"OPEN THE GATE!"

The command echoed through the Frostguard Keep, resonating with urgency as the heavy gates groaned open slowly. In the vanguard, astride a magnificent black stallion was Aron, flanked by his loyal watchers, his expression steely and resolute despite the chaos of recent events.

As the gates swung wide open, "FORWARD!" Aron urged his horse onward, leading his contingent of watchers out of the keep and into the open.

The watchers followed suit, their horses' hooves creating a rhythmic beat as they rode side by side. The snow crunched beneath their steeds' feet, and the frigid air whipped against their faces, a stark contrast to the stillness of the winter landscape.

Aron's crimson eyes scanned the horizon, searching for any sign of the orcs. He slowly turned to his second-in-command, whose name was Bard, and commanded, "Lead the way."

Bard nodded curtly, his breath forming puffs of vapor in the cold air. With a steady hand, he guided his horse forward, leading Aron and the guards to the ambush site.

Their descent down the treacherous mountain path was a blur of focused movement. They pressed their horses hard, the animals straining against the reins as they navigated the icy slopes. Despite their haste, it took half a day to fully descend the mountain.

Reaching the foothills, they continued for another hour on the old forest road, the silence broken only by the rhythmic clopping of hooves and the occasional crackle of a dead branch underfoot. The anticipation grew with each passing moment.

Finally, after an hour's ride, they arrived. Bard brought his horse to a halt, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of their enemy. The forest road was narrow, flanked by towering trees that cast long shadows in the late afternoon sun.

Aron dismounted, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the surroundings. "This is where it happened?" he asked, his voice steady despite the weight of the situation.

Bard nodded, his face grim. "Yes, my lord. The orcs ambushed the caravan here. They emerged from the trees and struck without warning."

Aron's gaze swept the area, taking in the scattered remnants of the battle. Broken branches, disturbed snow, and faint traces of bloodstains painted a picture of violence and chaos.

"Search for clues," he instructed, turning to his watchers.

Nine watchers stood by his side, including Leo, who only came because he had been struck on the head a few more times by Aron. Lyra, who for some reason, was utterly devoted to Aron. She was a completely different person from before the awakening.

Besides these two whom Aron had chosen, the rest were selected by Emaon from the previous hundred soldiers, and Aron hadn't even had time to learn their names. Yet, their loyalty was evident in their swift obedience.

"Yes, my lord," they replied in unison, their voices carrying a sense of determination. They dismounted and began their search, combing the area for any clues that might lead them to the orcs' hideout.

While they searched, Aron scanned the site with his dragon eyes, noting every detail with precision. He focused on reconstructing the ambush in his mind based on the clues left behind: primarily, the broken tree branches from where the orcs had launched their attack.

The footprints in the mud and snow provided an estimate of their numbers, and lastly, the bloodstains told a grim tale of how swift the ambush had been.

"Hmm...they knew exactly where and when to strike for the ambush to succeed," he muttered.

Based on the footprints, the orcs numbered between one and two hundred. Not enough to take down close to three thousand soldiers if you didn't count the slaves. However, the orcs' small numbers worked in their favor since the caravan was marching in a line formation with only a few soldiers at the back guarding the food supplies.

"My lord," Lyra's voice interrupted his thoughts as she approached, her steel plate armor glinting in the afternoon light. Her long silver hair flowed like a river against the gray wolf cloak, and the massive tower shield with spikes and the long silver lance she carried spoke of her role as a Guardian.

"Nothing at the site, my lord," she reported, her voice steady. "But we have the orcs' tracks leading that way." She gestured with her lance towards the west.

Aron nodded, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Very well. We shall follow their trail and find their hideout. Leave someone with the horses while we proceed on foot."

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With a nod of acknowledgment, Aron led his party westward, their footsteps crunching through the snow-covered forest floor.

The orcs' trail was easy to follow, marked by broken branches and splintered wooden planks from the plundered wagons. They even stumbled upon one of the abducted soldier's helmets, a grim reminder of the recent skirmish. As they ventured deeper into the shadowed embrace of the forest, the air grew colder and the snow accumulated on the ground.

The trail went cold after two hours of relentless tracking. The dense undergrowth choked the forest floor, obscuring any further signs. Fortunately, Aron had Raum, soaring high above. With Raum's keen eyesight providing guidance, Aron was able to locate their quarry.

Nestled between two imposing mountains, on a rocky outcrop, lay the orcs' hidden encampment. From a distance, it appeared as if it were merely a cave carved into the mountainside, making it nearly undetectable unless viewed from above.

A determined smirk played upon Aron's lips as he gazed upon the two unsuspecting orc guards stationed at the entrance. "We've found them," he declared in a hushed tone, barely a whisper.

