The orcs felt the slight tremor of the ground and the approaching sounds, growing louder in the distance. They were in a panic, unsure of what they were about to face.
The orc captain, located in the very center, dared not climb to a high vantage point to observe, as Thorndale's watchtower had not yet been fully constructed and was already shaky, not to mention its platform lacked any cover.
The orc captain felt that as soon as he climbed up, he would be shot down by the enemies flying in the sky.
Although he did order the orcs beside him to blow the horn, alerting the orcs outside to prepare for battle, after sensing the ground tremor.
However, the orc captain, hiding in the houses, did not know that the ones charging towards them were the Scale-skinned Hybrids led by the Lion Hybrid. He should have given the order to hold their ground using the houses and cover, instead of letting the orcs within Thorndale foolishly rush out to meet the enemy.
"Wait, first the Birdmen in the sky killed the first wave of enemies with arrows, then the orc captain blew the horn, and then one Birdman left and landed… If the Birdmen in the sky are treated as archers in a war, they forced out the location of the orc commander. So after the archers' attack ends, it should be…"
Albert muttered, then his pupils contracted.
After knowing the enemy commander's location, the main force should charge and assault that position.
This former human soldier immediately realized that the ground tremor was caused by the running of those Birdmen's kin on the ground, so he should now get himself and his kin away from those orcs, the further the better.
Otherwise, they, these humans, would also block the path of those Birdmen's main force, and Albert dared not gamble that the other side truly wouldn't harm him.
Moreover, on the battlefield, swords and blades have no eyes; entrusting one's life to another's mercy is the most foolish thing to do.
And "Birdmen" was the name Albert gave to the Winged Hybrids in the sky. When he couldn't figure out what those things in the sky were, such a name was simple and easy to understand, making it convenient for him and others to communicate.
"Hey, everyone, listen up. The companions of those Birdmen in the sky are charging here. While they're distracting the orcs, we'll seize the chance to escape. Later, listen to my command: kill those few orcs standing outside the stone and lumber piles, then run towards the outside of the port without looking back, understand?"
So Albert lowered his voice. He looked around, his gaze sweeping over every face covered in dust and mud, telling his plan to his hidden kin around him.
To escape this orc cage, even the children nodded in agreement.
They gripped various weapons they had just scavenged from the bodies of orcs who had died in the arrow rain, held their breath, gathered their last strength, and waited for Albert's command.
Albert stared intently at an orc with its back to him. Its attention was drawn by the horn that had just sounded, and it was grumbling as it picked up its weapon, preparing to meet the enemy with its companions around it.
Just as this orc was joining its surrounding orcs, Albert's agile figure leaped out from the shadows like a fierce tiger.
His voice, like a war drum, resonated through the tense air: "Kill them!"
The next moment, the blunted machete in his hand struck hard against the neck of the orc facing away from him. This orc's fragile neck was less severed by the machete than it was smashed by Albert's brute force.
At the same time, the faces of the people hidden in the shadows were now filled with anger and hatred.
Long-term oppression and suffering, at this moment, seemed to find an outlet for release.
The blades and axes in their hands, and even scattered arrows and discarded stones they picked up from the ground, all struck the heads of these few orcs.
The orcs had no idea that these human slaves hadn't died in the previous arrow rain, and even less did they expect them to have broken their shackles and attacked them.
Under the surprise attack, these few orcs could only helplessly endure the blows from all directions. Their roars mingled with the angry shouts of the people, gradually growing weaker until the last orc fell.
Albert wiped the orc blood splattered on his face, feeling the increasingly close ground vibrations, and quickly shouted: "Stop! Strip their weapons and take them! We don't have much time! Before other orcs come, run!"
His words jolted those immersed in the thrill of revenge. Several quick-witted individuals snatched weapons from the orc corpses and, led by Albert, fled in the direction away from the Birdmen in the sky.
