CLANG! CLANG!

"MEN TO THE WALLS!" A silver-haired man in a wolfskin cloak roared from atop a watchtower. "DEFEND THE WALLS!"

CLANG! CLANG!

The man beside him relentlessly clanged the alarm bell. The sound echoed throughout the entire fortress, and coupled with the initial shout, chaos instantly erupted, at least among the new recruits.

Thanks to the torture…I mean training, the silver-haired watchers were quick and organized in answering the call. In less than three minutes, most of them were clad in their armor. Carrying themselves far better than seasoned veterans with years of experience, the watchers swiftly took their positions along the battlements.

Below, in the inner courtyard, the rest of the fortress was a flurry of activity. Watchers and the new soldiers scrambled to their posts, blacksmiths hurriedly handed out weapons, and medics—whoever could and knew how to heal—prepared for the inevitable casualties. The atmosphere was tense but disciplined.

"HEY, WHAT'S GOING ON?" a young new soldier, barely more than a boy, stammered at a silver-furred bear-kin lumbering towards the south wall with a massive two-handed crossbow

"ORCS! Lad, a whole army of the green-skinned is headed our way," the bearman replied, his voice gruff but steady.

The young soldier's eyes widened in terror. The brutal and swift ambush on the caravan was still a fresh wound in his mind. "Orcs? How many?"

"Enough to be a problem, but our job is to make sure none of them show their ugly faces inside the walls, or…" his voice trailed off.

"Or what?" the young soldier pressed, noticing the flicker of fear in the bearman's crimson eyes.

The bear-kin swallowed hard and leaned in, whispering into the young soldier's ear. "If we fail to hold the line, the orcs will be the least of our worries. We'll have a very angry Lord Commander up our arses."

The young soldier gulped, gripping his weapon tighter. He totally forgot about the Lord Commander, the one who incinerated their caravan captain—though he wasn't complaining about that particular outcome, but the problem now is that there is a chance that he would suffer the same fate.

"Stick close, follow orders, and you'll be fine." The bearman patted his shoulder reassuringly before moving to his position.

"HURRY UP!" Lieutenant Eamon boomed from atop the watchtower. Thanks to the watchers' enhanced vision, a gift of their awakening, combined with an extremely useful artifact—a pair of binoculars nicknamed "bring-em-closers" retrieved from the watcher's armory—they were able to spot the orcs from a significant distance.

'Did something happen to the Lord Commander?' Eamon couldn't help but wonder.

It wasn't even a full day since Aron had left the Keep, venturing towards the ambush site to locate the orcs, missing soldiers, and supplies. Ironically, the orcs themselves came knocking on their front door, and with an army.

"Damn it!" Eamon cursed, squinting through the binoculars to get a better look at the approaching army. As far as he could estimate, their numbers were a little under a thousand.

Compared to the nearly two thousand watchers within the Keep, three thousand southern city soldiers, and an additional five thousand slaves, it might not seem like a significant threat. However, Eamon was acutely aware of the orcs' destructive potential. This seemingly small army could easily overwhelm them for a simple reason.

Aside from the Everfrost, the remaining walls encircling the fortress were in terrible condition, lacking any magical barriers. A single powerful earth spell or a few well-placed catapult attacks could easily crumble the defenses.

The Frostguard never had an attack from the south in ages. Even though they fell under the jurisdiction of Avaloria, both the Frostguard and the watchers were universally respected and valued. Their duty to safeguard the continent of Arcadia from monstrous hordes was a responsibility met with immense gratitude.

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Furthermore, the fear instilled by "The silver-haired men" still lingered in everyone's hearts. To this day, even if the watchers were no more, the legend of the five thousand watchers who annihilated an entire kingdom was something few could forget or hide from the pages of history.

"What's going on? Why is there so much noise?" Keeper Eldarion suddenly materialized next to Eamon, startling the man so badly that if it wasn't for the battlement, he may have fallen to his death.

"Can't focus on my work!" he grumbled, casually adjusting a simple-looking monocle.

"WHAT THE HELL!" Eamon exclaimed, turning to the elf with clear hostility. "Can't you see that an army of orcs is knocking at our doorsteps?"

