Chapter 387: Orc Night Attack on Grey Stone Bridge!

Midnight!

Across from the Grey Stone Bridge encampment.

"Chief Babik, look over there—that's the human encampment!"

"Our scouts saw the size of the camp during the day—it holds no more than three thousand!"

Less than an hour later, Babik and his group arrived at the Grey Stone Bridge.

Seeing the wooden encampment his subordinates pointed to, and the flags planted along its walls, Babik immediately formed a sharp impression.

Though both last night and today, visibility remained dim.

But those flags—he would never forget them, especially the black-and-white one: a black background with a white, legged serpent. He had seen the same one last night in the Emerald River Valley!

"Damn two-legged sheep!" Seeing those flags, a surge of rage erupted in Babik's heart.

Of course, this time he absolutely could not afford failure, so he would not act impulsively.

"Scout the surroundings thoroughly!"

"Yes, Chief!"

Soon, dozens of servant soldiers floated across the river using goat-skin bladders.

They conducted a careful reconnaissance around the area.

About ten minutes later, one servant soldier arrived before Babik.

"Master, the slaves who crossed the river have confirmed—there are no ambushes within three li around the enemy camp!"

"Excellent! Then launch the attack!"

A smile finally appeared on Babik's face, and with the servant soldiers as the vanguard, the orc army surged toward the Grey Stone Bridge.

"What's that noise?" There were guards on the Grey Stone Bridge itself, and barricades had been placed across it.

The sentry on duty faintly sensed movement.

Sssss! Sssss! Sssss!

But before he could discern anything in the darkness, the shrill whistling of thrown spears reached his ears.

Plop! Plop! Plop!

Instantly, half of the small squad collapsed, their bodies riddled with holes.

"Kill!"

The next moment, the orcs no longer hid—they charged toward the Grey Stone Bridge with war cries.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"

Of course, such commotion immediately alerted the soldiers inside the camp; soon, urgent alarm bells rang throughout the encampment.

"What's happening?"

"Yes! Gervas, what's going on?"

Meanwhile, inside the camp, Mil, Ian, and others were jolted awake, bursting frantically from their tents.

"It's an orc attack!!"

"What? Orcs? Those damned creatures—why attack Grey Stone Bridge? Don't they think it's too far?"

"Exactly! This Grey Stone Bridge is the hardest of the three checkpoints. Those orcs are utterly irrational! Gervas, what do we do now?"

"First, go see the situation—if we can hold it, we must hold it!" Gervas wore a serious expression.

"Understood, Gervas!"

Soon, several nobles followed Gervas hastily to the wooden wall.

When they reached the top of the wall, the main force of orc servant soldiers had already drawn near the bridgehead.

The stone bridge's barricades had proven useless, already pushed into the river.

It was certain the bridgehead itself would be breached soon.

"They're servant soldiers—there are at least two or three thousand of them! But the orcs themselves number only two or three hundred!"

Seeing the situation, Mil and the others grew calmer.

The reason was simple: they were not afraid of servant soldiers.

To them, servant soldiers were no different from common peasant conscripts.

What they truly feared were the beastmen themselves.

Now, with only two or three hundred orcs, they immediately felt little threat.

Gervas knew this was the orcs' tactic—to reveal only a small number of orc warriors to lull these nobles into complacency and prevent them from fleeing.

Of course,

Gervas did not warn Mil and the others.

He had already received word from Zhuiyue: Adams had moved out.

So this spared him the trouble of having to persuade Mil and the others to stay.

"Gentlemen, no more words—fight!"

"Understood, Gervas!"

Mil and the others immediately began deploying troops.

First, they ordered archers to leave the camp immediately while the orc ranks were still blocked at the bridgehead, to cut down as many servant soldiers as possible.

Sssss! Sssss! Sssss!

Under a barrage of arrows, screams from the servant soldiers echoed across the stone bridge.

Yet these servant soldiers dared not retreat—they pushed forward even more frantically, clearing the barricades to break through the bridgehead defense.

Because anyone who fell back would be killed by the orcs behind them.

Seeing the bridgehead guards about to collapse, Gervas did not hesitate—he issued the retreat order.

"Retreat!"

With the cry, eighty archers—including Gervas's own—and over three hundred peasant soldiers swiftly withdrew into the camp.

With the bridge no longer a constraint, the orc army finally flooded toward the camp's wooden wall.

The sheer density of their numbers—even if only servant soldiers—was still deeply oppressive.

"These bastards are insane! If they're not afraid to die, why not turn and fight the orcs who enslave them?" one noble muttered, bewildered.

"Half of these servant soldiers were raised in orc tribes—they're accustomed to being enslaved and will never rebel."

"The other half either fear the orcs' cruelty or have family held hostage by them, so they dare not resist."

Mil, experienced and well-traveled, explained.

After hearing this, no one spoke.

"Kill!"

At that moment, the servant soldiers began their assault on the wall.

Simple wooden ladders were raised against the wooden ramparts.

But their combat effectiveness was predictable—without overwhelming numbers, they could never take the camp on their own.

The orcs clearly had no intention of relying solely on servant soldiers to breach the camp; these servants were merely cannon fodder, meant to draw fire.

Roar! Roar! Roar!

"Orc warriors, charge!"

The next moment, the three hundred orcs at the rear also launched their assault.

They spread among the servant soldiers and attacked the wall, instantly increasing pressure on the defenders.

"Don't be afraid! Only three hundred orcs! We've killed more than that before, following Lord Gervas!"

"Correct! Everyone, hold the line against these orcs! Ten silver coins for each orc head!"

Of course, the nobles remained calm—previous victories had taught them that with Gervas leading, such numbers of orcs could still be held.

Gervas merely smiled silently, hoping Mil, Ian, and the others could endure what was coming.

"Roar! Orc warriors, charge! Tonight, not a single human shall survive!"

Just as Gervas's thought ended, a distant roar echoed outside the camp.

Mil and the others froze—weren't all the orcs already by the camp?

Then why was there movement farther away?

"Ahh!"

At that moment, a sudden scream pierced their ears.

"Boen, what are you yelling for? You scared us!" Mil and the others were annoyed.

"You… you look across the bridge!" Baron Boen had no time to explain—he stared in terror at the darkness beyond the bridge.

Mil and the others turned pale as they followed his gaze; gradually, their faces turned as white as paper.

"Roar! Kill!"

From the darkness across the river, figures slowly emerged—tall, green-skinned shapes.

Their numbers were dense, at least seven or eight hundred.

"Orcs… Orcs! Good heavens—so many?"