Chapter 25

As I made my way down from the wall, the low hum of the runes still thrumming in my fingertips, a sudden shout broke the late afternoon stillness. The scouts, previously sent to monitor orc movements, were returning—but they weren't marching back in orderly fashion. They were sprinting, practically falling over themselves as they hurried to the gates, eyes wide with fear and bodies drenched in sweat.

"Well, that can't be good," I muttered, watching the scene unfold. The men stationed at the gate exchanged nervous glances before opening it just enough to let the scouts slip through.

Lucius was already approaching, his usually calm expression tinged with concern as the scouts gasped for breath, their faces pale.

"They're coming," one of them rasped, clutching at his side as he bent over, panting. "And it's worse than we thought. Much worse."

The soldier in charge raised an eyebrow. "Worse how?"

The scout straightened, wiping his brow. "The orcs... they're not just larger in number this time. They're organized. It's like they've got commanders, strategy, tactics even. And they're bringing siege weapons."

That last part caught my attention. Organized orcs with siege weapons? This was more than just a typical raid. This felt like something bigger—a full-scale invasion.

Lucius turned to me, his brow furrowed, though his tone remained measured. "Master Goodchild, it appears we'll need you here when the orcs arrive. You'll need to oversee the runes—ensure everything holds up under the attack. We can't afford any failures."

There was a subtle undercurrent to his words, one I didn't miss. If the runes failed, if my work faltered in any way, I'd likely be the first to suffer the consequences. And I didn't need a detailed map to know that orcs were not known for their mercy.

I gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Well, I suppose you won't mind if I take this opportunity to improve some armor and weapons while I'm at it. You know, something a bit more... adaptive for this situation?"

Lucius chuckled, though the tension in his eyes didn't quite disappear. "Go ahead, by all means. I'll be wearing my most defensive armor as well."

I arched an eyebrow. "You'll be here too?"

Lucius nodded, his gaze steady. "The same consequences that apply to you apply to me, Goodchild. We're all in this together—along with every soldier at this wall."

I couldn't help but appreciate the grim honesty in his voice. Lucius was many things, but a coward wasn't one of them. He wasn't going to hide in some palace while the orcs tore through the defenses. No, he'd stand here with the rest of us.

"Well then," I said, cracking my knuckles, "I'd better get to work. The sooner I have something that'll keep us alive, the better."

The walk back to my workshop felt longer than usual, my mind racing with ideas and plans. The orcs weren't messing around this time, and neither could I. If they were coming with siege weapons, I'd need something far beyond the standard gear I had been using. I needed armor that wasn't just strong but adaptable—something that could respond to threats in real-time, just like the wall's newly interconnected runes.

When I reached my workshop, I immediately began gathering the materials I'd need. Metal plates, leather straps, the highest-grade runestones I had stashed away. I rifled through my notes, the ones I'd jotted down in spare moments between enhancing the wall's defenses. Ideas for adaptive runes that could be applied to personal armor, for weapons that could link directly to the magic of the wearer.

I spread out the materials on my workbench, taking a deep breath. This was it. This was where all my rune knowledge, all my crafting expertise, would come together.

First, the armor. I started with a set of reinforced leather as the base—light, flexible, and perfect for layering. I began carving runes into the plates, notching them carefully along the edges where the different pieces would connect. The trick wasn't just in making the armor strong—it was making sure the runes flowed together as a cohesive unit. The armor had to be able to adapt to different threats, just like the runes on the wall could shift and compensate for weaknesses.

Each piece of the armor was interconnected through rune pathways, allowing the energy to flow between the chest plate, bracers, greaves, and helmet. I carved small warding runes along the joints, ensuring the entire suit could move with me without compromising its defensive properties. I etched a series of repulsion runes along the outer plates, similar to the ones on the wall but fine-tuned for personal defense. If an enemy got too close, they'd be thrown back with enough force to knock them off their feet.

But that was just the beginning.

