14：The Counter-Hunt

Just then, the wind carried a faint scent of blood, mingled with the unmistakable, foul stench of Orcs.

Soren immediately dismounted, dropping lightly to the ground. The tamed warg followed closely behind him, its ears flattened submissively.

"Dismount and proceed on foot, " Soren ordered, pressing a hand down in a low gesture."Keep a tight grip on these beasts' muzzles. If anyone lets their mount slip and it lets out so much as a whimper, don't blame me for what happens next."

The recruits shrank back, hastily white-knuckling the leather reins. Cold sweat seeped from their palms.

The squad moved swiftly, slipping through the tall reeds along the river valley's edge.

As they approached the outskirts of the village, they found rows of sharpened wooden palisades brutally trampled down. Deep, uneven footprints gouged the muddy ground, leading straight into the heart of the settlement.

It was obvious: the village had already fallen under an Orc attack!

Soren drew his longsword and issued his commands in a hushed tone:

"Break into teams of two or three. Hug the walls. If you spot a Greenskin and it's facing you, drop into cover and fall back immediately."

"If its back is turned, cover its mouth first, then stab the kidneys. Keep your hands steady."

The village was a winding, haphazard maze connected entirely by dirt paths. The houses were built of wood, suspended closely against sturdy tree trunks and propped up from below by thick timber poles.

Rounding the first corner, which was draped in drying fishing nets, they spotted their first targets. Thirty meters down the alleyway, three stray Half-Orcs were brutally kicking open every wooden door in sight.

A red-nosed Orc dragged a half-empty sack of unhusked grain in its left hand, shoving another Orc as they squabbled over the loot. They were cursing at each other in a guttural dialect only their kind could understand.

"Barely anything worth taking, " they grumbled.

Squelch.

A refined iron longsword slid silently into the back of the red-nosed Orc's neck, severing the cervical vertebrae before bursting out through its Adam's apple.

The Orc's shoving motion froze in mid-air. Its body went instantly limp, crumpling to the ground as the sack of grain spilled into the dirt.

Before the other two Orcs could even turn their heads to see why their companion had fallen, six recruits lunged from behind the nearby firewood stacks.

Three longswords pierced through one of the Orcs' stomachs simultaneously. Though their accuracy was abysmal—with the blades scraping and catching awkwardly against the ribs—sheer volume made up for their lack of skill.

On the other side, a recruit who used to be a butcher's assistant proved far more ruthless. Gripping his dagger in a reverse hold, he threw an arm around the last Orc's neck and slashed violently. The strike laid half the monster's throat wide open, spraying a fountain of blood across the opposite earthen wall. The creature couldn't even gurgle out a scream.

The three corpses were swiftly dragged and shoved into an empty pigpen by the side of the road.

Soren glanced at the blood on his longsword, indifferently wiping it clean against his sleeve.

"Keep moving. Tread lightly."

The commotion deeper within the alleyways hadn't diminished. Soren pressed his back against a stone corner, listening intently.

He heard the heavy thud of something crashing to the ground in a walled courtyard about twenty-five paces away, accompanied by the loud splintering of wooden roof beams.

"Humans are so fragile, " an Orc's gruff voice critiqued.

Soren, who understood their foul tongue, signaled his men to advance.

It was a moderately well-off courtyard, distinguished by a private stone mill. The wooden gate had been smashed to pieces by a battleaxe, leaving only jagged splinters hanging from the hinges. Two pools of fresh blood stained the earth, though there were no corpses in sight.

Beside a hand-cranked spinning wheel in the yard stood an Orc Decurion, draped in beast hides and gripping an iron-spiked knuckle-duster. One of its massive feet was planted squarely on the chest of an elderly man in cloth robes.

Crack.

A sickeningly clear snap echoed out. The old man likely just suffered two broken ribs. A large amount of dark purple blood bubbled from the corners of his mouth as his body convulsed uncontrollably on the ground.

Just behind the old man was a large water vat. In the narrow gap behind it, the trembling hem of a coarse linen shirt was barely visible.

A young boy, no older than eight, was curled up tightly there. His face was deathly pale, rooted to the spot by absolute terror. His eyes were bloodshot and wide, and his hands were clamped fiercely over his own mouth to stifle any sound, though massive tears continuously soaked his collar.

The Orc Decurion lowered its head, fresh blood still glistening on its protruding lower tusks. With the extreme disdain of a butcher inspecting a pig at the market, it slapped the old man’s cheek.

"Old meat, " it sneered."Gotta bleed it out to get rid of the stink."

Two knife-wielding Half-Orc lackeys flanking their leader let out grating, guttural laughs, debating how many pounds of edible rations they could chop out of the old man.

In this grim reality, humans were nothing more than livestock waiting to be sorted and butchered.

Soren’s fingers dug into the wall's plaster. Just as his patience reached its absolute limit, a familiar mechanical prompt chimed in his mind:

[Mission Objective: Kill the Orcs before you. Rescue the survivors in the courtyard.]

Reward Skill:[Discernment]

Yet, even before the System fully generated the quest, and in the exact split-second the two Orc soldiers raised their blades to execute the old man, Soren was already in motion.

His heavy boots pushed off the earth, launching him over the low wall. He landed soundlessly just six meters behind the Orcs.

First step: an explosive forward thrust.

The two Orc lackeys, mid-swing, felt a chilling gust of wind against the backs of their necks. The moment they began to turn, a wickedly sharp sword tip punctured right through the left Orc’s right eye, bursting it like a grape.

A rapid pivot, then a throat slit.

Riding the momentum of his spin, Soren twisted his wrist upward and outward, dragging the razor edge of his blade clean across the second Orc lackey’s throat.