"So?...what now?" Leo blurted out impulsively, his voice breaking the silence.

Aron remained silent, crouching low. His crimson eyes gleamed with a predatory intensity. The two orc guards were blissfully unaware, their guttural laughter echoing through the silent forest. They seemed utterly bored, their weapons carelessly propped against the rocky wall.

"Easy targets," Lyra whispered beside him, her voice barely a breath. She flexed his fingers, a predator scenting prey.

"No," Aron disagreed, rising to his full height. "All of you stay here, I'm going alone"

"What?" The sudden command left both Leo and Lyra speechless, their eyes widening in surprise. "But my lord—" Lyra began to protest, her hand tightening around the hilt of her lance. Bard and the remaining watchers stood silently observing the exchange.

Aron held up a hand, silencing her. "I need all of you to stay here and wait for my signal."

"And what exactly are you going to do?" Leo questioned, his voice laced with curiosity.

Aron turned towards him, a predatory grin splitting his face. "I'll just go and have a little chat with them," he replied enigmatically.

Before they could register his words, Aron emerged from the shadows, striding confidently toward the two unsuspecting orc guards. His movements were purposeful and controlled, his crimson eyes fixed on his targets.

The orc guards, startled by his sudden appearance, let out startled grunts, their weapons clattering to the ground as they scrambled to their feet.

"Intruder!" one of the orcs bellowed in orcish, its voice deep and guttural.

Aron's crimson eyes burned with unwavering resolve as he advanced. "I've come to reclaim what's rightfully ours," he declared, his voice steady and unwavering. For a fleeting moment, a dark aura flickered around him, sending shivers down the spines of the orc guards.

"!!!" The two orcs froze in place, paralyzed by an instinctive fear. They didn't even dare to flinch as Aron walked past them and into the dark tunnel leading to the rocky hill. They knew, with a chilling certainty, that any movement, even the slightest twitch, would be met with swift and brutal death.

"Interesting" Inside the cavernous opening, Aron's eyes swept across the sprawling orc encampment. A primitive spectacle unfolded before him: wooden spikes jutted from the ground like menacing teeth, crude tents huddled together like a warren, and flickering fires cast dancing shadows on the surrounding mountains.

What truly surprised Aron, however, was the sheer number of orcs. Thousands of them milled about the camp, a teeming mass that dwarfed the initial estimates gleaned from the tracks and the battle scene. Yet, upon closer inspection, he noticed a stark difference. A significant portion of the orcs appeared frail and sickly, with the most comprising elders, females, and younglings.

"Well…It doesn't matter," Aron muttered to himself, taking a deep breath. He raised his hands high above his head in a gesture that could be interpreted as both surrender and dominance. "I came here to do one thing."

FUSHHH!.

A torrent of crimson flames erupted from his body, swirling upwards and coalescing into the fearsome visage of a dragon's head.

ROARRR!

The massive flame dragon opened its jaws, letting out a mighty roar that shook the entire place before dissipating as quickly as it materialized.

Aron made his presence known to all.

The display of power, though brief, sent a tremor of fear rippling through the orc encampment. Every eye turned towards Aron, their gazes a mixture of awe and terror.

Aron flashed a casual smile as he sauntered into their camp. No one dared to stop him; in fact, no one budged an inch. Aron, in turn, ignored them completely, his focus fixed on the large tent in the center of the camp. Along the way, Aron spotted the stolen supplies, but there was no sign of the healers and the female soldiers.

Nearing the tent, Aron realized they were engaged in some kind of celebration. 'Probably celebrating their successful ambush and stolen supplies?'

Scanning the place, Aron swiftly located the kidnapped female soldiers. They were chained on the right side of the tent, stripped of their armor, remaining only in their undergarments. The women couldn't even conceal their modesty as they huddled together, their eyes wide with fear and desperation.

Aron slowly shifted his gaze to the center of the tent, paying no heed to the Orc warriors standing with their weapons drawn, their eyes fixed on him.

Instead, Aron focused on the orc sitting on a throne made from bones. This orc was the biggest, and it was crystal clear that he was the chief.

Aron smiled and with a thought, his top armor disappeared, revealing his pale, scar-covered skin.

The orcs flinched at this, thinking he was about to attack. But their yellow eyes widened when they saw him pounding his chest with his fist three times.

From the knowledge stored inside his 'Shadow Library,' Aron understood the proper way to deal with the orcs.

Locking his crimson eyes on the chief, Aron displayed a ferocious grin, raising his fist in the air. He spoke a single word that altered the course of events for him and the orcs.

"Mak'Gora"