Next, I turned my attention to the weapons. I had a spear, a sword, and a shield laid out before me, and each one would need to be enhanced. The spear would be my primary weapon—it had the reach and precision I preferred in a fight. I began by carving a series of amplification runes along the shaft, designed to increase the power of each thrust. The tip of the spear received a special treatment: a set of binding runes that would allow it to absorb energy from the environment and channel it into a devastating strike.

The sword, meanwhile, would be my backup—something for close-quarter combat. I opted for a series of adaptive runes, similar to the ones on the catapults. With a flick of my wrist, the sword could switch between fire, ice, and lightning, depending on the situation. It wasn't the most subtle weapon, but it didn't need to be.

The shield was perhaps the most important piece. It needed to be both a defensive tool and a weapon in its own right. I inscribed protective runes on the front, but I also added a layer of reflective magic—any spell or attack that hit the shield would be absorbed and sent right back at the enemy. It wouldn't just block—it would retaliate.

By the time I finished, the armor and weapons gleamed with a faint magical aura, the runes humming softly in the dim light of the workshop. I could feel the energy pulsing through the interconnected system, waiting for the moment it would be unleashed.

I strapped on the armor, testing its flexibility. It moved with me like a second skin, the plates shifting effortlessly as I stretched and twisted. The spear felt light in my hand, the sword reassuringly solid at my hip. The shield was heavy, but it had a balanced weight that made it feel like an extension of my arm.

This would do.

It was nearly dawn when I returned to the wall, the first hints of sunlight casting long shadows across the valley. The soldiers were already in position, their faces grim as they prepared for the battle to come. Lucius was there as well, his armor polished to a sheen, though his eyes betrayed the same anxiety that gripped everyone else.

"How's the new gear?" he asked as I approached.

I gave him a grin. "Let's just say I'm not planning on dying today."

He chuckled, though the sound was strained. "Good to know. I'd hate for all your work to go to waste."

I joined him at the top of the wall, looking out over the valley. In the distance, a dark mass was moving—an army of orcs, their banners fluttering in the wind, their siege engines rumbling like thunder. It was an impressive sight, but it didn't shake me. I had done my part. The wall was ready, my armor was ready, and I was ready.

"They'll be here within the hour," Lucius said, his voice low. "I hope you're as good as everyone says you are, Goodchild."

I smirked, gripping the spear in my hand. "Guess we're about to find out."

The orcs were coming. But so was I. And if they thought they could break through the defenses I had spent days perfecting, they were in for a very rude awakening.

This was my wall. These were my runes. And I wasn't about to let anyone tear them down.

--

As the orc army moved closer, I found myself studying them more intently, my eyes tracing their hulking forms through the rising dust. These weren't just mindless brutes as some would like to believe. Their movements were organized, disciplined even, with a degree of coordination that made me uneasy. They were large—roughly the size of a tall human, but with muscle mass that looked like it had been chiseled from stone. Their skin, a deep tan, was covered in swirling tattoos, intricate designs etched across every inch of their bodies. Some of the tattoos even seemed to glow, pulsing faintly with power.

I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. Orcs had always been formidable, but this was something else. These were warriors, not raiders. And whatever those tattoos were doing, it wasn't just decorative.

"What's with the body art?" I asked, not tearing my gaze away from the advancing horde.

Lucius Cassian stood beside me, his normally calm demeanor laced with a hint of disdain. "Tattoos," he said, his voice clipped. "The orcs use them as rune markings. It's their version of magic. Crude, but effective. The markings grant them strength, protection—sometimes even enhancements in combat."

I raised an eyebrow. "Runes on skin? Interesting. Effective, I imagine. Always having the power on you—can't lose it or be separated from it."

Lucius gave a grunt of disapproval. "I'd much rather have my magic in devices, thank you very much. More refined. More control. What they're doing… it's barbaric."

"Barbaric, maybe," I muttered, "but practical." As much as I disliked giving any sort of credit to the orcs, I couldn't deny the appeal of their method. Their tattoos meant they had magic at their disposal constantly, without needing to rely on external items. I could respect that, even if it came from the enemy.

