Raising my longsword, I selected my next target—a chainmail-clad orc, the greatest threat among them. With superhuman speed, a gift of my lineage, I was upon the greenskin in a heartbeat. My swift thrust pierced his heart, his body collapsing lifelessly. He never saw his end coming.

The remaining three orcs recovered from their initial shock and charged at me. Their battle cries mingled with the sounds of clashing steel and the dying screams of their comrades. I raised my left hand, channeling the school of telekinesis. The orc began to scream as I lifted him into the air, then hurled him against the palisade. His body crashed into a sharpened stake, piercing his chest with a sickening squelch and dyeing the wood red. Memories of training sessions with Lea flashed in my mind—her encouragement and fierce determination shaped my telekinetic prowess.

The two remaining orcs, undeterred by their impaled comrade, assaulted me with a flurry of blows. Their determination was commendable, but unlike the half-elf, it would avail them nothing. Dodging them, I lunged forward, my sword a blur of crimson and gold, cleaving through the right one with brutal efficiency. Blood sprayed in an arc, the warmth of it splattering against my golden Thorn. The second orc barely had time to react before my blade found his throat, severing jugular and windpipe in one swift motion. The thrill of combat, the song of blood, surged through me, a bond shared with Relus during our countless battles together.

Relus's battle cry rang out behind me, a fierce and guttural sound that sent a thrill down my spine. He was in his element, his twin swords dancing through the air with deadly precision. Each swing was a testament to his strength and skill, the orcs falling before him like wheat before the scythe.

Lea, ever the showman, fought with a flair that bordered on the theatrical. Her swordplay was a blend of grace and savagery, every strike a carefully executed performance. She moved with a mesmerizing fluidity, her blade, Rosary, flashing in the sunlight as she carved a path through the orcs.

For a brief moment, amidst the chaos and carnage, I felt a surge of camaraderie. We Taron were more than mere warriors; we were a golden family forged in the fires of battle, bound by blood and honor. This was our dance, a macabre ballet of death and glory, and we reveled in it. The bond between us was palpable, a silent understanding that in this chaotic symphony, we were each other’s anchor.

As I surveyed the battlefield, memories of past battles flooded my mind. Each scar on my armor told a story, each victory a testament to the strength of the Taron legacy. I thought of my mother, the last Lux of Taron, whose legacy I carried with pride and the weight of duty.

The orcs, disorganized and demoralized, began to falter. Their initial ferocity gave way to panic as they realized the futility of their resistance. The ground beneath us was slick with blood, the air thick with the stench of death. Victory was within our grasp, its sweet taste tantalizingly close. Again and again, riders tore through pockets of orc resistance, leaving a trail of cut and trampled orcs behind them.

I searched the battlefield, my eyes scanning the chaos for the chieftain. Blood and gore had dyed the ground in a canopy of red. Here and there I saw men and ork alike slipping on intestines or the now blood-wet floor.

There, amidst the remaining pockets of resistance, I found him. He was bellowing orders to his few remaining men, the rest having already fled or surrendered. Capturing the chieftain would be crucial for interrogating him about the orc movements on the fortress city Avernus.

Time to show off a bit for my men, I smirked.

As I neared the resisting greenskins, they quickly recognized me, my huge frame and golden armor marking me as one if not the leader. Bellowing orders, nearly a dozen orcs separated and strode in my direction. Well, I guess we need to thin out the competition a bit. As they neared, I once again lifted my left hand, closing my eyes as I concentrated my power on the coming judgment. Only a few meters separated us now. Then I flashed my eyes open and channeled my whole magic into reality. A huge shockwave tore into the greenskins, lifting them up and tossing them through the air like insects.

"Hahaha, nice judgment, Pal. I'm almost envious," I heard Relus commend me from somewhere behind my back. Only two orcs from the initial dozen were in any fighting condition. Their frames too big for the shockwave to have hurt them as much as the others. I lazily strolled towards them, my sword resting on my shoulder.

The orc on my right, wielding a war axe, swung his weapon in a desperate and tired arc. I sidestepped, allowing the blade to pass harmlessly by, and watched as the orc stumbled from the momentum of his miss. Seizing the opportunity, I severed his right arm with a single, clean stroke. He howled in agony, blood spurting from the stump. Meanwhile, the other orc slashed and stabbed at me. His attacks were feeble, bouncing off my blood-red armor without leaving a mark.

I turned to face him, planted my sword on the ground, and beckoned him with a taunting gesture. Enraged by my provocation, the orc unleashed a torrent of blows upon me, which I endured with laughter. Soon, the orc exhausted his strength and looked at me in bewilderment. Not a scratch was visible on my plate armor.

Laughing, I advanced toward him. He dropped his knife and raised his hands, begging for mercy. I stopped just inches from his face. It was likely disconcerting for an orc to meet someone eye to eye, given that the towering greenskins usually looked down on everyone else.

"In battle, only death grants mercy," I whispered melodically, the song of blood loud in my ears. The orc began to whimper.

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Grabbing his head with both hands, I began to squeeze. His whimpering turned to screaming as he panicked and flailed. Unmoved, I pressed harder until, with a sharp pop, his skull burst under my grip. A gruesome shower of blood and brain matter splattered across my face, staining my red-gold locks. I closed my eyes for a moment, listening to the inner thrum, captivated by the song of blood. Then, the whimpering of the armless orc behind me broke my trance.

I retrieved my sword, turned, and delivered the coup de grâce. The battlefield raged on around me, an orchestrated chaos of blood and steel. Each strike and thrust from my comrades seemed to manipulate time itself. Together, we were unstoppable, a golden clan bound by the fires of war and the blood of our enemies.

