Chapter 389

"This..."

Commander Darike arrived right behind him and stared in shock at the figure in the distance.

He never expected that the eldest young master's prediction had actually come true.

"Commander Darike, the orcs have appeared—let's move out!"

"Young Master Adams, this is too dangerous! If there are many orcs, our five thousand men cannot possibly resist! I suggest we first send scouts ahead and dispatch messengers to the main camp for reinforcements!"

"Let us wait until the situation becomes clear before deciding our course—this is the safest approach!"

Commander Darike's plan was reasonable—it was the best way to handle orcs in the Northern Frontier.

After all, they had been conscripted, not tasked with defending their own lands.

If they won, they earned merit; if they lost, they gained nothing and had to bear the losses themselves.

So it was better to be cautious—no great glory, but no devastating losses that might damage the family's foundation.

The latter, however, was when one truly fought to the death—lose the land, and the family perishes.

But this time was different—he, Adams, had precise intelligence; how could he be so conservative? "No, Commander Darike, scouting and sending for help is fine, but we must depart immediately!"

Upon hearing this, Commander Darike's expression darkened, assuming Adams was acting recklessly and irresponsibly toward his family.

But Adams added, "Commander Darike, you don't seriously believe Father only sent you to accompany me on a training exercise, do you?"

"The family has already received intelligence—the orcs ahead number no more than a thousand, and the servant troops at most two or three thousand!"

"Therefore, for our House Austin, this is an unparalleled opportunity for merit!"

"Young Master Adams, are you serious?"

Darike could hardly believe it.

Yet, he already believed half of it.

After all, the excuse of "training the eldest young master" was far too flimsy.

"Of course it's true! Commander Darike, let's go—delay any longer and the merit will slip away!"

"Yes, Young Master Adams—but, sir, let my men lead the way..."

Thus, the five thousand troops of House Austin immediately mobilized and marched toward Graystone Bridge.

Of course, to avoid scaring off the orcs, they advanced under cover of darkness.

"Roar! Ha! They've broken through—hurry! Some orc warriors have already scaled the wall! The rest of you, push harder!"

At Graystone Bridge's encampment, seeing orc warriors finally surging onto the wooden wall, Babik couldn't help roaring in excitement.

Once the wall was breached, these mere two or three thousand humans would be no match for orc champions.

Under his urging, the orc warriors charged forward with even greater fearlessness.

"Damn it! Quickly, drive them off! Listen up—kill one orc, and you'll be rewarded fifteen silver coins!"

In contrast, the nobles, watching more and more orcs climb the ramparts, grew panicked.

They roared orders to their men while raising the bounties.

But before absolute strength, all tactics were useless.

As the orcs secured their footing, the serf troops began to break.

Many serfs were crushed off the wall by orc spiked clubs, allowing the orcs to seize long stretches of the wooden wall.

Roar! Roar! Roar!

More orcs stood atop the wall, letting out triumphant roars.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Plop! Plop! Plop!

Fortunately, before Babik could revel in his triumph, a dense whistling suddenly erupted from within the camp.

The next instant, over a dozen thick bolts shot from dark corners, striking several elated orcs.

Ordinary arrows didn't frighten them—but these thick bolts were deadly tools of slaughter.

Roar! Roar! Roar!

The immense force of the crossbow bolts sent several orcs flying backward off the wall, crashing to the ground.

As they fell, the orcs screamed in agony.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Of course, those desperate cries were brief and cut short by the dull thumps of their bodies hitting the earth.

The surrounding orcs and servant troops froze, turning to stare at Babik behind them.

Babik's face twisted in fury.

Fourteen of his men wiped out in one volley—this weapon was terrifying.

"Charge in! Rush in at full speed—don't let those damned humans keep using this weapon!"

Babik knew the longer he delayed, the heavier the casualties would be.

"Roar! Kill!"

The orcs launched another charge.

"Stormtroopers—advance!"

At this moment, the Storm Legion—their last reserve—finally entered the fray.

"Serfs—kill too! No one retreats! Whoever flees will be executed on the spot, and his family enslaved!"

Suddenly, the camp erupted in battle cries.

With the Stormtroopers' aid, the orcs' plan for a swift victory collapsed.

Meanwhile, the ballistae continued to rain down arrows, slaughtering orcs.

Even the ballistae originally stationed beneath the wooden wall were relocated to the rear of the camp, joining the sniping effort.

Twenty ballistae firing in unison took out at least seventeen or eighteen orcs per volley.

After more than ten minutes, over two hundred orcs had fallen.

Combined with earlier losses, orc casualties now reached roughly three hundred.

This was only because the servant troops were still holding the line—if not, orc losses would have been far greater.

Of course, by now, the tide of battle had begun to tilt toward the orcs.

The orcs held numerical superiority; Gervas's Stormtroopers could match them one-on-one.

But with only two hundred men, and without fighting to the death, they were gradually being pushed back by the orcs.

Clang!

A dull crash echoed as the camp gate was torn open from within by the orcs.

"No! The camp gate has been breached!"

"Damn it! We're finished!"

Mil and the others cried out in alarm.

With the gate destroyed, nothing now blocked the orcs—their only fate left was to be surrounded and slaughtered.

"Ha! You two-legged sheep—I'll torture you slowly, make you regret ever fighting the orc race!"

Babik swaggered to the gate, sneering at the nobles now trapped in the encirclement.

"Where the hell is Adams? If he's this unreliable, I won't give him another favor next time!"

Gervas frowned slightly—since the battle began, Adams should have arrived by now.

If he didn't come soon, Gervas would have to deploy his cannons and homemade melons.

Those were his last cards—he didn't want to reveal them unless absolutely necessary.

"Gervas, if we're not dead yet when you get here, make sure you finish us off—don't let us fall into those green-skinned monsters' hands!"

"Right! Gervas, same for me—and everyone else: whoever's last, make sure you kill the others. No one gets captured by those damned green-skinned beasts!"

Mil and the others showed grit, making final arrangements.

"Kill!"

But just then, Gervas's ears twitched—he heard faint battle cries.

The next instant, a faint smile curled at Gervas's lips.

Adams... finally arrived!