The army continued to advance, and it wasn't long before the front lines began to slow, setting up camp while others pressed forward toward the wall. But what caught my attention was their behavior as they approached. The orcs at the front didn't attack immediately, as I had expected. Instead, they began shouting and growling, their voices rising into a cacophony of guttural noise. Some of them brandished their weapons, but they didn't charge. It was as if they were performing a ritual of sorts—a show of power, meant to intimidate.

"What's this?" I asked, my gaze flicking over to Lucius. "Is this some kind of orc pre-battle theater?"

Lucius narrowed his eyes, watching the scene unfold with barely concealed contempt. "It's their way. A display of dominance. They believe it weakens the enemy's resolve. They want to instill fear before they attack."

I frowned, watching the ritual continue. The orcs were bellowing at the wall now, as if challenging it, daring it to break before their might. It wasn't just mindless noise, either. There was a rhythm to it, a pattern that echoed with the intensity of a war drum. Even from this distance, I could feel the vibrations of their collective roars. It was as if the air itself was trembling in anticipation.

I wasn't the kind to scare easily, but I couldn't deny the power of the display. It was designed to get into your head, to make you doubt your defenses, to plant the seed of fear before the real fight even began. Psychological warfare, plain and simple.

I leaned back slightly, crossing my arms over my chest as I considered their tactics. "It's smart, I'll give them that," I said, half to myself. "Get the enemy shaking in their boots before you've even thrown a punch."

Lucius didn't seem impressed. "Their bark is worse than their bite, trust me."

"Maybe," I replied, "but they're barking awfully loud."

As the orcs continued their display, I could see the effect it was having on the soldiers around me. Some of them shifted uneasily, their hands gripping their weapons a little tighter. Others muttered under their breath, casting nervous glances at the advancing horde. It wasn't panic—at least, not yet—but it was close.

I turned back to Lucius, lowering my voice so only he could hear. "You think they're serious this time? Not just another raid?"

Lucius met my gaze, his expression grim. "This is no raid, Goodchild. This is something bigger. They've brought siege weapons, for gods' sake. They mean to break through."

I exhaled slowly, the weight of his words settling on me. "And if they break through?"

Lucius's jaw tightened. "They won't. Not while I'm alive."

"Good to know," I said, trying to inject a little levity into the situation, though my voice sounded hollow even to my own ears. There was no point sugarcoating it. If the orcs were as organized as they seemed, if they truly had commanders now, this was going to be a long and bloody fight.

The shouting and growling continued, reaching a fever pitch. The orcs were building up to something, but I wasn't sure what. I glanced down at the wall's defenses, making sure the runes I'd etched into place were still holding strong. The intricate web of protective magic hummed beneath the stone, invisible but potent. The wall was more than just a barrier now—it was an active defense, ready to repel any force thrown against it. But even so, I couldn't help but wonder if it would be enough.

The orcs weren't just brute strength anymore. They had magic, too. And if their tattoos were any indication, it was potent.

I caught a glimpse of one particularly massive orc at the front of the horde, his skin covered in glowing red runes that pulsed like embers. His eyes locked onto mine, and for a brief moment, I felt a flicker of recognition. It wasn't just a mindless beast staring me down—it was an adversary, someone who understood the stakes as much as I did.

"Well," I muttered under my breath, "this should be interesting."

Lucius glanced at me, raising an eyebrow. "What was that?"

"Nothing," I said, shaking my head slightly. "Just mentally preparing for what's to come."

Lucius gave me a look that suggested he didn't entirely believe me, but he let it slide. Instead, he turned his attention back to the orcs, his face hardening into a mask of determination.

"They're coming," he said quietly.

I didn't need him to tell me that. I could feel it in the air—the tension building, the collective anticipation hanging over the wall like a storm cloud ready to break. The orcs were preparing for their assault, and it wouldn't be long now.

