This marks the first time the mercenary band has displayed such fervor since its inception.

Teams of ten comb through the forest in search of traces of orcs. Upon detection, they promptly rally nearby comrades to locate the horde and launch attacks without negotiation, hesitation, or reservation.

It's a brutal act of vengeance.

Judging from the assailants' performance, Avi deduces that the main force of orcs isn't in the vicinity and unlikely to arrive within days. Middenheim is mustering for an expedition, a move likely sensed by the lurking orc warbands.

Only scattered rabble would dare to venture here, hardly a cause for concern.

The mercenaries' weapons and armor are stained with the blood of hoofed beasts. Avi leads the charge alongside Rafe and ten greatswordsmen, swiftly severing throats and claiming heads.

As anticipated, numerous scattered herds roam the vicinity, comprised of inferior breeds like ungors and chaos warhounds. They crumble in the face of the formidable mercenary force.

"Boss, we've found it!"

Following a swift skirmish, Manid pants as he approaches Avi, clutching a familiar wooden crate. "This is the food pilfered from us."

Avi casts a glance at the crate's contents and signals to the militiamen behind him, "You two, transport it back to camp. The rest, continue the search."

"What else are we looking for?" Manid queries, perplexed.

"Orcs don't scatter haphazardly. There must be a base or lair nearby," Avi remarks, "We must eradicate the problem entirely, or we'll face it again in the future."

"But boss, we're—"

"If you're hesitant, return now. Don't provoke us!" Rafe, still incensed over the spoiled mead, strides forward and pushes Manid, "If you're up for a fight, join us, understood?"

Manid staggers but manages to keep his footing, indicating Rafe has controlled his force and timing.

"Rafe, Manid is our comrade!"

"But boss—"

"That's enough." Avi's tone turns icy, "Direct your ire towards those long-legged fools, not our own."

"..."

"Boss, I'm alright," Manid massages his shoulder, "I just think this may be risky. Regardless, I stand with you."

"I concur with Mr. Manid's perspective, sir."

"Very well, take five minutes to regroup, then resume spreading out to uncover traces of the orcs," Avi instructs, "As before, stay within sight of each other, utilize torches for signaling. Understood?"

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"Yes!"

The mercenaries' responses are remarkably uniform.

The brief respite is essential for improved combat effectiveness. In this protracted sweep, the mercenaries have broken over a dozen iron swords, their edged weapons riddled with notches and slick with blood, almost becoming their badges of honor.

Swordsmen resort to stones and sticks once their swords are depleted, while spear soldiers wield spearheads after their spears snap. Archers resort to pelting orc heads with stones once their quivers run dry.

After each engagement, many soldiers exchange their weapons for orc blades, yet their thirst for further combat and hunger for revenge remains unquenched.

Their hearts simmered with both enmity and fury, settling scores both old and new.

The herds of ungors and chaos warhounds, scattered and disorganized, proved no match for the relentless onslaught of the mercenary band. Led by Avi and Rafe, the greatswordsmen moved like living meat grinders, unleashing a storm of carnage with every charge into the fray.

With Rafe having honed his "Brutal Bull" skill, his ferocity in battle rivaled that of the mightiest beasts. With each swing of his colossal sword, ungors and warhounds were sent soaring into the air, leaving behind a trail of severed limbs and scattered corpses.

Yet, the mercenary band was not invincible. They encountered two groups of sixty to seventy beasts each, and amidst the chaos of battle, suffered their own casualties.

"Nineteen wounded, seven dead," Manid reported, "Boss, aside from this, many of our comrades have lost their weapons and armor, the toll is substantial. If we continue like this..."

Avi remained silent, using fallen leaves to wipe clean his longsword.

"Boss, perhaps it's time we consider a retreat," Manid suggested, "Our objective for this expedition has been achieved. If we persist, we may face irreparable losses."

"What are your thoughts, Rafe?"

"Boss, I believe we've done enough," Rafe declared, "Today, I've felled over forty of those long-legged bastards. I'm ready for whatever comes tomorrow."

"And Airen?"

"Sir, I propose we focus our efforts on training cavalry rather than being fixated on seeking revenge."

Avi made a few gestures in the air, and a display panel materialized showing the overall condition of the team and camp. Rafe had leveled up, allocating skill points to enhance his "Agility".

As Manid had pointed out, they had already lost twenty-six men, a significant blow amounting to a quarter of their fighting force. In normal circumstances, such losses would warrant a halt to operations, and Airen's counsel likely reflected such concerns.

"Our mission objective has been accomplished. Let us return to camp and regroup."

After deactivating the display panel, Avi instructed three companions to disseminate the retreat order to all squads. The mercenaries withdrew steadily, carrying back five fallen comrades and leaving behind a plethora of orc carcasses.

All seven fallen were recent recruits to the mercenary band, most having lost their weapons during the fracas and fallen victim to the ungors' savagery.

Two others had fled in fear before battle and were relentlessly pursued and torn apart by the swift chaos warhounds.

As dusk descended upon their return to camp, villagers took notice of the mercenaries' arrival and emerged to greet them. Several hospitable families even presented the mercenaries with their village's specialty dishes.

"Ensure they receive a proper burial nearby," Avi instructed Rafe after dealing with the villagers, "Remember them; they are our heroes."

"Understood, boss."

"Airen, have the attendants remain vigilant. There may be a beast counterattack tonight."

"As you wish, sir."

"Manid, I'll need you to make another trip tomorrow to procure more equipment."

"But boss, our funds—"

"Use these for trade," Avi pointed to the sack brought back by the mercenaries, "Durlinbar will find these trophies quite valuable."

Manid cautiously opened the sack and recoiled in disgust — it was filled with orc heads and scaled pelts from chaos warhounds.

"This was our agreement. I eliminate these marauders for him, and he provides the equipment," Avi explained with a wry grin, "I am not one to be swayed by mere food. What say you?"