Long Live Her Majesty the Queen (4)
Owen's words drew the interest of both rulers, who responded in unison.
"A stratagem, you say?"
"Yes. Reconnaissance comes first, of course, but if their ambush is real, we can turn it to our advantage."
The Surpuk Duke gestured for him to continue.
"And?"
"We make them think we're completely off guard, luring them into an ambush of our own."
The orcs, upon arrival, would surely scout the human and dark elf camps first.
They were impulsive, but not fools.
They always gauged the enemy's posture and numbers before battle.
Owen proposed exploiting that.
"If they see us heavily prepared, they'll assume the plan's gone awry."
"And?"
"Then their next move becomes unpredictable. They might retreat or try some cunning trick."
"Cunning tricks. Exactly!"
The Surpuk Duke's face twisted in annoyance.
Orcs were surprisingly full of petty schemes in war.
Especially feigning retreat to lower the enemy's guard, then wheeling around for a ghostly counterattack—a tactic they'd used often.
He knew their other sly ploys all too well from hard experience.
"Obvious, but threatening. And with an unknown commander, who knows what they'll pull."
"On the other hand, if they think the ambush succeeded, they'll charge straight in blindly."
"Precisely. They're sly, but short on patience. Overconfident in their strength, too. If they spot an opening, they'll lunge without hesitation."
The Surpuk Duke admired Owen's insight.
He had a perfect grasp of orc nature.
"This kid thinks like a commander who's rolled in the eastern front for a decade!"
Owen flinched inwardly.
It came from countless clashes with orcs in his past life.
Luckily, he had a plausible excuse.
"I learned from my father."
"Makes sense. Logan Leire knows orcs better than anyone. Anyway, I get your point. Feign normalcy to draw them in, while preparing in secret."
"Yes. We could hide a detachment using the terrain. A hidden card ready to play at the right moment."
"Good. There's a forest to the right of the camp—perfect for concealing archers to hit their flanks."
Once the ideas started flowing, solid plans poured out.
After lengthy discussion, the Surpuk Duke shot to his feet.
"Your Majesty! Excuse me. I need to confer with my subordinates at once."
"Very well, Duke."
The Surpuk Duke stormed off like a raging bull, half-running.
Owen let out a sigh of relief.
"That was close. Letting them ambush us could've hurt bad."
"Hurt? The east would've been in chaos if you and the Duke got captured."
"You'd never get caught, surely. Signet."
Owen knew the Queen's strength, but she shook her head unexpectedly.
"I'd be in danger now."
"What?"
"I overexerted against that witch Kalania Budura last time."
She'd resurrected and immediately unleashed high-level spells on a formidable foe.
Now she was in a state of exhaustion.
"What a shame. Your power could've swept away hordes of orcs."
Given the situation, Owen warned her against rash action.
It'd be disastrous if she were taken.
"Naturally. My matron will protect me."
"Good. Then we're set. I'll head back too—need to strategize with the dragon knights."
"Understood."
Soon after, commanders from both camps gathered for a meeting.
The consensus: immediate reconnaissance, but it must evade orc detection.
"It's essential to lull them into complacency and draw them into our trap."
All nodded at the Surpuk Duke's words.
After debate, dark elves took primary scouting duty.
They excelled at silent movement and shadow concealment.
Elite dark elf scouts soon fanned out, while both camps began full defensive preparations.
The next night.
Bargulgu's orc horde reached within a few kilometers of the human and dark elf camps.
Thanks to the demon's guidance.
Atop the nearest hill, Bargulgu eyed the distant torchlights.
"Still awake?"
It was deep night, yet their camp blazed.
Not the minimal fires of resting troops.
Faint shouts carried on the wind, mingled with laughter.
"Drinking party?"
As Bargulgu tilted his head, the demon beside him sneered.
[Why…? Scared now?]
"Shut it! Absurd nonsense."
[Around 2,500 enemies. Fewer than you. You won't fail, will you…?]
"Watch that gaping hole you call a mouth. Or is there even one under that hood on your ugly mug?"
[Krhuhu…. I've provided ample aid. Expect results. Hope the great chieftain's choice wasn't wrong.]
With that, the demon sank into the earth.
A foul stench wrinkled noses; sticky fluids pooled on the ground.
"Disgusting vermin!"
Bargulgu kicked dirt to cover the slime, but gave up cursing and descended the hill.
Scouts would return soon anyway.
"Prepare to move!"
But upon hearing scout reports, he already urged his units forward.
Long campaigns bred instincts.
The enemy surely didn't know they were coming and was carousing blindly.
Shoulders heaving with excitement at the massive merit ahead, Bargulgu bellowed.
"Smear ash on armor and axes! No glinting in moonlight!"
As orders flew, scouts arrived—nimble goblins, rat-like sneaks perfect for spying.
"Report!"
