As Avi had anticipated, the onslaught from the orc forces grew increasingly ferocious, while the human defenders grew ever more fatigued. The number of wounded steadily mounted, and many mercenaries had already perished. Those who remained on the front lines were themselves burdened with multiple wounds, unlikely to endure much longer.

This time was unlike the last; both the quantity and quality of the beast horde surpassed anything seen before. There was no opportunity to rotate the injured out for rest; everyone was pressed to the front lines to engage in hand-to-hand combat, including the Midland peasants seeking shelter among them.

The melee was brutal and bloody. Militia and farmers without armor gradually merged into indistinguishable masses of flesh under the relentless orc assault. The fortunate met their end swiftly in one attack, while the unfortunate bled out from numerous wounds, enduring excruciating pain.

The low walls of piled earth had been stained crimson, and the thick stench of blood hung over the camp. Avi, Rafe, and Manid fought at the forefront, while Airen led the vanguard knights on the periphery, continuously whittling down the orc's remaining strength with gunfire.

Many women and elderly had taken up arms and joined the fray. The camp echoed with cries of battle and the roars of beasts, sporadically interrupted by the thunderous report of firearms, adding a discordant note to this cruel symphony.

When the last wobbling behemoth collapsed onto the heap of corpses, the moonlight of the foul moon cast its glow upon the earth. The battlefield fell silent, save for the neighing of horses and the triumphant shouts of the dozen men, declaring the mercenaries' victory.

"Hurry, get the survivors out as quickly as possible!"

Airen waded through the putrid bodies, trying to find Avi. But the corpses were too numerous, intertwined in a chaotic mess, making it extremely difficult to discern anything. They had to physically push the bodies aside to search for survivors underneath.

"Ugh..."

When Avi was dragged out from under a behemoth's corpse, they resembled a being made of blood, their entire body, even their eyes and teeth, dyed crimson by the coagulating blood clots.

"My lord, my lord!" Airen urgently carried Avi to the newly kindled campfire, checking for any fatal wounds. Finding none, they gently tapped Avi's face with their hand. "Are you alright? Can you hear my voice?"

"Cough... ugh..." Avi turned their head and spat, then slowly opened their eyes to look at Airen. "We... won..."

"We won, my lord. It's us who won."

Airen grasped Avi's hand, feeling deeply regretful for their own inadequacy.

Before the battle, Avi had given Airen strict orders not to lead the vanguard knights directly into the horde until there were only a few dozen behemoths and lesser behemoths left on the battlefield. Airen now felt guilty and remorseful for obeying those orders.

"My lord, if I had led the cavalry into battle sooner, we wouldn't have suffered such great losses." Airen bowed their head in guilt. "It's all my fault."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"..." Avi was too exhausted to speak, only shaking their head slowly.

"The situation is dire now; we can't leave here like this." Airen, feeling helpless, had to instruct the remaining knights, "Set up a watch. We won't leave here tonight."

The vanguard knights remained silent. They were willing to lay down their lives to protect Avi, but the current situation was far from optimistic. Seeing their benefactor gravely injured and unable to help, it was a source of shame for them.

Fortunately, luck had not completely abandoned them. The good news was that the casualties among the mercenaries were still within acceptable limits. Most of the fallen were newcomers and villagers who had just joined, and the medics, sheltered in their tents, had escaped harm, working tirelessly to save the critically wounded.

Bad news arrived as they had now completely lost their fighting capabilities; over half of the newly joined villagers were lost, leaving only around thirty-odd people. Even the mercenary group suffered casualties, with several dead and all others heavily wounded.

Avi's injuries weren't severe; he had only fainted from blood loss and extreme fatigue. There were many other wounded soldiers, and the actual situation wasn't as dire as it appeared on the battlefield.

The greatest news, however, was that the orc forces did not launch another attack throughout the entire night. This assault might have been a feint or perhaps merely a scouting mission by the orc warband surrounding them.

Regardless, the camp had held.

At noon the next day, just as Avi was waking up, he received several important messages: the situation in Midenheim was even more dire than theirs, but they emerged victorious; the knight-commander had fallen in battle; the Duke of Midenheim, Boris, acknowledged the cheating mercenary group's legitimate and lawful position in Midenheim, hiring them to stay there long-term.

The messenger was originally headed to the knight's camp. When he arrived, he found the camp almost completely destroyed, with only the barely surviving knight-commander providing him with the direction of the mercenary camp.

Upon hearing these messages, Avi fell into silence for a long while.

"To this day, I still don't know whether that man was a scoundrel or a good person." Avi's voice was weak, but it was still audible to those nearby. "He ultimately died as a soldier, deserving our respect."

"My lord, the messenger is waiting for our response," Airen reminded.

"We'll take the job," Avi's gaze was particularly resolute. "This is the job we've paid for with our blood. Midenheim is now in ruins, and staying here is the best choice."

"I agree with your point, my lord."

While Airen went to respond to the messenger, Avi opened the panel to confirm the team's information. As expected, all his companions had leveled up several times, and the soldiers were filled with experience waiting to be upgraded.

The casualty status was also displayed on the panel. Looking at those glaring numbers, Avi felt his heart ache. They had all been living, breathing individuals who had been easily destroyed in this battle, ultimately reduced to mere statistics on the panel.

He couldn't be as indifferent to death as the people of the Warhammer world were. As the leader of the mercenary group, he understood that sacrifices were inevitable, but such heavy sacrifices still weighed heavily on him.

"If this were a game, I'd probably have respawned or quit by now," Avi thought to himself with a bitter smile. "Unfortunately, this is reality; there are no saves or quits. I can only soldier on with a stiff upper lip."

"My lord," Airen lifted the tent flap and walked in, followed by Rafe and Manid.

"Boss, are you alright?"

Rafe was the most heavily wounded of the four, but also the quickest to recover, thanks to his tough constitution and endurance skills.

"No big deal, how about you guys?"

"I feel like a scarecrow, swaying with every step," Manid weakly replied, "but I'm okay. That bastard's horn just grazed my shoulder, or else I'd be ashes by now."

"Chin up, everyone," Avi sat up from the grass, feeling his joints and muscles ache with every movement. "I have a new plan now, and I need everyone's input to decide."

"What plan?" Rafe asked."

"Decide what we plan for the future."