They quickly formed into combat formation. Two blocks of a hundred men took position on each flank; the archers, divided into two groups of fifty, were each protected by a hundred soldiers.

  Vincent carefully examined the clearing that stretched toward the orc village. The ground was completely devastated; something enormous had passed through it, destroying everything in its path. He could think of no other explanation.

  He turned and approached the civilians. Strangely, they didn't seem frightened—neither by the imminence of battle nor by the presence of the two yetis stationed near them.

  Back in the village, where Ronan had left two other yetis, the villagers had avoided them with fear, even though the creatures had done nothing more than stay with the soldiers and help rebuild the palisade.

  But the civilians Vincent had brought with him were different. They were the ones who had lost everything, the ones who no longer had hope. It was only natural that their pain, rage, and despair left no room for fear.

  He wanted to speak to them, but first he fixed his steady gaze on the former dungeon bosses.

  "You're Ronan's friends, right?" he asked.

  Both nodded.

  "You're here to protect them?" He pointed at the villagers.

  They nodded again.

  Only then did he turn to the civilians. The day before, he had spoken with all of them. The youngest were the two siblings, the ones who seemed the most bloodthirsty of the entire group.

  Forcing a smile, he addressed them.

  "They'll look after you, just like the dog Mike did with those children in the village. Above all, follow my orders and don't enter the battle until I tell you to."

  The girl's expression was openly defiant, as if she had no intention of obeying. Vincent, who had memorized their names, addressed her firmly.

  "Eliza, you are part of the army now. And as its commander, I will not tolerate disobedience."

  She held his gaze. Her eyes were dead—empty of anything but revenge. Vincent couldn't help comparing them to the glassy stare of zombies, and without a doubt, the girl seemed even less alive than they were.

  "Don't worry, Your Highness, she'll obey," her brother Lucas said after a few seconds of silence.

  Vincent nodded. When he saw the captain approaching, he took a couple of steps toward him.

  "Your Highness, they're not coming out. What should we do?"

  Vincent calmly studied the palisade. Tall and sturdy, its base was lined with sharpened stakes. Above it, several crude structures jutted out, with figures moving inside—likely shooters.

  "They certainly know we're here," he replied. "And sooner or later they'll have to come out. If they don't, we'll force them."

  He walked a few steps closer to the enemy settlement, analyzing the situation. Despite having prepared all night, his mind was suddenly blank. He assumed it was beginner's fear, but he needed to find a way to defeat them with as few casualties as possible.

  He glanced around and noticed the bat watching him. He approached it and, once close enough, asked:

  "How many of you are there?"

  The bat tilted its head and, after a few seconds, nodded repeatedly. Vincent was surprised by its behavior, unsure of what it was trying to convey.

  "Could you give us a hand?"

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  The bat spread its wings slightly and began making small hops, spinning in place. For a creature, it was remarkably expressive.

  "Thanks. I'm counting on you."

  The bat looked up and let out a sharp screech. Vincent instinctively covered his ears. Two more bats immediately appeared, landing beside it.

  Vincent smiled and explained his plan to them.

  When he finished, all three seemed satisfied, hopping lightly before taking flight.

  He returned to the troops and asked an archer at what distance they should position themselves to hit the orcs stationed in the structures. The archer pointed to a slightly more advanced position. Vincent nodded and moved the formation forward, stopping just behind that point. Then, under the captain's orders, the archers advanced to the indicated spot.

  Nothing seemed to be happening in the village. The orcs remained inside, waiting.

  The captain raised his hand, and the archers planted several arrows in the ground beside their positions to speed up reloading. When he lowered it, they drew their bows and began firing at the visible figures in the towers.

  Screams echoed from within the settlement. The captain ordered them to raise their aim so the arrows would arc down into the village.

  The screams intensified.

  The gates burst open, and a large number of orcs poured out in disarray, without any formation.

  The archers withdrew to positions behind the infantry and, once protected, resumed firing.

  Some arrows fell short; others embedded uselessly in shields. A few struck arms or legs, but the orcs did not fall. Nor did they advance. They waited.

  Then several larger orcs emerged, completely covered in white hides, followed by others mounted on beasts.

  Vincent observed them carefully and understood.

  They were black wolf riders. Their long, heavy weapons looked capable of splitting a soldier in two.

  The white-pelted orcs, the shamans, shouted and cast their spells. Instantly, all the orcs responded, unleashing feral howls as they charged in unison. The riders surged ahead.

  Shouts from behind made Vincent turn sharply. An enormous black wolf was approaching him, walking straight toward him. It was intimidating, but not hostile. For the moment, the soldiers had closed ranks, preventing it from reaching their prince.

  Human. Do not harm the wolves.

  The voice echoed directly inside his mind.

  "One of Ronan's friends?" Vincent asked.

  The wolf opened its eyes with resignation.

  More or less.

  Vincent shouted immediately.

  "It's an ally! Do not attack it—or the rider wolves!"

  A ripple of confusion spread through the ranks, silenced by the alpha wolf's thunderous howl. The orc riders' wolves charged toward the human troops and, just a few meters away, stopped abruptly; some even collapsing to the ground.

  The orcs were violently thrown from their mounts, which bolted along both flanks of the human line.

  "Charge!" Vincent shouted, seizing the opportunity.

  The soldiers broke formation and surged at the fallen riders, killing them as they struggled to rise. The remaining wolves fled to their alpha; no one dared attack them. They gathered around him and stood motionless.

  Within moments, the riders were eliminated without a single human casualty.

  Then, a sharp sound drew Vincent's attention to his left. It was the girl—the troublesome one. Lucas was gripping her tightly, whispering something urgently, likely trying to keep her from joining the slaughter she had already attempted to enter.

  As for the remaining orcs, witnessing the wolves' betrayal and the deaths of their riders, they flew into a rage and charged with renewed fury.

  "Now!" Vincent shouted, refocusing on the battle.

  The three bats flew overhead and, in perfect unison, unleashed a deafening screech over the orcs.

  Encouraged by the captain, the archers loosed a relentless rain of arrows. The bats pressed their disorientation attack for several long seconds.

  Wounded, dazed, and disorganized, the orcs who managed to stay on their feet teetered dangerously, struggling to regain balance as disorientation clouded their senses.

  "Full charge! Now!" Vincent roared. "You too," he added, motioning to the civilians.

  The soldiers surged forward. The bats withdrew, circling overhead in case they were needed again.

  Escorted at all times by the yetis, the villagers advanced alongside the archers and several soldiers. Pitchforks stabbed, clubs swung, axes rose and fell. Lucas wielded his axe with confidence and familiarity; Eliza did not. She struggled even to lift it, but she didn't care, tearing into the defenseless enemy with savage fury and bloody frenzy. Like her, many villagers fought consumed by rage; others, however, wept as they struck.

  One of the yetis intervened. Vincent watched as a young man—perhaps Lucas's age or slightly older—hesitated before a wounded orc. It was as if, despite everything, pity flickered in him. The yeti knelt in front of him and embraced him, murmuring something unintelligible. The young man broke down, returning the hug.

  Vincent shook his head, mimicking a gesture he had learned from his betrothed.

  Ronan's undead were a special case, and that yeti, before its death, had once been a creature spawned by a dungeon core, without any will of its own. What Ronan did was far from normal.

  The wounded orc, beginning to shake off the bats' disorientation, chose that moment to rise and attack from behind. The embracing yeti ignored him completely.

  However, the other yeti did not. It stepped forward, seized the orc by the head and shoulder, and tore him away with terrifying ease, splattering nearby villagers with blood. Without pausing, it moved on, methodically decapitating corpses to ensure none would rise again.