I checked my spear, ensuring the runes I'd carved into the shaft were still glowing with power. The armor I'd designed felt snug against my body, the adaptive runes woven into the fabric already reacting to the ambient magic around me. I was as ready as I'd ever be, but that didn't stop the gnawing sensation in my gut.

This was the test. All the work I'd done, all the runes I'd crafted, it all came down to this moment. If the defenses held, we'd push the orcs back, maybe even send them scurrying back into the plains. If they didn't... well, I'd better have a backup plan.

I glanced at the soldiers manning the wall, their faces a mixture of fear and resolve. They were looking to me, whether they realized it or not. If the runes failed, they'd all be dead. And that weight sat squarely on my shoulders.

Lucius cleared his throat, drawing my attention back to him. "If you've got any last-minute adjustments to make, now's the time, Goodchild."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I took one last look at the orcs—now organizing into neat ranks, their siege weapons being rolled forward—and then turned my attention to the runes.

I walked the length of the wall, checking each rune as I went. The protective layers were holding strong, the energy flowing through them in perfect harmony. The catapults were primed, their rune-enhanced mechanisms ready to launch volleys of fire and magical energy into the enemy ranks. Everything was in place. Everything was ready.

As I made my way back to the center of the wall, where Lucius stood watching the orc army with an expression somewhere between disdain and wariness, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were on the edge of something catastrophic. The orcs hadn't stopped their relentless shouting and guttural growling. It was the kind of sound that reverberated through your bones, gnawing at your resolve if you listened too long. Not that I would admit it to anyone here, of course.

The growing tension in the air was almost physical—a tangible heaviness hanging over the wall like a storm about to break. But there was something else too, something new that caught my eye as I approached. It looked like a commotion at the front lines of the orc army, and when I squinted, I could see orcs in chains being dragged forward by their comrades.

"Lovely," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else, "nothing like chained orcs to spice up an otherwise dreary siege."

Lucius heard me and raised an eyebrow, his gaze following mine. "Criminals," he said, almost absentmindedly, like he was reciting from memory. "Or at least that's what their kind considers them. Offenders. The orcs aren't known for their leniency."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, my eyes narrowing as I watched what looked like a ritual unfolding. There was an orc there, not dressed in armor like the rest, but in simple dark robes that marked him as something else—a shaman, perhaps. He was wielding a knife that glinted oddly in the hazy light, and even from this distance, I could sense the magic emanating from it.

"They believe in restitution through... well, I suppose 'sacrifice' is the most accurate word," Lucius replied, his voice carrying a note of distaste. "They carve runes into the flesh of their criminals—mark them with cursed symbols that turn their bodies into living bombs, or worse. They send them toward enemy lines as a form of penance."

"A charming culture," I said dryly. "So, basically, we're looking at a ritualistic fireworks display made of living beings. Delightful."

Lucius turned to look at me, his face serious. "If those runes on the wall of yours don't hold, we're in trouble."

I gave him a thin smile. "Well, Lucius, I suppose we'll see what these little artistic flourishes of mine are worth."

He didn't respond. His focus shifted back to the scene below as the orc shaman continued carving into the flesh of the first chained orc. The prisoner didn't flinch—either through sheer will or perhaps because the runes on his skin were already dulling his senses. The whole spectacle was as mesmerizing as it was grotesque.

"Is that knife glowing?" I asked, half-expecting some offhanded explanation like, 'Oh, that's just their special carving knife for sacrificial occasions.'

"Yes," Lucius replied curtly, not taking his eyes off the ritual. "It's enchanted. The runes they're carving into him are curses of some sort—designed to react violently with external magic. Essentially, they've turned him into a walking time bomb."

"And I thought human politics were brutal," I said, more to myself than anyone else. But it wasn't a joke, not really. The grim reality of it made me feel a bit queasy, which I did my best to conceal behind a façade of nonchalance.

The shaman finished his carving with a flourish, wiping the knife on a cloth like he was merely sharpening a blade after a hearty meal. The orc in chains was visibly different now—his runes glowing a malevolent red that radiated like embers from a dying fire. The shackles were removed, and for a brief second, the orc stood there, teetering between what I imagined was terror and the frenzied compulsion of the curse now embedded in his flesh.

