Three visceral screams suddenly drew everyone’s attention. The shamans, their fists glowing with blue light, charged forward once more, followed by orcs recovering from the disorientation effect—those who, being closer to the settlement, had not yet been slaughtered. There were only three shamans, but the furious determination and raw rage with which they advanced made them seem capable of facing a small army on their own.

  The clash was imminent.

  The soldiers grouped behind their shields. They lost them the moment the shamans attacked them.

  The three orcs struck, having enhanced their claws with magic—lengthening their nails, hardening and sharpening them, and coating them in crackling electricity.

  Vincent froze for a split second in disbelief as he saw one shaman pierce a nearby soldier’s shield with ease. With a single slash, he tore through it, then drove his clawed fingers into the soldier’s arm. In one continuous motion, he dragged him along while discharging the electricity coursing over his claws. The current leapt to nearby soldiers. Bound and immobilized by the voltage, they were violently flung aside with a sweeping blow.

  Vincent ran toward them. He couldn’t use magic without putting his own men at risk.

  “Don’t let them hit you, don’t block! The electricity is only on their claws!” he shouted, amplifying his voice with air magic so it carried over the din of battle.

  The shamans were quickly surrounded. The soldiers focused on evading their strikes and counterattacking when possible, always avoiding the claws. But the hides covering the shamans—thick, hooded garments—were extremely resistant. Their blades failed to penetrate them.

  For the soldiers, evading meant a small shift in position—half a step back, to the side, or letting a comrade take the pressure of attacking the shaman for a moment. This forced the shaman to react if he didn’t want to be struck. There were many soldiers, but they were strategically spaced so as not to interfere with each other during the fight.

  “Tackle them!” Vincent shouted.

  The soldiers changed tactics instantly. They rushed the three enemies from behind, ramming into them and piling on with all their weight. Shields slammed, and swords stabbed, but most blows glanced off the reinforced hides.

  One soldier, desperate after realizing his attacks were useless, dropped both sword and shield. He crouched low and yanked up the hide covering one of the shamans, exposing flesh. In that very instant, several swords plunged into the opening without mercy.

  The shaman collapsed without making a sound.

  Seeing this, the other soldiers copied the tactic without hesitation. In seconds, all three shamans were brought down.

  Only the orc warriors who had followed them remained, and they were far easier to deal with.

  Still, Vincent felt uneasy. He couldn’t find the orc leader anywhere.

  He must have retreated into the village, he thought.

  “Attention!” Vincent shouted. “Regroup! Groups one through three, prepare: we’re going in. Groups four and five, stay with the civilians.”

  The troops reacted instantly, moving to their new positions with discipline and speed.

  “We have to find the leader…” Vincent muttered.

  Human. That won’t be necessary.

  The voice in his mind made him spin around. The alpha stood behind him, its jaws stained with blood. Beneath it lay the mangled corpse of an orc, larger than the rest, clad in ornate armor that clearly marked him as their leader.

  Vincent stared, stunned. He had no idea when—or how—the orc leader had been taken down.

  Inside, only a few remain hiding, the alpha continued.

  Vincent frowned. “Civilians?”

  Deserters. The non-combatants fled during the night.

  Vincent let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  “Thank you. Truly.”

  The alpha lifted its head and let out a long, powerful howl toward the sky. After a few seconds, it looked back at Vincent.

  Don’t mention it, human. We both benefit.

  Then it turned and ran off, followed by all the freed wolves.

  Vincent couldn’t help but laugh.

  He turned back to his troops and raised his voice.

  “Inside are only deserters who fled the fight. Groups one through three, burn everything. Do not expose yourselves unnecessarily or enter buildings recklessly. The rest of you, tend to the wounded. Secure the area.”

  The three groups surged into the orc village, setting fire to every structure in their path. Eliza and her brother followed them. Vincent said nothing; he let them go.

  From some huts, screams echoed briefly before desperate orcs rushed out, only to be cut down immediately.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Within minutes, thick smoke spread across the sky. Time passed as the wounded were treated. There were no fatalities among the humans, though one soldier had suffered a serious injury: his arm pierced by fragments of his own shattered shield, along with several deep cuts.

  The healers began working on him at once. Vincent knew the metal fragments would have to be removed before they returned to the fort; the journey back would be long.

  And despite the massacre, despite the burned and pillaged village, the atmosphere was… cheerful.

  Or perhaps because of it.

  There was one more injured person: Lucas. Apparently, he had followed his sister into a house where two deserter orcs were hiding. His left shoulder blade was broken, and if he had kept moving or fighting, it could only have been pure adrenaline. They were a couple of reckless kids. It was one thing to slip into the village to burn houses, and another entirely to go inside one of them. The orcs who had fled were the most cowardly and weakest, but even so, if the siblings had survived a fight, it must have been sheer luck.

  “Consider your dead avenged and finally at peace,” Vincent told them, looking directly at Lucas. The young man worried him. “Now return to Clearhaven. Leave rage and violence behind. Live the lives your parents would have wanted for you.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Lucas replied. “I’m very sorry I strayed from the others.”

  “Well, I’m not,” Eliza cut in. “And don’t apologize, it wasn’t your fault. I dragged you along. Your Highness, if you’ll allow it, I don’t want to stay in the village. I want to enlist in the army.”

  Vincent met her gaze and slowly shook his head, sadness weighing on him.

