Chapter 487

The air hung thick with the smell of burning rubber and scorched earth. Acrid smoke stung the eyes, blurring the already chaotic scene. Lieutenant Faris, his face streaked with grime and sweat, watched as another tent collapsed in a fiery heap, consumed by the rolling fiery balls.

The orcs, situated on higher ground, overlooking their position, were rolling down a gruesome wave after wave upon the Threian artillery position. Not just fireballs – grotesque, burning spheres of pitch black unknown substance, but also boulders, launched with brutal accuracy, each a potential killer.

"Lieutenant, we're losing men!" Sergeant Verden, his voice hoarse, shouted over from the rear. He gestured to a group of Threian infantrymen, scrambling to put out a fire that had ignited their supply cart. One lay still amidst the flames, a horrifying testament to the orcish attack.