Then he ran.

The transformation was immediate. He launched himself forward like a beast unleashed, charging towards the wall with a reckless abandon that seemed almost inhuman. His eyes, wide and unseeing, locked on our position like he could see straight through the stone and runes. The crowd of soldiers on the wall tensed as one, their fingers tightening around their weapons.

"By the gods," one of them muttered under his breath, his knuckles turning white against his spear.

"Let's hope your runes hold," Lucius murmured, his voice so low I almost didn't catch it.

I didn't reply. There wasn't anything left to say. I could only watch and wait as the cursed orc barreled toward us, gaining speed with every step. The ground seemed to shake beneath his pounding feet, his body giving off waves of heat as the cursed runes did their work.

And then he caught fire.

Not metaphorically—he was literally aflame. The runes carved into his skin flared to life, the glowing red lines bursting into bright, violent flames that spread across his body until he was a roaring inferno racing towards the wall. There was no hesitation, no sign of pain, no indication that the orc was aware of what was happening to him. He was a living weapon, and the flames were his ammunition.

"Steady!" Lucius barked at the soldiers, his voice sharp and authoritative. He spared me a glance that said, very plainly, This is your doing. Better be good.

I tightened my grip on the edge of the wall, mentally preparing myself for what was about to happen. If the runes I'd inscribed didn't work, well… it wouldn't be the first time my life depended on my own handiwork. But this time, a whole lot of other lives depended on it too.

The flaming orc closed the distance alarmingly fast, leaving a trail of scorched earth in his wake. He was within a hundred meters now. Fifty. Thirty.

I braced myself.

Then the runes activated.

There was no visible sign at first—no flash of light, no sound to indicate that the runes had triggered. But I felt it in my bones, a subtle shift in the air as the protective wards sprang to life. The orc hit an invisible barrier head-on, his body slamming into it with the force of a battering ram. For a split second, it seemed like he might break through. The runes on his skin flared brighter, the flames intensifying as the two opposing magics clashed.

But then, with a deafening crack, the barrier held. The orc's body was hurled backward, the force of the impact sending him flying through the air like a ragdoll. He landed in the middle of the orc army, and for one heart-stopping moment, there was silence.

Then he exploded.

It wasn't a small explosion, either. The force of the blast rippled through the orc ranks, throwing bodies into the air and scattering the front lines like leaves in a storm. The shockwave hit the wall, making the stone beneath my feet tremble. I caught a soldier beside me glancing at me with wide eyes, clearly shocked that we were all still in one piece.

"Well," I muttered, "looks like the runes work."

A cheer went up from the soldiers on the wall, the tension breaking as they celebrated their first small victory. The relief in the air was almost palpable, and I allowed myself a brief smile. I could see Lucius exhaling slowly, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. For the first time since this siege began, I felt like we might actually have a fighting chance.

But then I caught sight of the orc shaman below, watching the scene unfold with an expression that wasn't anger or surprise, but something closer to satisfaction. It made my blood run cold.

He turned and began gesturing to another group of orcs in chains, preparing them for the same ritual.

"Of course," I said under my breath, "they have more."

Lucius followed my gaze and cursed quietly. "This isn't over."

To my amazement—and no small degree of disbelief—the orcs repeated the same attack a total of ten times. Ten cursed, flaming orcs, each one hurled back like a ragdoll by the invisible barrier of my runes. The bodies landed with the same sickening thud, erupting into explosions that sent ripples through their ranks. But what shocked me even more was that every time one of their own detonated, the orc army let out a cheer, as if it was all part of some grand spectacle.

I stood there, watching the bizarre scene unfold, a sense of absurdity settling over me like a thick fog. I glanced over at Lucius, whose usual calm demeanor seemed unshaken, though his brow was slightly furrowed, betraying a hint of frustration.

"Are they idiots?" I muttered, half expecting Lucius to confirm my suspicion that orcs had collectively lost their minds.

