The battle ahead is long and grueling.

Orcs continuously summon new beastly creatures from the depths of the forest. A horde of Lesser Boars and Chaos Warhounds charges forth from the darkened foliage, heading straight for the encampment of the Mercenary Band. The sheer number of these creatures seems endless, and though their quality may be lacking, their overwhelming quantity instills a sense of despair.

The mercenaries stand firm in their trenches and behind low walls, determined to hold their ground. The pikes, arranged in a formidable wall, rise and fall repeatedly, slicing through the fur-clad bodies of the orcs with precision. Spears are driven into the ground, forming a barricade that impales any orc foolish enough to charge into it.

Yet, the onslaught of Lesser Boars and Chaos Warhounds shows no sign of abating. The scent of blood in the air only seems to enrage them further, fueling their desire to tear apart the humans sheltering behind their defenses.

The hands of the pikemen gradually grow bloodied from the friction against the wooden shafts, yet they push through the pain, gripping their weapons tightly to maintain formation. The halberdiers, exhausted from the weight of their weapons, still muster the strength to raise their arms.

Under the leadership of Rafe, the warriors wielding greatswords launch counterattacks time and time again, cleaving through the Lesser Boars that breach the low walls. The archers, having exhausted their ranged ammunition, join the melee with newfound determination.

The mindless charges of the orcs inflict heavy casualties upon their own ranks, yet they manage to inflict significant damage in return. Nearly half of the mercenaries are now wounded, their bodies drenched in blood save for their eyes and teeth.

Many pikes have snapped under the relentless assaults of the orcs. The militia wield the broken shafts as makeshift spears, thrusting them deep into the chests of their foes in the heat of battle.

Avi is nearly overwhelmed by the stench of orcish blood on the front line, but he suppresses his instinctual urge to retch, barking orders to the militia to rotate positions in order to maintain their fighting effectiveness.

As the number of wounded militia steadily increases, those still standing gradually lose their vigor. Avi takes matters into his own hands, drawing his sword and mounting the low wall. What was once a barrier now serves as a battleground, with orcish bodies piled on one side and determined humans on the other.

After countless clashes and counterattacks, the mercenaries finally see no more reinforcements behind the fallen Lesser Boars. The once-open plain is now littered with the bodies of fallen creatures, their dark, putrid flesh no longer exuding ferocity but lying cold and lifeless on the ground.

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The Mercenary Band suffers the loss of over a dozen militia members in this battle, and many villagers who joined the fight, lacking proper armor, are brutally injured by the brute force of the orcs. Most mercenaries manage to escape death thanks to their iron armor, but over half are left with severe wounds.

As the sight of the orcs fades from view, everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief, collapsing to the ground in exhaustion, save for Rafe and Avi, who manage to remain standing, albeit barely.

"That... that was something else!" Rafe leans on his greatsword, addressing Avi. "Boss, I... I've never felt so alive in a fight!"

"I can't help but wonder if there will be another wave of beasts," Avi says, panting.

"..."

This time, Rafe no longer feels excitement or indifference towards the unknown threat, as he has reached his limit in this battle. The state of the wounded among the members is also far from optimistic, and even Rafe knows they cannot endure another fight like this.

"Your Excellency, I believe..."

Amidst the chaos of battle, Airen found himself skewered on the shoulder by a unicorn's horn and struck forcefully in the chest by the creature's fist. He lay on the ground, his hand pressed against the wound, and uttered, "Forgive me... uh, for my impudence, but now—"

"I understand. No need for formalities, given all we've been through," came the calm response.

"Yes, thank you for your understanding... cough... I believe we must swiftly prepare for the next assault... cough... be ready..."

His words stirred a chorus of complaints from the mercenaries sprawled around him; they were utterly drained, venting their frustrations and cursing the orcs who showed no mercy.

"We likely lack the strength to continue the fight. I'm considering using this box to send a signal," Avi remarked, retrieving a small box given to him by the knight commander from his pocket. "It should summon aid from the imperial knights stationed nearby."

"Do we have any of our own nearby? Why haven't they come to our aid amidst this fierce battle!" Rafe exclaimed indignantly.

"Knights aren't the heroes of legends," Avi explained. "Imperial knights focus solely on external threats, caring little for common folk."

"True," Rafe sighed with rare melancholy. "If they cared about us, those long-legged creatures and greenskins wouldn't be causing such havoc."

"Speculating won't help us now," Avi said, firmly placing the box on the blood-soaked ground. "Our situation demands reinforcements. The question is, will they come?"

"Boss, the orcs are gone. Why call for reinforcements?"

"To cover our retreat."

"...".

"Sir, it's necessary."

"Boss, let's call for help, we're at our limit."

Avi nodded and cautiously opened the box. A beam of light shot into the sky, glaring even in daylight, visible from at least a hundred meters away, a beacon of hope amidst chaos.

Seeing the light, the mercenaries felt a sense of relief, allowing themselves to collapse on the grass. Yet Avi and Airen remained wary, sensing the danger had increased.

Airen struggled to rise, and Avi helped him up.

"Thank you, but have you considered that the light might attract unfriendly attention?" Airen inquired.

"I regretted it the moment I saw it, but it's too late now. We're in dire straits. Without reinforcements, facing new orcs means certain death."

"But there are still greenskins and goblins nearby. If they see the light..."

"Then we'll fight," Avi declared, rising to his feet. "Everyone, take a brief rest. We'll assess casualties by the campfire."

The mercenaries acknowledged weakly; exhaustion and wounds had pushed them to their limits.

"If more orcs come, we'll flee on horseback," Avi said, gazing skyward. "In this world of chaos, we must gamble to survive."

I pray my gamble pays off...