chapter 9.4

Under the deepening darkness of the night, the battle before The Wall had turned into a brutal struggle, draining both strength and lives. The glow of the still-burning trap flames illuminated the swift-moving shadows engaged in an endless fight. But despite the raging fires and the clash of steel, it was becoming increasingly clear that the Outcast forces were losing their advantage.

Blood flowed freely over the battlefield, now a sea of corpses and debris. The inexperienced rookies were exhausted, struggling to withstand the relentless onslaught of mutated goblins, feral direwolves, and the ever-fiercer single-headed ogres. Fear crept across their faces, their hands trembled as they gripped their weapons, and their once-steady steps wavered under the weight of exhaustion and despair.

Meanwhile, Alcard remained steadfast at the front line, even as his body bore the wounds of countless attacks that had slipped past his defense. His breaths were heavy, blood dripping from his left arm, yet his grip on his blood-soaked sword never faltered. His booming voice was still the rallying cry that kept the Outcasts fighting.

"Hold the formation! Don't let them break through!" he commanded with unwavering authority. "Take down the strongest monsters! Leave the goblins and direwolves to the rookies! We must stand our ground!"

But despite the many single-headed ogres that had been slain, the **greatest threat still loomed over the battlefield—**the two-headed ogre, a towering colossus that had yet to show any sign of weakness despite its numerous wounds. One head howled in fury, while the other glared at the Outcast forces with a deep, burning hatred.

Realizing the mounting danger, Alcard immediately issued a decisive command to the remaining forces.

"All veterans! Focus your attacks on the two-headed ogre! Surround it from all sides—give it no room to move! Leave the rest to the rookies!"

As the veterans quickly reformed their ranks to encircle the monster, he turned to the rookies, whose morale was beginning to crumble.

"Stay at the backline! Finish off the remaining goblins and direwolves! Don't panic! We can still win!"

The senior Outcasts swiftly executed their well-coordinated assault, surrounding the two-headed ogre and attacking from every direction. Long spears were thrust into the beast's weak spots, while the remaining archers atop The Wall loosed a volley of arrows. The ogre roared in rage, swinging its massive wooden beam with earth-shaking force, shattering stone and sending tremors through the battlefield.

Several Outcasts who failed to dodge in time were caught in its devastating swing—their bodies crushed in a single brutal strike.

Elsewhere, Oldman stood firm near the gate, ensuring that the remaining defenses held their ground, despite the dwindling numbers of his forces. He could see the rookies wavering, fear clouding their faces as they watched their comrades fall one by one.

Knowing that despair would break them faster than the enemy ever could, Oldman raised his wooden staff high, his booming voice cutting through the chaos.

"Do not let them through the wall! We are middle earth's last defense!" he thundered. "It is better to die with honor than to let these monsters destroy everything!"

His words struck deep into the hearts of the remaining rookies. They looked at one another, then tightened their grips on their weapons, their resolve reigniting. Even with shaking hands and fatigued bodies, they stood tall, ready to fight once more.

Meanwhile, Alcard personally led the assault against the two-headed ogre, issuing rapid and precise orders.

"Strike its legs! Disrupt its balance!" he commanded the senior Outcasts. "Archers! Shoot its right eye!"

The remaining archers adjusted their aim, waiting for the perfect moment. One of them finally loosed an arrow, striking true—embedding itself deep into the ogre's right eye.

The beast howled in agonizing fury, its pained cry shaking the battlefield.

Seizing the opening, a spear-wielding Outcast lunged forward, thrusting his weapon deep into the ogre's left thigh. The spear pierced through flesh and muscle, forcing the towering beast to stumble back, crushing several mutated goblins under its massive weight.

Yet even after such a powerful blow, the two-headed ogre refused to fall.

Both heads screamed in unison, its massive body trembling with unbridled rage. Black blood gushed from its wounds, yet it stood tall, its monstrous endurance defying belief.

From atop The Wall, Oldman observed the battle with sharp eyes. Seeing that they were finally gaining an advantage, he raised his voice once more.

"Don't give up! Hold your formation! We can win this!"

As the battle raged at its fiercest, Alcard remained at the forefront. His body was covered in wounds, his breath labored, yet his gaze remained unyielding, locked onto the two-headed ogre with unwavering determination.

With steady, resolute steps, he advanced. His bloodstained sword still dripped with the essence of slain monsters.

"This is our chance!" he roared, his voice echoing through the battlefield.

"Hit it with everything we've got! Bring it down—now!"

The dark night grew even blacker, but the battlefield burned brighter than ever—lit by fire, blood, and the flickering flames of hope that refused to die.

Though they had lost many, the Outcasts did not falter.

They fought with every last ounce of strength they had left, defending The Wall with everything they had to give.

Beneath the towering fortress, the battle reached its climax.

Lives continued to be wagered, and only one question remained—

Would they endure, or was this the final stand of The Outcasts?

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