Lucius, to my surprise, didn't immediately agree. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully, eyes never leaving the chaotic display below. "They have their own way," he said, the corners of his mouth pulling into a tight line. "To them, risk is part of life—a game, even. This is all... entertainment, in a way. They're testing us, sure, but they're also enjoying the spectacle."

I blinked, trying to wrap my mind around that. Entertainment? Was this just a twisted form of fun for them?

"I don't get it," I said, shaking my head. "I've been trying to make sense of them—trying to create some sort of psychological model for these creatures—but the only framework I can come up with is... well, something like thrill-seeking masochism crossed with a deeply ingrained death wish."

Lucius let out a soft chuckle, but it was the kind that held no warmth. "That's not far from the truth. Orc culture values courage, but not the kind we might respect. For them, to die in battle—especially in some spectacular, fiery fashion—is a form of honor. They don't fear death the way we do. In fact, they seek it out when the opportunity is... theatrical enough."

I grimaced, glancing down at the orc shamans still preparing yet another sacrificial lamb for the slaughter. There was something deeply unsettling about it, and not just because of the violence. It was the gleeful anticipation that radiated from their ranks, the way they leaned forward, waiting for the next explosion like children waiting for fireworks.

"Great," I muttered. "So they're not just brutal—they're thrill-addicts with a penchant for dramatic exits."

Lucius nodded slowly, his eyes dark and distant. "Exactly. They thrive on spectacle. It's how they prove their strength, how they test the boundaries of their power. For them, the idea of risk isn't something to be avoided—it's embraced. To push against the limits of what's possible, even at the cost of their lives, is the ultimate show of strength."

"Psychopathic, thrill-seeking exhibitionists," I said, summing up my thoughts on the matter. "Fantastic."

But it wasn't just a joke. As I stood there, watching the endless cycle of sacrificial orcs, something clicked in my mind. Their behavior wasn't random. It was ritualistic. This wasn't just some reckless charge at the walls; this was a performance, a display designed not only to wear us down physically but to chip away at our morale, to test how far they could push us before we broke. The explosions, the cheering—it was all part of the show.

And the worst part? It was working. I could see it in the soldiers around me. The initial relief after the first few successful rune activations was fading, replaced by a growing tension. Their shoulders were tightening, hands gripping weapons with more force than necessary. They were waiting for something to go wrong, for the runes to fail, for the moment when one of those flaming orcs made it through the barrier.

I had to admit, part of me was waiting for the same thing.

But the runes held. For now.

"Do they ever give up?" I asked, more out of frustration than curiosity.

Lucius didn't answer right away. He watched as yet another orc was sent hurtling toward us, flames licking up its body like some demented torch. The same result: the barrier activated, and the orc was thrown back with bone-crushing force before detonating in the midst of its comrades.

"They don't give up," Lucius finally said, his voice low. "Not until they've proven whatever it is they're trying to prove. They'll keep sending those cursed warriors until either we fall or they run out of volunteers."

I snorted. "Volunteers? They're prisoners. Hardly seems like volunteering."

Lucius glanced at me, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "In their culture, being given the chance to die in battle—even as a cursed weapon—is seen as an honor. These prisoners aren't being forced; they're being offered redemption."

"Redemption," I repeated, shaking my head. "It's all so... backwards."

But even as I said it, I couldn't help but feel a grudging respect for the orcs. As twisted as their rituals were, they had a certain logic to them—a fierce, unyielding code that I could almost admire. Almost. If they weren't hell-bent on blowing us all to pieces, I might have found their tenacity impressive.

Another explosion rattled the ground, and I let out a sigh.

"Well, I suppose the good news is that my runes are holding up," I said, trying to inject a bit of humor into the situation. "So far, we've managed to avoid becoming a fireworks display ourselves."

Lucius nodded, but his expression remained grim. "For now."

I followed his gaze to the shaman below, who was preparing another group of orcs. The process was speeding up. The shamans were growing more efficient, and the attacks were coming faster.

