the enemy was exhausted and retreated, they quietly regrouped and approached again."
"If Abar's army wants to pursue us to the end, then they should retreat into the range of our artillery fire!"
"This is exactly the kind of harassment warfare that orc cavalry excel at," Andrew whispered, his eyes gradually brightening. "Yes, we can use that on them!"