The orc warband moved through the wastelands with grim determination. The battle with the Demon King had shaken them, but it had also ignited a fire within their ranks. They had glimpsed the abyss and walked away alive—scarred, but unbroken.
Jajwok marched at the front, his golden energy still flickering faintly around him. He had learned something valuable in that battle: the Demon King was not invincible. He could bleed. And if he could bleed, he could die.
Brakzul kept a steady pace beside him. "The fortress isn't far," the chieftain muttered. "But there's something wrong."
Jajwok frowned. "What do you mean?"
Brakzul's expression darkened. "Scouts should have met us by now."
The realization hit like a hammer. The fortress wasn't just silent—it was too silent.
Urgak snarled. "An ambush?"