The dying screams of those few orcs and the angry roars of the humans had also reached the ears of orcs further away. One fell-omen, a squad leader, shouted in a sharp voice: "Stop these human slaves! Shoot arrows, shoot arrows! Where are the wargs? Let the wargs chase them!"
A portion of the orcs turned around, their arrows on their bowstrings aimed at the humans fleeing with their backs to them, revealing vicious smiles.
The Winged Hybrids in the sky couldn't hit them due to range issues, but these fleeing humans were simple moving targets.
"Whoosh—"
Arrows from the Orcs' hands instantly shot out, flying towards Albert and the others who were fleeing.
However, Albert had already told everyone to try to run along the walls or near cover when he called for them to escape. The humans, like a disturbed ant colony, quickly dispersed, clinging to walls or any object that could provide cover, dodging the fierce arrow rain from the orcs.
Although no one died directly under the Orcs' arrow rain, several slower-running elderly and children were grazed by the arrows shot by them. Crimson blood mixed with sweat flowed down their skin, and the pain from the wounds only made them run faster.
But this situation was quickly broken, because the fierce wargs arrived.
"Damn it, it's Gondor wargs!"
Someone recognized the wargs and cried out in alarm.
Albert roared, "Don't stop!"
Then he looked back and saw the wargs running with "pat-pat-pat" sounds, emitting low roars, their gray-yellow, muscular bodies getting closer and closer to them at a visible speed.
Not even a well-trained squad of soldiers could outrun a warg chase, let alone their group of slaves who barely got enough to eat.
If this continued, they would all die here.
Albert knew that the reason the people could run now was entirely due to their excited state; once this state passed, their bodies would immediately give out.
When he looked back, he had already seen that the running speed of those few elderly and children who had been shot by arrows had slowed down, and the blood flowing from their wounds had changed from bright red to dark red.
Damn it, those arrows are poisoned.
Albert's eyes darted a few times. He, running at the very front, suddenly stomped on the ground and stopped. Then, without hesitation, he gripped the weapon in his hand and turned, rushing towards the very back of the group.
Someone had to stay behind to delay those wargs, otherwise everyone would die.
"Don't stop!!! Run!!!"
The fleeing humans, seeing his strange behavior, subconsciously slowed down, only to be startled by Albert's angry roar and continued running without looking back.
The warg running at the front had hungry green eyes and clear saliva dripping from its mouth. It opened its fanged, blood-red maw and bit fiercely at the thigh of an old man who was exhausted and could no longer run.
The old man's face was filled with fear and despair. His gaze was fixed on the approaching death, yet he could not move an inch. The wolf's sharp teeth were but a hair's breadth from the old man's flesh, and time seemed to freeze at this moment.
"GRAAAH!"
Albert's roar pierced the silence, startling the warg, which halted its four paws, attempting to escape.
However, it failed to fully dodge. Albert's body collided with the warg, and the machete in his hand, like a cold gleam, mercilessly plunged into the soft fur of the warg's abdomen.
The warg let out a tragic howl, weakly clawed at Albert a few times, and then died.
"Keep running!"
Albert roared at the stunned old man. He felt a burning pain in his arm. Looking down, he saw three deep, bone-exposing wounds.
The skin and flesh at the wound were peeled back, and blood gushed like a spring from between the bones. A burning, searing pain spread from the injury. Each heartbeat intensified the pain, as if countless fine needles were dancing on the wound.
When he crashed into the warg's body, the warg's dying counterattack also scratched him.
However, the old man stopped running. He paused and picked up a fist-sized stone from the ground.
The old man was gasping for breath, as if he would suffocate any second. He said disjointedly, "I... I... I won't... run. Anyway, I... I... can't outrun them."
Before Albert could reply, the next warg growled and leaped over. The old man threw the stone in his hand with all his might, but the warg deftly dodged it.
The previous running had already exhausted the old man's remaining strength. The stone he threw could only be described as "weak and powerless."