Their shrill cries like screams furrowed Bargulgu's brow, but he held his curses, knowing their value.
"Speak."
"Just as you said! Got close—humans and dark elves feasting together. Tents haphazard, drunks sprawled everywhere!"
The sharp goblin scout reported swiftly and precisely.
Bargulgu nodded and stepped forward.
"Good! Advance!"
Seemed an easy fight tonight.
Owen watched the orcs' approach from hiding.
They crept through darkness, but he tracked them vividly.
Thanks to sensory sharing with Grenville.
Not each of thousands individually, but as a massive blob surging toward him.
In spots, they moved single-file like a giant centipede slithering across the earth.
"Eung… uwoong!"
Grenville whined after prolonged tongue-flicking prone on the ground.
Enough intel gathered, Owen nodded.
"Got it. Let's head back."
He stroked its nape and turned the reins.
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They returned not to camp, but a small forest.
There, Owen and 3rd Dragon Stable riders hid secretly, backed by 200 archers.
Dragon matches were scrapped due to orcs.
Both teams received orders: 1st Dragon Stable stayed with main force; Owen and 3rd hid in woods beside the battlefield.
"How'd it go?"
Finn, 3rd Stable manager, greeted him.
Three other dragon knights nearby.
"Orcs are moving, as dark elf scouts reported—spot on."
"Ooh, plan's working. Lucky."
"They'll close in soon; we'll see from here."
Owen and riders took positions at the forest edge, scanning outward.
The brightly lit human-dark elf camp stood clear afar.
Orcs would pierce the dark soon.
Torchlights would reveal the field even without dragon senses.
"Here they come."
Finn pointed.
At plain-darkness-camp-light boundary.
Massive orc silhouettes began piercing the night veil, one by one.
Dozens at first, swiftly hundreds.
No point sneaking from there.
Orcs clustered, prepping charges.
"Sir Leire, our role?"
Owen pointed to the orc rear.
"Hit their flank. Main force signals, but I have discretion."
"Right. Came for matches, now battle…."
"Think positive. Battlefield merit dwarfs tournaments."
Owen fired up the 3rd Stable riders with promotion prospects.
Then humans and dark elves spotted orcs, shouting in panic.
"Enemies!"
"Ambush! Foes!"
Voices rang convincingly terrified.
Owen guessed the Surpuk Duke kept drinkers clueless on purpose.
Some tripped fleeing in genuine shock.
"Kraaaargh!"
Orcs charged.
Mostly infantry, axes and hammers raised, sprinting.
Black giants raced across torchlit plains.
Orcs on huge wolves already engaged at terrifying speed.
Crash!
Tables of bottles and food toppled amid chairs; chaos reigned.
Humans and dark elves fled in rout, no thought of fighting.
"Charge! Sweep them clean! The great chieftain will hear of this victory!"
Bargulgu's roar echoed through the night.
Orcs crashed like furious waves into the camp.
Tents collapsed; supply piles shattered.
Orcs swung wildly, pushing inward.
Perfect ambush success, it seemed.
But watching Owen stayed calm.
He knew orcs' trial awaited.
Sure enough, a bold orc deep in halted abruptly.
"Kwooo! Damn!"
Seeming chaotic and undefended, the camp interior was different.
Semicircular stockades and obstacles packed tight, as if waiting.
Relentless orcs unwittingly entered the tiger's jaws.
The Surpuk Duke bellowed.
"Foolish orc scum! These men have faced barbarians like you for decades! Give 'em a taste! Fire!"
Archers loosed at his command.
Arrow storms fell; orcs screamed, rolling.
"Kaaaak!"
"Shields up! Overhead!"
Orc armor, thicker than human, deflected most.
But gaps let arrows pierce here and there.
"Shields overhead, I said!"
"Cluster up!"
Veterans rallied; it stabilized.
Ferocious orcs charged barricades.
"Those twigs'll snap in one go!"
"Charge! Slaughter 'em all!"
Orcs thrived on blood and violence.
Clever pre-battle, berserkers once engaged.
Adversity? Overcome with raw toughness—that was their logic.
Warlord Bargulgu, fieriest of all, shielded with a corpse from arrows, roared.
"Run, you trash! Doesn't matter if they're ready—job's the same today!"
He hurled the pinned corpse, shoving laggards irritably.
"Go! Swing axes at their skulls! That's it. Slackers die by my hand!"
His leadership was iron.
Hesitant orcs surged forward anew.
Even battle-hardened Surpuk Duke chilled at their momentum.
"Right, damn it… this is our foe."
Trap worked.
Arrow volleys struck first beautifully.
Yet battle hung balanced, tense.
The Surpuk Duke, thrill forgotten, gripped tension, drew sword, eyes to dark right-side forest.
Do your part, Owen.
His long experience whispered: dragon knights end orcs.
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