What I saw upon arrival was my sons formed as orc warriors with squad leaders facing off against a group of black skeletons.
"Uooooh!"
Percival in the lead beheaded a black skeleton wearing even a helmet with his sword. And the one next to the skeleton stabbed the orc beside Percival with a sword.
"Kurgh!"
"1Q2W3E4T!!"
Percival listed a name he hated to remember. A slip of the tongue. He hated to remember it but it was a being he shouldn't say like that. 1Q2W3E4T! was one of Percival's sons and my grandson.
"Eila. How many orcs died?"
"...17 out of 50."
"Kugh."
My bones ached. The number itself, and it hurt my heart that orcs were mercilessly slaughtered. Self-loathing surged wondering if this disaster happened because I pursued efficiency too much and brought Luna unnecessarily.
'But regrets come later.'
Fortunately, since they all had names, revival itself was possible using magic stones. While the orcs fought hard, I examined the enemy force composition.