I knew what Lucius was thinking. If the orcs kept this up, eventually they would find a weak spot, a flaw in the barrier. And when they did, it would only take one of those cursed warriors to breach the wall.

"We need a plan," I said, my mind racing. "Something to break their momentum."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Any suggestions?"

I stared at the orc army, watching as the shaman plunged his knife into the next prisoner's flesh, the glowing runes flaring to life once more. The orc was trembling, his body already beginning to smolder as the magic took hold. Another cursed warrior, another potential explosion.

And then it hit me.

"They're playing a game," I said slowly, my thoughts beginning to form into something more concrete. "A game of risk, right? Well, maybe it's time we changed the rules."

Lucius gave me a curious look. "What are you thinking?"

I turned to him, a grin spreading across my face. "They thrive on spectacle. They want a show? Let's give them one. But on our terms."

Lucius didn't seem convinced. "And how exactly do you propose we do that?"

I glanced at the soldiers around me, all of them tense, waiting for the next attack. Then I looked back at the shamans below, who were too focused on their ritual to pay much attention to us.

"We need to break their rhythm," I explained, my voice gaining momentum. "They're locked into this cycle—send cursed orcs, wait for the explosion, repeat. If we disrupt that, we can throw them off balance. But more than that, we need to give them a reason to fear us."

Lucius frowned. "You think they're not afraid?"

"They're not," I said flatly. "Look at them. They're celebrating every failure like it's a victory. As long as they think they have the upper hand, they won't stop. But if we can show them that we're more dangerous than they are, we can shake their confidence."

"And how do you propose we do that?"

I smiled, already formulating the details in my mind. "By turning their own magic against them."

Lucius's eyes widened slightly, but I could see the gears turning in his head. He was starting to understand where I was going with this.

"Those cursed runes they're using," I continued, "they're designed to interact violently with external magic, right? Well, what if we amplify that interaction? Use the power of their own runes to trigger a chain reaction?"

Lucius stared at me for a moment, then his expression shifted, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You're suggesting we weaponize their own magic."

"Exactly," I said, feeling a surge of excitement. "They want to play with fire? Let's show them what happens when they lose control of it."

Lucius nodded, the smile fading as his expression turned serious. "It's risky."

"Everything's risky at this point," I said with a shrug. "But if we pull it off, it'll send a message. We're not just defending ourselves—we're fighting back."

Lucius didn't argue. He simply nodded, his eyes gleaming with a new determination.

"Do it," he said.

I grinned, already moving to gather the materials I would need. The orcs thought they could keep this siege going indefinitely, but they were about to learn a harsh lesson about playing with forces they didn't fully understand.

Because if there was one thing I'd learned in all my time of runeweaving, it was that magic—especially volatile, dangerous magic—wasn't something to be toyed with lightly.

And I was about to show them just how devastating it could be when used correctly.

As the next wave of orcs charged toward the wall, their skin glowing with the runes freshly carved into their flesh, I worked frantically. My hands moved with practiced precision as I inscribed a temporary rune on a small stone—something powerful but crude, meant to amplify the runic magic already swirling through the air. The runes the orcs were using were different from what I'd seen before. They had a volatile nature, like a tinderbox waiting for the right spark. I intended to provide that spark.

The ground shook as another flaming orc was hurled back by the wall's defenses, exploding violently on impact. The soldiers on the wall had grown used to the sight, their initial surprise now hardened into grim focus. Two more followed, bodies flailing through the air, the cursed runes igniting their flesh in an inferno before they even reached the barrier.

My fingers etched the final mark into the stone, the runes glowing faintly with barely contained power. I had no idea if this would work, but the orcs were relentless, and time was no longer a luxury we had. I had to try something.

I tossed the stone over the side of the wall, hoping the arc of my throw would land it near the area where the orcs were gathering before their mad charge. As it disappeared into the chaos below, I muttered a silent prayer to whatever gods cared to listen.

