Chapter 479

The wind howled a mournful dirge through the jagged peaks of the Tekarr Mountains, carrying with it the scent of fresh wood. Major Gresham, his face etched with the weariness of a long campaign, stood upon a rocky outcrop, the setting sun casting long shadows that danced like phantoms around his boots.

Below, Captain Baldred's exhausted company, their faces grim and stained with dirt and sweat, were slowly assembling. The recent surprises with the orcish horde had left its mark; a chilling testament to the brutal realities of war. The victory, while hard-won, felt strangely hollow.

Gresham adjusted his worn leather gloves, the chill seeping into his bones despite the thick wool of his uniform. The retreat of the orcs, so swift and unexpected, had left him deeply unsettled.