At their head, barely visible through the press of battle, the massive form of the Orc Lord carved a bloody swath through the fortress's outer defenses. His war-axe, larger than a grown man, rose and fell with mechanical precision, each blow claiming multiple lives.

Somewhere beyond even the Orc Lord's position, the Lich King orchestrated the assault with cold, calculating intelligence. The ancient undead sorcerer's presence could be felt like a weight upon the soul, his necromantic power giving unlife to every fallen defender and turning them against their former comrades. He was even turning the soldiers into his army.

His earlier brief spar with Morgana seemed like just a probe towards Morgana. It lasted for couple of minutes, neither of them taking any damage and they stopped as soon as Lich returned back to the rare of his legion.

The Lich's gaze was focused on the Chosen Ones and Morgana, while his skeletal dragon roamed the skies, but it didn't attack. It was just soaring the skies above them, roaring with screeching noises.

The clash of steel against rotting bone echoed through the narrow pass as Taeryn's enchanted spear carved through another wave of shambling corpses.

His muscles burned with exhaustion, sweat mixing with the grime and gore that coated his face like war paint.

Each thrust of his weapon sent ripples of Golden-blue aura crackling along the spearhead, the pure energy causing the undead flesh to sizzle and blacken upon contact. Taeryn was already getting his hands on the real combat and gaining more and more experiences as the time passed.

It was like he knew what to do; with the spear in his hand, he knew his way around the battlefield.

All those months of training, restless nights, and countless swings of his spear had finally paid off as he found himself in the heat of battle, feeling a sense of exhilaration and purpose unlike anything he had ever experienced before. The adrenaline coursing through his veins fueled his every move, propelling him forward with a fierce determination to emerge victorious against the relentless horde of undead foes.

Behind him, Rena's Origin energy flowed like a stream of a river, her hands constructing complex patterns in the air as bolts of violet Origin power streaked past his shoulder, punching smoking holes through the advancing horde.

The battle had raged for what felt like hours, yet the tide of undead seemed endless.

Corpses piled upon corpses in the narrow defile before the fortress walls, creating grotesque ramparts of twisted limbs and exposed bone that the next wave of attackers simply clambered over.

The air hung thick with the stench of decay and the acrid smoke of burning flesh, while overhead, the Lich King's skeletal dragon circled like a vulture, its hollow ribcage casting twisted shadows across the battlefield.

Then, without warning, everything changed.

The Orc Lord—that massive, scarred giant who had been carving through the fortress's outer defenses like a scythe through wheat—suddenly stopped mid-swing.

His enormous war-axe, still dripping with the blood of fallen defenders, lowered to his side as his crude, bestial features turned toward the distant hilltop where the Lich King surveyed the battle. For a moment that stretched like an eternity, the towering orc stood motionless, his brutish face contorting with what could only be described as profound weariness.

Morgana and Darian frowned; seeing the scene before her, she couldn't shake off the feeling that something was off. Her gaze was drawn to the Lich King as he stared at the Orc lord.

Then, with a sigh so deep it seemed to come from the very depths of his barbaric soul, the Orc Lord raised his weapon high and bellowed a command in his guttural tongue.

The sound rolled across the battlefield like thunder, and immediately, his orc warriors began to disengage.

Not in retreat—there was no panic or fear in their movements—but with the disciplined efficiency of a well-trained army following orders.

General Kaider, standing atop the fortress walls with his weathered hands gripping the stone battlements, watched in stunned disbelief as the entire orc contingent began moving as one.

Like a great, green tide, they flowed away from the narrow pass, their heavy boots thundering against the rocky ground as they pushed through the treacherous terrain to the east.

The Orc Lord himself brought up the rear, his massive form disappearing into the maze of hills and crags that surrounded the fortress like the fingers of some ancient, grasping hand. They made their way to the upward hills, moving with swiftness.

Soldiers stopped in their tracks, stopping their attack too, as they were confused by their sudden withdrawl.

"What in the seven hells..." Kaider muttered, his scarred face creasing with confusion.

Around him, his officers stood equally bewildered, their battle-hardened minds struggling to comprehend this sudden shift in the enemy's strategy.

The orcs had been winning—their superior numbers and brute strength had been gradually overwhelming the fortress's defenses.

Why would they abandon their advantage now?

Why would they stop fighting and retreat?

Below in the pass, Morgana felt the change immediately.

The dark-robed Witch paused in her casting, her blue eyes narrowing as she surveyed the battlefield. She could see the confused look on Kaider on the top of the walls.

Where moments before there had been a chaotic melee of orc, human, and undead, now only the shambling corpses remained, pressing forward with their mindless hunger.

The sudden absence of orcish war-cries and the thunderous clash of their crude weapons left an eerie quiet that was broken only by the wet sounds of undead footsteps and the hiss of Origin-powered spells.

The undead stayed still for a moment, the silence stretching over the narrow battlefield.

"Something's wrong," she called to Darian, her voice carrying clearly across the battlefield despite the ongoing chaos.

The black knight, his shaded armor streaked with gore and his Munshard blade wreathed in shadow-touched flame, glanced back at his mistress while maintaining his defensive stance.

"The numbers," Rena gasped, her auburn hair plastered to her forehead with sweat as she paused between her attacks.

"Those orcs just... left."

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