The next orc—fire still consuming its body—sprinted straight toward the wall, feet pounding against the earth with alarming speed. And then, just as the orc passed over the stone I'd thrown, something happened.

There was no familiar, localized explosion. This time, the ground shook with a thunderous roar, a blast so powerful that it didn't just throw the orc back—it flattened everything around it. The explosion ripped through the ranks of the orc army like an unseen hand sweeping across a battlefield, sending bodies flying and leaving a crater in the center of their formation. Dust and debris filled the air, blotting out the sun for a moment, as if the heavens themselves were recoiling from the devastation.

The blast wave hit the wall like a tidal wave, causing the soldiers around me to lose their footing. I stumbled back, gripping the stone parapet to steady myself as the shockwave reverberated through my bones. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of destruction—a sound that seemed to linger in the air like the fading echo of a nightmare.

And then, the cheers started.

Not from the soldiers on the wall, though they had every reason to cheer. No, the cheers came from below—from the orcs themselves.

I squinted through the dust as it began to settle, my heart pounding in disbelief. The orcs—those who hadn't been obliterated in the blast—were getting to their feet, but instead of retreating or panicking, they were cheering. Their guttural voices rang out in unison, hands raised in what looked like triumph. They were gesturing toward the wall, some of them laughing and beating their chests as if they were congratulating us.

Congratulating us? For blowing them to pieces?

Lucius, standing a few feet away, seemed equally confused, though he didn't let it show. His eyes narrowed as he watched the bizarre scene unfold below.

"What the hell are they doing?" I asked, my voice laced with disbelief. "They're acting like we just did them a favor."

Lucius glanced at me, his expression grim. "Orcs thrive on chaos and destruction. In their minds, surviving something like that—being part of such devastation—probably feels like the ultimate test of strength. They're honoring us for giving them a proper challenge."

I shook my head in frustration. I had been hoping to break their spirits, to force them to retreat. But instead, I'd just given them what they wanted—an even bigger spectacle. Their cheering was a sign that this wasn't over, not by a long shot.

"We need to finish this quickly," I said, turning to Lucius, my mind already racing with possibilities. "Before they get any more ideas."

Lucius nodded, his face hardening with determination. "Then let's rain Hades on them."

He lifted a hand, giving a sharp signal to the soldiers manning the catapults. The massive siege engines, loaded with magical ammunition, groaned as they turned to face the remaining orc army. Each catapult was inscribed with runes—runic enhancements that synchronized with the weapons, amplifying their destructive power. These weren't ordinary projectiles. No, these were orbs of raw, concentrated energy—fire, lightning, and force, all bound together in a delicate balance of magic.

The catapults fired as one, their massive arms snapping forward with a deafening crack. Hundreds of glowing orbs shot through the air, streaking toward the orc army like falling stars. For a brief moment, the sky was alight with swirling arcs of magic, and then the orbs hit their targets.

The effect was immediate—and devastating.

Explosions tore through the orc ranks with a fury unlike anything I'd ever seen. The ground buckled and heaved as torrents of fire ripped through the air, consuming everything in their path. Bolts of lightning arced from one orc to the next, crackling through their bodies with lethal precision. And then there were the force blasts—massive, concussive waves of energy that pulverized bone and flesh, scattering the orcs like leaves in a storm.

The air filled with the deafening roar of destruction, mingled with the howls of the dying. For a moment, it was hard to tell where the wall ended and the chaos began. All I knew was that the orcs had finally met something they couldn't cheer for.

I watched as the front lines of the orc army disintegrated under the onslaught, their once-unstoppable charge reduced to nothing but ash and ruin. Even those who had survived the initial blast were now scrambling to avoid the barrage.

But there was no escape. The magic-laden projectiles continued to rain down, each one finding its mark with brutal efficiency. The valley floor, once teeming with orc warriors, was now littered with the bodies of the fallen.

I turned to Lucius, who stood watching the scene with a cold, calculating expression. There was no triumph in his eyes, no sense of victory. Just the grim satisfaction of a job well done.