chapter 9.3

In the midst of the dark night, under a sky veiled by thick clouds, the battle raged on with relentless ferocity. The horde of mutated monsters continued their assault on The Wall, their strength seemingly endless. Roars, screams, and the clash of weapons blended into a symphony of chaos, echoing along the colossal fortress. The stench of blood mixed with the smoke from the flaming arrows, burning the corpses of the fallen monsters, while the ground was soaked in a gruesome mixture of sweat and blood from both sides.

At the front lines, Alcard remained steadfast, his sharp eyes scanning the battlefield, searching for an opportunity to turn the tide of battle. The two-headed mutated ogre, larger and deadlier than any other creature on the field, remained the greatest threat. The massive beast swung its colossal wooden beam, unleashing devastating blows that crushed everything in its path.

Around the two-headed ogre, hordes of mutated goblins and single-headed ogres continued their relentless charge, attempting to break through the Outcast defenses that were beginning to falter. Mutated direwolves, with their black-spined fur and razor-sharp fangs, leaped into the Outcast formation, tearing apart those who failed to dodge in time. The battlefield had become a brutal war of attrition, with neither side showing any sign of yielding.

Alcard did not remain idle. Amidst the chaotic sounds of battle, he issued a sharp command, his voice cutting through the carnage, "Rookies! Stay away from the two-headed ogre! Focus on cutting down the goblins and single-headed ogres! Fight in groups, do not move alone!"

He then turned his gaze to the veteran Outcasts, his voice unwavering, filled with conviction, "Veterans! Distract the two-headed ogre! Form a defensive line and protect the rookies! Kill the strongest direwolves before they break our formation!"

With swift precision, the Outcasts moved accordingly. Despite their exhaustion, the senior warriors stepped forward, engaging the two-headed ogre head-on. Each time the beast swung its massive weapon, they dodged and struck at its exposed sides, searching for an opening.

But then—a fatal mistake.

One of the senior Outcasts moved too close—and in an instant, the ogre's colossal beam struck him directly.

His body was hurled through the air, bones shattering upon impact, before crashing into the fortress wall with a sickening crack. Blood splattered across the cold stone, his life extinguished in an instant.

Alcard gritted his teeth, fury flashing in his eyes. "Keep your distance from that beast! Do not let it break our formation!" he roared.

Meanwhile, the goblins continued their relentless assault, lunging at the front lines with their clawed hands and crude weapons. Some rookies managed to hold their ground, working in teams to repel the attacks, but others were too slow, collapsing under the feral onslaught, their screams cut short as they were torn apart.

Alcard's blade moved like a streak of death, his sword carving through enemy after enemy. With a single powerful slash, he decapitated a single-headed ogre, black blood gushing from its severed throat as its lifeless body collapsed.

But the battle still favored the enemy. Their numbers were overwhelming, and the pressure on the Outcast front line was reaching a critical point.

Just as hope began to dwindle, the gates of The Wall creaked open slightly.

From behind it—reinforcements arrived.

Oldman, who had been observing from atop The Wall, descended onto the battlefield, leading a fresh wave of archers and warriors. Flaming arrows rained upon the enemy rear, disrupting their momentum. Spears were launched from above, impaling unaware goblins and ogres, piercing them before they even realized the attack.

Standing upon a pile of rubble, Oldman slammed his wooden staff against the ground, his deep voice booming across the battlefield, "Outcasts! Stake your lives on this battle! No one retreats!"

Now, every last fighter of The Wall had joined the fray. The archers, who had once remained at their elevated posts, descended into battle, wielding swords and spears, fighting side by side with their comrades.

With this reinforcement, the formation began to stabilize. Alcard remained at the forefront, his sword an extension of his will, while Oldman coordinated the battle, issuing tactical orders to the fresh troops.

Yet, the two-headed ogre remained a monstrous force. The senior Outcasts gave everything they had to distract it, dodging and striking swiftly before retreating. But their attacks only left shallow wounds—not enough to bring the giant down.

Elsewhere, the rookie Outcasts, who had once trembled in fear, began to adapt. They moved in sync, holding off the mutated goblins with discipline. As their confidence grew, so did their effectiveness, their swords striking with renewed precision.

From the rear, Oldman raised his hand and shouted with authority, "Use the traps! Ignite them now!"

Several Outcasts immediately sprang into action, lighting the fuses of the pre-set explosives.

Boom!

A massive explosion ripped through the battlefield. The ground beneath the enemy's front line collapsed, swallowing goblins and ogres alike. Flames erupted, spreading swiftly, engulfing those too close to escape.

The agonized shrieks of burning monsters echoed through the night, their twisted forms writhing in flames.

But despite their losses, the surviving enemies fought on with undiminished fury.

The stench of blood, fire, and death thickened in the air.

Beneath the towering might of The Wall, the Outcasts continued to fight with unyielding determination.

They knew—there was no escape. There was no retreat.

If they failed, The Wall would fall, and Middle Earth would be consumed by chaos.

With fury and conviction, Alcard lifted his bloodstained sword high, his voice booming across the battlefield, "Stand your ground! Do not falter! We are the last line of defense for Middle Earth!"

The battle was far from over.

But one thing was certain—they would fight to their last breath.

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