However, Albert took advantage of the warg's dodge and forcefully plunged his machete into the opponent's neck from the side.
But he was also knocked to the ground by this warg, hitting the uneven ground heavily, leaving Albert's exposed skin covered in cuts and bruises.
More critically, he was now pinned under the warg's corpse, and more wargs were approaching with low growls.
Albert tried to push the warg's corpse off him, but the intense actions just now had completely drained his stamina. He only pushed it halfway before losing strength, and the warg's corpse fell heavily back on him.
He was too much in pain, too hungry, and too tired.
If it weren't for the thought of escaping, Albert would have truly wanted to just pass out.
Albert already saw other wargs on the nearby rooftops watching him, opening their hideous mouths.
The old man he had risked his life to save earlier had been pounced on by two wargs and, after a scream, was silent, with only the sound of wargs tearing flesh remaining.
Further away, cries of other people and the excited, sadistic roars of wargs could be heard.
Hearing these sounds, Albert's eyes filled with fury. He once again squeezed out the last of his strength from his near-limit body, struggling to push the warg's corpse off him.
"Leave him to me, hehehe, I remember him, a soldier of Gondor. He and his teammates killed many of our comrades, and then he was the only one left. Now he wants to escape with human slaves again; just biting him to death would be too easy for him." The fell-omen, a squad leader, also rode a warg and approached Albert, drawing the saber from his waist.
While licking the blade of his saber, he sneered at Albert, who was pinned under the warg's corpse, "I'm going to scrape off your flesh piece by piece and feed it to them."
Albert met his gaze coldly, saying nothing. His other uninjured arm was already hidden under the warg's corpse, his hand quietly clutching the broken machete.
Even in his last moments, Albert decided to take one more orc life with him.
The fell-omen approached from the warg, completely unguarded. Albert was also accumulating his last bit of strength.
Closer, a little closer.
Albert silently calculated the distance he could attack the opponent if he suddenly burst out.
Suddenly, the fell-omen's footsteps stopped, startling Albert.
Then, the opponent's sharp voice, filled with mockery, rang out freely: "Do you take me for a fool, hahahahaha, I saw you hiding a weapon in your other hand. How does it feel, to want to make a last-ditch struggle but have your hope shattered?"
"Break his limbs."
Following the fell-omen's command, the surrounding wargs, who had long been impatient, let out excited growls and charged forward.
"For Gondor!"
Albert's voice was hoarse with exhaustion. The warg's corpse, like a heavy burden, rolled aside, and he abruptly stood up. He gripped the mottled machete, its blade still stained with warg blood. His body swayed precariously, yet he charged with unwavering determination towards the orc captain before him.
For Gondor.
He said softly in the depths of his heart for the last time.
However, one deafening shout after another rang out behind the fell-omen and the wargs.
But the content of those sounds was different from Albert's shouts.
"For Lord Arthur! For the Erdtree!"
The ground trembled more violently. Along with these shouts came the roar of the Lion Hybrid, like a male lion, echoing throughout Thorndale, and three short horn blasts from the center of Thorndale—that was the emergency call for help issued by the orc captain stationed there.
Albert heard a familiar sound from the sky again. The half of the Winged Hybrids that had left returned to their companions with refilled quivers, and a fierce rain of arrows once again brought death to the living orcs.
The fell-omen cursed, then backhanded the hilt of his saber hard against Albert's forehead, who was already at his limit, and then kicked him in the stomach, causing the latter to fall straight down.
"Leave him! Hurry and support the boss!"
The fell-omen anxiously roared at the wargs who still wanted to sniff Albert's body. The wargs bared their teeth and looked back, but obediently followed his command and left the spot.
Before Albert's vision completely darkened, he vaguely saw the bird-men in the sky rapidly descending nearby, and heard the flapping of wings, the fell-omen's angry curses, and the wargs' wails.
Then, Albert's vision turned to darkness.
His body reached its limit, and he passed out.