"Hmm?" Eldarion carelessly turned south, gazing at the approaching army with his monocle. A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "Relax, this army isn't here for a fight," he said dismissively.

"Excuse me?" Eamon sputtered, blinking rapidly in disbelief. He then noticed Eldarion raise his hand and point towards the right flank of the orc army. Intrigued, Lieutenant Eamon peered through the binoculars, and what he saw made his jaw drop.

Lord Commander Aron sat atop a majestic black stallion, casually waving towards them. Surrounding him were the rescued female soldiers, healers, and the party that accompanied him. But Eamon's attention wasn't on them; it was fixated on the two imposing green-skinned figures standing at his right.

"What's the meaning of this?" he asked loudly, staring at the two orcs standing alongside his Lord Commander. "What are those orcs doing with him?"

Keeper Eldarion, seemingly unfazed by the commotion, adjusted his monocle and offered a nonchalant explanation. "Those orcs, I believe, are our newest recruits."

"New recruits?" Eamon's voice rose in disbelief. "Orcs? Our new soldiers? Are you sure?"

"..."

Eldarion stared at him blankly for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh. "It appears you still don't quite understand our Lord Commander's thoughts." He then turned to the orcs. "Yes, I'm pretty sure these orcs are here to fight alongside us against the monster waves."

…

"Oh! They finally noticed us." Atop a majestic black stallion, Aron waved at Eamon and Eldarion.

"Ah!...Warchief," Morgash addressed him, noticing the relaxed posture of the soldiers atop the walls. "Should we break formation now?"

"Yes, break ranks and establish a temporary camp outside the walls," Aron instructed. But before Morgash could depart, Aron placed a hand on his shoulder, a reminder. "Ensure no orc approaches the walls just yet. We don't want any accidents, understood?"

"Understood, Warchief," Morgash acknowledged, swiftly making his way back to the orc army.

"How were they?" Kira'tar stepped forward as her father rode away, positioning herself beside her new Warchief.

Aron turned slightly, gazing at the female orc to his right. Kira'tar was very different from her kin. She's far more intelligent than an average orc, in fact, if not for her rich green skin, long dark and thick hair styled as most orcs do, long braids, and formidable physique, one might mistake her for another species entirely.

"Not bad," Aron remarked, his gaze sweeping over the wall. "Not too sluggish, not overly hasty."

In order to test his men and see how they would react to an invasion, Aron ordered the orc warriors to approach the south wall in a battle formation. This maneuver was intended to assess the fortress's preparedness and the reaction time of its defenders. After all, in the near future, monster waves will not be the only enemy of Aron.

"Given the fact that they were a bunch of criminals not too long ago, their improvement is truly remarkable," Aron said with a proud smile. "But there is still room for improvement."

Donning their armor took his watchers anywhere from three to five minutes—the barbarians, burdened by their heavy plate armor, naturally took the longest. However, other aspects of the defense were sluggish: arming the catapults and ballistas, gathering ammunition, securing the walls and gates, and ensuring the medics and blacksmiths were prepared. Even the act of organizing themselves atop the wall reeked of chaos.

'They still need more time and a lot of training,' Aron thought, observing the ongoing activities. 'And a complete overhaul of the command structure is necessary.' He turned to Kira'tar, who was watching the preparations with keen interest.

"Any idea?" he asked, interested to see what was going on in her mind.

Kira'tar met his gaze, her eyes sharp and analytical. "Your men have potential alone, but they lack the experience to fight in an army."

"Indeed," Aron nodded, agreeing with her words. He turned to the men and women behind him, ordering, "Let's go. Kira, come with me."

"Yes, Warchief," she replied with a respectful bow, pounding her fist against her chest.

As they approached the gate, Keeper Eldarion and Lieutenant Eamon, along with a few watchers, were waiting for him at the gates.

"Lord Commander, welcome back, it's good to see you safe and with…" Eldarion paused as he noticed Kira'tar accompanying Aron. His expression betrayed a hint of surprise, but he quickly regained his composure. "...And it seems you've brought us an unexpected ally," he finished.

Aron chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "What can I say, Keeper? I simply strolled into their camp seeking a good old talk, exchanged a few blows with their strongest warrior, and here I am—their new Warchief."