Chapter 382
A serpentfolk named Viss slithered down the wall with fluid grace while human soldiers above tried unsuccessfully to target him with arrows.
Another serpentfolk named Sithis used natural camouflage while retreating, his scales shifting colors to blend with surroundings. He moved through tall grass practically invisible.
But not all escaped cleanly.
A young serpentfolk named Rethix was caught by cavalry during the retreat. Three mounted soldiers surrounded her. She fought with desperate speed, her tail striking at horses while her spear jabbed at riders.
She wounded two horses and killed one rider before a lance caught her through the chest. She died hissing defiance.
Skar himself covered the retreat, his spear work economical and deadly. He killed four pursuing soldiers in thirty seconds, then used serpentfolk speed to disengage before being surrounded.
"Western sector withdrawing in good order. Casualties moderate. Pursuing humans attempting to catch stragglers."
Hour Thirty-Five Through Thirty-Eight: The Pursuit
In the human command tent, Lieutenant Thorne burst in with urgent news.
"Sir! Settlement defenders are in full retreat! All three wall sections abandoning positions simultaneously!"
Elric stood immediately. "Organized retreat or panicked rout?"
"Organized, sir. They’re conducting fighting withdrawal, but it’s definitely general evacuation."
"Then we pursue immediately. Don’t let them reach Third Line intact." Elric’s tactical mind shifted instantly from siege assault to pursuit. "Commit light infantry and all available cavalry. Run them down before they can establish new defensive positions."
"Yes, sir!"
Orders were shouted. Horns blew across the battlefield.
Five hundred light infantry and two hundred cavalry surged forward in pursuit of retreating settlement defenders.
Lieutenant Daren commanded forty cavalry riders, his unit tasked with pursuing and destroying retreating enemies.
He spotted his first target group within two minutes—three wounded goblins being helped by four healthy defenders. Seven total, moving slowly due to injuries.
"Charge!" Daren commanded.
His cavalry crashed into the group with devastating force. Lances punched through bodies. Horses trampled fallen defenders.
It was over in fifteen seconds. All seven dead. No survivors.
"Reform! Next target!" Daren’s blood was up. This was what cavalry did best—running down fleeing infantry.
They caught an isolated orc warrior next. The orc—already wounded from wall fighting—tried to turn and fight. Daren personally ran him down, lance through the back. The orc fell. Daren’s horse trampled him for good measure.
Third target: five serpentfolk moving together in coordinated group.
These were harder. Serpentfolk had superior speed and agility. When Daren’s cavalry charged, they scattered in different directions.
His unit managed to catch two. The other three escaped into tall grass and vanished using natural camouflage.
"Sir! Larger group ahead!" one of Daren’s riders called out.
Daren saw approximately twenty goblins and orcs moving together in defensive formation. They’d formed a tight circle, spears outward, moving as a unit.
He evaluated quickly. Charging that formation would cost him riders. His cavalry was better used catching isolated groups.
"Leave them. Light infantry behind us will handle them. Find easier targets."
His unit continued hunting stragglers across the battlefield.
Corporal Thrain led some soldiers in pursuit of retreating settlement defenders.
They’d been fighting on the eastern wall for three hours. Exhausted. Multiple wounded. But Thrain’s section was still combat-effective.
"Stay together! Don’t split up chasing individuals! We move as a unit!"
His men followed his orders, advancing in organized formation rather than scattered pursuit.
They encountered that group of eight goblins who’d formed defensive circle against Daren’s cavalry.
The goblins saw Thrain’s infantry approaching and tightened their formation. Spears bristled outward. These weren’t panicked deserters—they were trained fighters conducting tactical retreat.
"Shield wall!" Thrain commanded. "Advance slowly. Break their formation with numbers."
His soldiers formed shield wall and advanced methodically.
The goblins held their ground initially, spears jabbing at shields. One of Thrain’s men took a spear thrust through his shield that wounded his arm.
But Thran’s armored humans with shields against eight goblins with spears—the mathematics favored Thrain.
His shield wall pressed forward. The goblin circle began compressing under pressure.
One goblin made a desperate break for it, trying to run past the human line. Thrain’s sword caught him in the back. The goblin fell.
The remaining seven goblins fought with increasing desperation as the shield wall closed around them.
A goblin managed to stab his spear through a gap in the shields, wounding a soldier in the thigh. But another human’s sword struck the goblin’s exposed arm, nearly severing it.
The battle became brutal close-quarters combat. Shields bashing. Spears thrusting. Swords cutting.
Within three minutes, all eight goblins were dead.
Thrain’s section had lost one soldier dead, three wounded.
"Bind the wounded. We keep moving. More enemies to catch."
His depleted section continued the pursuit.
The orc named Grok had been given a simple order by Urgak: hold this stairway for five minutes while defenders evacuated.
Grok was an orc. Simple orders he understood perfectly.
He positioned his massive seven-foot frame at the top of the stairway, battle axe in hand. Below, eight human soldiers approached.
"Out of the way, monster!" one shouted.
Grok didn’t respond. He just stood there, blocking access.
The first soldier tried to rush past, sword raised.
Grok grabbed him one-handed by the chest armor and threw him off the wall. The soldier’s scream lasted three seconds before ending with wet impact thirty feet below.
The second and third soldiers tried a coordinated attack. One went low, one went high.
Grok’s battle axe swept in a wide horizontal arc. The high soldier got his shield up—the axe shattered the shield, broke his arm, and sent him stumbling backward screaming. The low soldier tried to duck under the swing—Grok’s backswing caught him in the head, crushing his skull like an eggshell.
The soldier with the broken arm stumbled and fell down the stairs, bones breaking with each impact.
The third soldier—the one who’d managed a spear thrust during the chaos—stared at his spear now embedded in Grok’s side.
Grok looked down at the spear sticking out of his torso. Then he looked at the soldier holding it.