  She didn’t want to enlist to serve the kingdom or build a future. She wanted to keep killing. Orphans of rage seeking more blood.

  He imagined her brother would follow her.

  If she was the one who had endangered her brother, both their lives could easily end in tragedy, whether he allowed them to enlist or forced them to remain in Clearhaven.

  At least in the army, they could be taught discipline. And if they learned to obey, they would be safer.

  “I’ll recommend you to one of the captains,” Vincent said at last. “But only if you promise me, right here and now, that you will obey all orders.”

  She stared at him defiantly. Vincent did not look away.

  “…Very well, Your Highness. I promise.”

  He turned to Lucas.

  “Taking care of a sister is an honorable duty,” he said calmly. “But dying foolishly is not.”

  Lucas looked at him as if the words had struck home, confirming Vincent’s suspicion that the boy’s injury had been the result of Eliza’s recklessness.

  Around them, soldiers and civilians celebrated the victory. Vincent stepped away from the siblings and, once everything was ready, gave the order to return.

  They had won.

  His first campaign, and it had been a success.

  He had always imagined himself more as a diplomatic leader than a military one. After all, there were no wars, and the main threats came from the dungeons. But this—defending Clearhaven—he had enjoyed it. It had made him feel useful. Necessary.

  He wondered whether he would feel that same emotion again, whether he and his betrothed would one day go to battle together when that terrible threat finally revealed itself.

  He silently vowed to do everything in his power to be worthy, to protect Alverdan, and Convergence as well.

  With a broad smile, he led the march home.

  When the soldiers entered the orc settlement to burn everything, Eliza ran after them. Lucas followed close behind.

  “What are you doing?” he scolded her. “His Highness only ordered three companies to go in.”

  “Then he can stop us himself. He saw us.”

  Lucas glanced toward the prince. It was true, he was watching them. But he made no move to call them back.

  “You’re shameless… and too lucky.”

  He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth.

  “I’m too lucky?” she muttered through clenched teeth.

  The pain of grief surged across his sister’s face, pushing aside the rage and bloodlust for a brief moment. She slowed, as if about to collapse and break down crying. But just as quickly her expression hardened again. She clenched her fists and pressed forward with even greater determination.

  When they entered the village, she grabbed a piece of wood from the ground and carried it to one of the burning houses, using it to spread the flames further.

  The problem came when they both noticed a shadow moving behind the window of one of the houses.

  Eliza placed a hand on the windowsill, jumped, and slipped inside. It happened so fast Lucas didn’t react in time to stop her.

  “Are you crazy? He told us not to go inside!” he shouted as he followed her.

  She was already running toward the exit door of what looked like an orc family’s communal living room.

  The only light came from the window, dimmed by smoke drifting from the many fires spreading throughout the village.

  “Wait!” Lucas called.

  She didn’t listen.

  When he lost sight of her, a dull blow landed, followed by a grunt of pain and fury. It was his sister.

  He hurried toward the doorway. Moments later he saw her: a dark shape on the floor, struggling against an orc who had grabbed her legs and knocked her down. Another orc loomed over her, short sword raised.

  Without time to think, Lucas threw himself forward, placing his body between them.

  As he moved, a storm of thoughts crossed his mind while fear pulsed deep in his stomach.

  Was he going to die? He had to save her. Maybe he should have attacked the orc instead of shielding her. But if he protected her, she could finish them, or escape and call for help.

  Just before he fell onto Eliza, their eyes met. For a moment, he saw her again. She had no rage or bloodlust; it was just her.

  His sister. The one who had been beside him for as long as he could remember. The one who had helped their mother care for everyone. The one he now wanted to protect.

  So nothing like what happened to their mother and siblings would ever happen to her.

  Except… as the sword drove into his back and struck against his shoulder blade, he realized something.

  He didn’t want to die.

  It had been a lie, telling himself he only wanted to live to protect her.

  He wanted to live.

  He heard his sister scream his name, a howl of pain and fury.

  “Lucas!”

  The blow hadn’t killed him. It hurt, it looked serious, it had disabled one of his arms; but he was still alive and full of adrenaline. He tried to move aside so she could fight, while also trying to free her legs from the orc gripping them.

  Her axe lay nearby on the ground. She grabbed it and, with desperate strength, forced herself upright, driving the blade into the temple of the sword-wielding orc, who clearly hadn’t expected Lucas’s move.

  Then, now free thanks to him, she stood and buried the axe into the back of the remaining orc, who was fighting with him. Lucas staggered aside. She kept striking, again and again, even after the orc stopped breathing.

  Tears ran down Lucas’s face. He was deeply grateful, not only for protecting her, but for surviving.

  No tears fell from her.

  Eliza’s eyes were dry. When she finally stopped hacking at the corpse, she reached out her hand and pulled him to his feet.

  There was no emotion in her touch beyond firm determination.

  Once outside, she searched for a burning piece of wood to set the house’s straw roof on fire.

  She reached it easily, stretching up to the single-story roof.

  A soldier who had seen them emerge approached, clearly concerned.

  Lucas prepared an apology because they had disobeyed the prince’s orders.

  As the soldier drew closer, Lucas also remembered the realization he’d had inside—that despite everything, despite the pain and loss, he wanted to keep living.

  His sister, however, was tense. She had killed, burned, and fought, and yet her fury and thirst for revenge remained untouched.

  That worried him.

  Something told him she wasn’t going to return to rebuild a peaceful life in their parents’ village.