"Hmm...?" The green-skinned orc who lifted the tent flap scratched his head in confusion, clearly puzzled to see a small human standing freely outside the cages.
Before it could react, Aldric surged forward—two quick steps brought him within striking range. Gripping the hilt with both hands, he swung the White Wolf's Claw with lethal precision. Relying on the blade's unmatched sharpness, he cleaved the orc's neck clean through before it could even roar out a full "Waaaagh!" (TN: hehehe)
With a sharp pull, he dragged the headless corpse forward, letting it collapse into the tent. Using his shoulder to brace it, he deftly caught the falling head in one smooth motion, like a juggler plucking a ball from midair.
"Shh!" Aldric raised a finger to his lips, signaling the stunned captives for silence as he gently lowered the corpse to the ground. "The orcs outside are still busy fighting each other. They haven't noticed us yet."
The group of terrified prisoners finally let out a long, collective breath of relief.
Captain Rockfell gripped the wooden bars tightly. "That was a splendid strike, Cerysian. What's going on outside? Do we have a chance to escape? Is there anyone else waiting for us besides Terry?"
Peering through a slit in the tent, Aldric observed for a moment. The two green brutes still grappled fiercely outside, neither gaining the upper hand. He turned back, slashing open the cage's latch with his sword.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Captain. It's just me. Terry got his leg skewered by a mounted orc—he's hiding in a cave I found earlier. Outside, two larger orcs are dueling for dominance. That'll buy us a little time. Do you know anything about this camp's layout?"
"Just you alone... then there's nothing we can do," the captain muttered, despair creeping into his voice. "Let us out, boy. At least let us die fighting, not butchered like livestock!"
He gestured toward a burly bearded man nearby. "This is Ted, the patrol leader from Rogue Camp. He knows the area better than any of us."
Ted stepped out of the cage and gave a weary nod. "I owe you my thanks, young warrior. You can call me Ted. This is an orc vanguard outpost—about thirty of them when we were first captured. We were sent to scout it out, but we failed. We've been locked up here for four days. I don't know how many are still outside."
His voice trembled with fury as he slammed his fist against the wooden bars. "Every day they eat one of my men. Damn those monsters!"
"They even ate my first mate," Captain Rockfell growled, rage burning in his eyes.
"Poor soul... We should be out there avenging him right now! Brave Mike didn't deserve to end up as a meal!" He snatched up the severed orc head from the ground and jammed it onto a tent stake. Purple blood splattered across his face, but he didn't flinch. His remaining crew followed his lead, vowing to die with honor.
"Friend, do you have any food?" Ted asked urgently, his voice hoarse. "My men and I haven't eaten for four days. Even if we're going to die, we should die with full stomachs."
Aldric handed him a pouch of meat broth powder. "It's been soaked by seawater, but it's better than nothing. Now—can you tell me about the man hanging outside?"
"I didn't see him when I was captured," Ted replied between gulps of the broth. "But the captain mentioned him earlier—must've been two nights ago. That night, we heard shouting and fighting outside for hours. I thought Rogue Camp's forces had attacked, but then... silence. I guess that man was caught during that chaos. He must've given the orcs a hard fight for them to hang him up like a trophy."
By now, Captain Rockfell had his men posted by the tent's edges as lookouts. He approached, adding grimly, "That man's got a will of iron. When they first brought him in, I saw him lift his head to look at us. His eyes—they were like a cat's. Never seen anything like it."
Aldric, relieved that the Witcher outside wasn't part of his quest target, began calculating how to extract everyone alive.
"Captain," he said quietly, "there's another tent next door with weapons and armor—damaged, but usable. Going against orcs barehanded is suicide. While they're still distracted, we move there first. If night falls before they notice us, our chances of escaping go up." He passed his curved blade to the captain. "Found this back on the ship. Take it."
Turning to the others, he continued, "If they notice we've escaped before nightfall, they won't check every tent right away. I'll create a diversion. The rest of you use that time to flee. Anyone who makes it back, meet at the cave. Wait one hour—no matter how many arrive—then take Terry and head toward Rogue Camp."
"Cerysian, you've done more than enough," Captain Rockfell said solemnly. "If something goes wrong, let me be the one to draw their attention. I was a fine swordsman in my youth." He twirled the curved blade with practiced ease and sheathed it again.
"No, Captain. Let me handle it," Ted interjected, gripping a heavy orcish axe. "They killed three of my men. I'll make them pay! Blood for blood!" His eyes burned red with fury.
Two of his surviving scouts stepped forward as well, insisting on sharing his fate. The sailors, too, offered to take the captain's place and fight to avenge their fallen comrades.
"Enough," Aldric said firmly. "Captain, your men still need your command. Terry's waiting for you in the cave—he swore he'd never slack off again. Ted, Rogue Camp still needs your intel on these orcs. You have families of fallen men to notify. No one else can do that for you." His tone hardened. "I'm the only one fast and skilled enough to stall them long enough for the rest to escape."
He paused, scanning their faces. "And who knows—we might not have to reach that point. Stay quiet. One man keeps watch. The rest, follow me one by one into the next tent. Arm yourselves, but don't make a sound."
Without waiting for objections, Aldric slipped through the slit in the tent and led the way.
Inside the neighboring tent, the nine survivors scavenged what little they could. The equipment was battered and rusted, but even that meager armor lifted their spirits.
Clad in an ill-fitting chainmail shirt, Ted joined Aldric near the tent flap, watching the rain-soaked battlefield. "I recognize that orc's head," he muttered darkly. "He was the leader here. In Rogue Camp, they called him Ironhand—the one with the metal left arm."
"So," Aldric replied, eyes narrowing, "an outsider killed the camp leader, and now his lieutenants are fighting to claim his place." Through the downpour, he could see the two remaining brutes locked in a brutal fight, one gaining the upper hand. "This is bad. They'll settle it soon. We can't wait for nightfall anymore. Tell the captain—get everyone ready. We're breaking out now."
They prepared swiftly. The sky was still gray with rain, a few hours short of sunset. The downpour at least gave them cover.
"Captain Rockfell, Ted," Aldric ordered, "when it starts, don't stick together. Split up. Run in different directions—whoever makes it out, regroup at the cave." His gaze stayed locked on the dueling orcs as he calculated the best moment to strike.
"Cerysian," Captain Rockfell said gravely, "you remind me of the heroes from old tales. May I know your name? If I live through this, I'll make sure your story is remembered." He gave a noble's bow, solemn and respectful.
"And me as well, brave one," said Ted, thumping his fist over his heart. "In the name of the war god Ulfric—if we meet again, I'll share a drink with you in Rogue Camp's tavern until dawn."
"My name's Aldric Xune," he replied, gripping the White Wolf's Claw tightly. His eyes flashed as the orc with steel teeth finally struck down his rival. "It's now or never—run!"
With both hands on his sword, Aldric charged forward, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Die for your sins, monsters!"
He sprinted straight toward the triumphant Steeltooth as the human captives scattered into the rain-soaked jungle behind him.
(End of Chapter)