As the battle continued to unfold, a sudden roar broke through the din. I turned to see Relus grappling with an enormous orc, one of the largest I had ever seen. The orc's sheer size and strength were almost a match for Relus, but my friend fought with an intensity that left no room for doubt. Their struggle was a testament to Relus’s unyielding spirit and raw power, each clash of their weapons sending shockwaves through the ground.

Nearby, Lea was locked in combat with a group of orcs who seemed determined to overwhelm her through sheer numbers. But Lea was a whirlwind of steel and grace, her movements so precise and fluid that it was as if she was dancing through the battlefield. Her strikes were lethal, each one calculated to exploit a weakness, each movement a blend of beauty and deadly efficiency. Her judgements in contrast to mine so subtle, that you needed to look closely to even see her hands lifting and pushing. Here a little shockwave to put an orc out of balance there a push to maneuver an enemy into a killing blow.

Her eyes met mine briefly, and in that moment, I saw not just a mortal warrior but a living demigoddess of magic and battle.

Amidst the chaos, I felt a surge of pride. We were not just fighting for survival or the reward from this town; we, my knights and squires, my musketeers and crossbowmen, were fighting for each other, for the legacy we carried, and for the bond that united us. But my companions, my friends, Relus, Lea, and Lorus, were not just warriors; we were of the golden kind, a golden clan forged in the crucible of war, bound by unbreakable ties of loyalty and love, forced to live in exile in the forgotten reaches of the old world. In contrast, the traitorous scum, foremost the ás Gallie, once a loyal and proud family of Taron, were living on my island, my city, and in my palace enjoying their quiet life as puppets of the republic.

But in precisely these forgotten reaches, I was closer to our ancestral origin, the famed and mythical city of Aureus, than any of these cockroaches would ever be.

I scanned the battlefield once more, seeking out the chieftain. He was still there, rallying his few remaining troops, his voice a harsh bark amidst the cacophony. I began my approach, my steps steady and purposeful. The orcs who stood between me and their leader were nothing more than obstacles, their lives forfeited in the face of my determination.

As I drew closer, the chieftain’s eyes met mine. There was a flicker of fear, uncharacteristic for an ork. He barked orders, hoping for more orcs to intercept me. Instead, the majority of the greenskins, haunted by the brutal execution of their comrade and dreading a fate similar to their cut and disfigured brethren in my wake, dropped their weapons and surrendered.

Only a handful, loyal to their last breath, stood fast. I saluted them, respecting their unyielding loyalty.

But I was unstoppable, a force of nature driven by the legacy I upheld. Each swing of my sword was a declaration of death, each fallen foe a step closer to victory.

When I finally reached the chieftain, our eyes locked in a moment of silent confrontation. He was a hulking figure, adorned with trophies and skulls of his past victories, his eyes burning with desperation. He roared, charging at me with a massive warhammer raised high. I deflected his blow with my longsword, the force of the impact reverberating through my arms. We clashed fiercely, his raw strength meeting my refined skill and speed. The battle around us seemed to fade away, the only reality was the deadly dance we engaged in.

I could have used my magic to end the fight in an instant, but I reveled in the challenge it provided. With each strike and counterstrike, I sensed his growing frustration and fear. His blows became more erratic, driven by desperation. His eyes widened with panic as I seized an opening, unleashing a flurry of attacks. My blade danced around his feeble defenses, cutting through the air with lethal precision. A final, decisive thrust found its mark, piercing his shoulder with a sickening crunch. His weapon clattered to the ground as he fell to his knees, gasping in pain and fury.

"Your time has ended," I declared, my voice steady and cold. "Surrender, and you may yet live another day."

The chieftain glared at me, his pride warring with the crushing reality of his defeat. Slowly, grudgingly, he bowed his head and said in a heavily accented voice, "My ancestors forbid that I, Grohir Thunderblow, shall ever bow to men. But I have heard what you did to other orc bands unwilling to surrender. I won’t let my men face the same fate, even if that means slavery."

"Good choice," I replied, leaning in closer so he could see the cold fire in my eyes. "You would be wasted on the pyre, I'm sure. Now, what do you know about the movements of your kind on Avernus?"

His lips curled in a defiant snarl. "I’m already betraying my honor; now you want me to betray my kind?" he spat, lifting his head defiantly, his eyes burning with hatred.

"I think we’ll come to an arrangement," I answered with a sly smile. "If you answer my questions, I’m sure you’ll find your time in my custody quite enjoyable, considering the alternative. You have till today´s eve to consider your stance."

The intensity of my gaze bore into him, and I could see the flicker of doubt cross his face. With their leader captured, the remaining orcs quickly lost their will to fight, surrendering or fleeing in disarray. The few runners would be pursued by my riders and cut down without mercy.

As the battlefield quieted, the sounds of clashing steel replaced by the groans of the wounded and the cries of victory, I looked around at my comrades. Relus, Lea, and the rest of our forces stood victorious, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and triumph. We had won another battle, and with it, ensured that the legacy of Taron would endure.

The remaining green captives were being tied up and escorted into the town. I noted with relief that few casualties were wearing my coat of arms. Already, the nurses of the Company of Thorn—most of them wives of my men or followers in the baggage train—were streaming out of the town gate to tend to the wounded.

That’s another thing that makes my company special: the care of the wounded. Hardly any adventurers use such a costly practice, but I know it's worth it. Few men are more loyal than those saved from the brink of death.

I took a deep breath, the crisp air filling my lungs. The song of blood still coursed through my veins, the sweet taste of victory lingering on my lips. War was a brutal game, but it was one I played with fervor and passion.