The Decurion, still standing on the old man, violently snapped to attention. It was terrifyingly agile for its size, acting on pure instinct, it took its foot off the old man and reached for the spiked mace at its waist.

But Soren didn't decelerate. He pressed forward, raising his longsword in a textbook, two-handed vertical cleave.

Squelch!

Just as the Decurion began to straighten its back, the blade crashed down directly into its collarbone. The thick muscle and sinew of its neck offered zero resistance against the momentum-fueled strike of refined iron. The horrific gash cleaved cleanly through, extending all the way down to its back.

Its dark purple head lolled to the side, sliding off its neck in a gruesome display of unwilling defeat.

The three-meter-tall behemoth crashed into the dust with a heavy thud, splashing thick, blackish blood all over the exterior of the water vat.

The spinning wheel beside them creaked for a few more rotations before finally coming to a halt.

Behind the vat, the little boy was frozen stiff, his mouth open in a silent scream.

Only then did the rest of the recruits flood into the courtyard. Two of them swiftly stepped forward to double-tap the Orc corpses with their blades, ensuring they were dead.

The old man gasped greedily for air, descending into a fit of violent coughing. He forced his cloudy eyes open, his gaze sweeping over the red crescent armband on Soren’s uniform. His taut, terrified body finally went limp as a weak smile touched his lips.

"The human. . . army. . . the Silvermoon Kingdom still stands?"

[Mission Completed.]

[Skill [Discernment] acquired. Focus on a target for 2 seconds to automatically display their details.]

A warm sensation briefly washed over Soren’s eyes.

Thwip!

Before Soren could even reach out to help the old man up, the rapid drumming of sprinting footsteps echoed from the roof of the western wall.

A heavy, powerful twang of a bowstring tore through the air.

Thwack!

A long arrow, fletched with wild vine leaves, nailed a fleeing Goblin dead center in the back just as it crested the wall. The sheer kinetic force of the shot blasted the creature's diminutive corpse completely over the edge and out of the yard.

The archer landed on the ground with incredible grace. But a split second later, a pair of woven hemp sandals stomped heavily into the courtyard proper.

Charging in was a young man with deeply tanned, glistening skin. He held a massive hardwood longbow, the string already drawn halfway back.

The moment he burst through the gate and saw the earth soaked in blood, the young man's eyes went entirely bloodshot. His fingers had already nocked a second arrow.

The lethal, barbed arrowhead pointed dead center at Soren’s blood-stained leather breastplate.

"Ein!"

The old man on the ground struggled to raise his voice, barking out a command, "They're with us! We've been saved! Lower your bow!"

The young man’s heavily calloused thumb twitched. Slowly, he lowered the longbow. Seeing that his grandfather was still alive, the man-eating, feral glare in his eyes completely dissolved.

He sprinted over, scooping his trembling little brother off the dirt, before dropping to his knees to gently help his battered grandfather sit against the stone mill. His hands frantically checked the old man's body for fatal bone fractures, exhaling only when he confirmed it was just two fractured, non-lethal side ribs.

"May I know my benefactor's name?" The dark-skinned youth finally turned back around. Letting out a long breath, his face settled into a look of profound solemnity. He fully realized that Soren had snatched his family from the jaws of death.

Soren quietly studied the unkempt, wild-looking youth before him.

The [Discernment] skill activated:

[Name: Ein]

[Race: Human]

[Talent 1: Natural Hunter (Accuracy +30%)]

[Talent 2: Preternatural Calm (Maintains absolute calm in critical situations, reaction speed increases beyond normal bounds under pressure)]

[Overall Combat Assessment: Born Archer]

This was an archery prodigy in the making, second only perhaps to Soren himself.

To think a hellhole like this was hiding such an incredible surprise.

Soren sheathed his sword."Crimson Moon Knights. Captain of the First Vanguard Battalion, Soren."

As a frontiersman raised on the military tales of the older generation, Ein was no stranger to the legends of the Knights.

His gaze swept past the courtyard, catching sight of the recruits holding the reins of the massive wargs. The sheer shock on his face deepened. To tame the man-eating beasts of the Blackstone Clan and use them as mounts. . . that was a feat usually reserved for Orc Warlords.

"I am Ein." The youth stood up and slammed a fist heavily against his left shoulder. It was the highest gesture of gratitude and respect among the borderfolk.

"My Lord, there's no time to waste. There are still two more groups of those Orc bastards terrorizing the northern street and the left side of the threshing ground. Those damned Greenskins are looting the whole village!"

Soren’s orders came even faster than the warning:

"Vanguard, seal the exits to the village! The rest of you, take the seven highest rooftops in the vicinity and establish a reconnaissance perimeter! Ein, you're on point. Lead me to the Greenskins."

The counter-hunt had begun.

The twenty-six Crimson Moon warriors who had just infiltrated the settlement formed an inescapable noose around the dozen or so remaining Orcs.

With Ein acting as their guide, Soren controlled the battlefield, ensuring maximum efficiency with zero casualties.

The cluster of mud houses to the north quickly transformed into a fresh graveyard. Seven particularly unlucky Greenskins even attempted to flee through the drainage tunnels, only to find a squad of recruits already waiting for them. The recruits blocked off the exit and poured boiling water straight down the drain, boiling the monsters alive.

As dusk began to fall, the chaotic, bloodthirsty roars of the Orcs had completely vanished from the village.

The only sound remaining was the shing of Soren's refined steel longsword sliding back into its scabbard.

Out of the entire Orc raiding party—totaling twenty-eight Orcs and dozens of Goblin slaves—not a single one made it out alive.

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