Just like the previous village outpost, this place had been completely stripped bare. Armor, weapons, food supplies, even cooking pots and utensils had been plundered. Nothing of value remained.
"There's no doubt about it," Dalrix said grimly, surveying the carnage. "The gate was breached, and everything was looted. They definitely fought with orcs here."
His eyes burned with barely contained fury as he gestured at the destruction surrounding them. The outpost's defensive walls showed clear signs of combat, scorch marks and weapon strikes marring the stonework.
"Then why didn't these guards send out a distress signal?" A male elf wearing flowing mage robes stroked his chin thoughtfully, his analytical mind already working through the puzzle. "They had magical communication devices. Standard protocol requires immediate warning at the first sign of attack."
He was the mage accompanying their tracking team, responsible for magical support and investigation.
"If you ask me," another ranger interjected dismissively, "the guards here were probably negligent. Maybe they were drunk that day and couldn't react in time."
That suggestion only stoked Dalrix's anger further. His jaw clenched as he imagined the scenario. If these guards had been under his command, he would've whipped them to death for such dereliction of duty. Useless, incompetent trash allowing an entire outpost to fall without even raising the alarm.
"No." Aisha's quiet but firm voice cut through their speculation, immediately commanding everyone's attention. "The bloodstains are wrong."
Although light rain had fallen earlier and the scene looked chaotic and destroyed, the traces of blood were still clearly visible to her trained eye. She'd spent years studying combat sites and tracking enemy movements. Details others overlooked stood out to her like beacons.
"All of the blood trails lead from outside to the inside," she continued, crouching to trace the stain with her finger. "The closer you get to the inner tower, the more concentrated the blood becomes. That pattern doesn't match an external breach and retreat scenario."
"What's strange about that?" Dalrix spoke immediately, convinced his reasoning was sound. "The guards probably panicked when the walls were breached, retreated inside hoping the tower would provide better defenses, and were slaughtered there when the orcs followed. Standard anxious response from inadequately trained personnel."
"That makes even less sense," the mage countered, his analytical nature rejecting the simple explanation. "If orcs had already broken through the perimeter and such a fierce battle erupted inside, why didn't anyone run to send a warning? The communication chamber is separate from the main fighting areas, specifically for this reason. Surely they weren't all drunk simultaneously. That defies probability."
"What if..." Aisha stood slowly, her expression darkening as the pieces fell into place. "What if the battle started inside the outpost itself?"
That would explain perfectly why no warning message was ever transmitted. The thought sent chills through the entire group.
The person responsible for communications had been killed first, likely before they even understood what was happening. The other guards had rushed in after hearing the commotion, only to be slaughtered just as they arrived, unable to coordinate an effective defense or retreat.
"Inside? That's impossible!" Dalrix protested immediately, though uncertainty crept into his voice. "How could orcs infiltrate the interior undetected? Those brutes lack the intelligence for stealth operations. Even if they somehow had the brains for it, they don't possess that kind of ability. Their idea of tactics is charging headfirst while screaming."
"Could this be a human plot?" another teammate speculated carefully, voicing what others were thinking. "Using this chaos to frame the orcs and destabilize the border?"
Human strength in direct combat might be lacking compared to elves, but when it came to scheming, manipulation, and treachery, they could rival even demons. History had proven that much.
"Perhaps they used stealth magic or invisibility potions to bypass the defenses?" the mage suggested, following that thread of logic. "It would explain the lack of external breach points."
"The outpost has alert wards built into its foundations," Aisha reminded them, shaking her head. "Any stealthy intruder, magical or alchemical, would immediately trigger multiple alarms the moment they crossed the threshold. Those wards are specifically designed to counter such tactics. The guards would have been alerted long before any attack could occur."
Everyone threw out theories one after another, each attempting to solve the puzzle, but none quite fit all the evidence. The investigation had hit another dead end, though Aisha was now certain of one critical fact: this situation was far from simple. Something deeper and more sinister was happening along the northern border, something that defied their conventional understanding of orc capabilities and tactics.
"Guessing here is pointless," Dalrix said finally, his patience exhausted. "Let's keep searching. As long as we catch up to that orc raiding party, we can interrogate the survivors and get some real answers. With the time we're wasting with speculating, we could kill a dozen more of those green bastards."
"But if we keep going north, we'll be entering orc territory," a female elf in ornate temple robes said quietly, her expression troubled. "Isn't that extremely risky for a squad our size?"
Her clothing was adorned with intricate moon patterns that seemed to shimmer faintly in the light, giving her an ethereal, mysterious appearance. She looked genuinely worried about the strategic implications.
She was a Moon Cleric traveling with the group, not particularly strong in direct combat situations. Moon Clerics had very limited combat ability in the early stages of their training, mostly capable of supportive spells and techniques. Small-scale hypnosis, dream-stealing abilities, minor illusions, and mental manipulation. Even that was only possible because she'd specialized in spellcasting applications. For Moon Clerics like Alto, who focused purely on dream design and creation, early-stage combat ability was practically nonexistent. They were scholars and artists, not warriors.
"The orcs are carrying a massive amount of looted supplies," Aisha explained. "All that weight will slow them considerably. If we push hard and maintain our speed, we should catch up with them within a day, possibly sooner. They can't move that fast with everything they stole."
With that assessment, she began issuing crisp orders to the squad. Before long, new garrison forces would arrive at this outpost anyway. There was no tactical need for them to remain and wait. Their mission was pursuit and elimination.
At that moment, a small snow-white creature crawled out from within the mage's robes, its sleek fur catching the light. Upon closer inspection, it was revealed to be a ferret with glossy, well-groomed fur and bright, intelligent eyes.
The mage muttered a quick tracking incantation under his breath. The ferret twitched its sensitive nose, sniffed the air multiple times intensely, then raised one tiny paw and pointed decisively northward into the wasteland.
Following the familiar's magical guidance, the group mounted their powerful horned horses and raced north at full gallop, leaving the ruined outpost behind.
Not long after their departure, a black-robed figure wearing a featureless mask materialized atop the outpost's highest tower. The mysterious observer stood motionless, silently watching the elven squad disappear into the northern distance, then vanished just as suddenly as they'd appeared.
The landscape gradually transformed as they traveled. Trees thinned until only scattered scrub remained, and the fertile land gave way to increasingly barren wasteland. On a rough road winding through a narrow canyon in the desolate terrain, a large raiding party of orcs advanced at a plodding pace.
Some rode various pack beasts, while others pushed or pulled stolen carts piled dangerously high with food stores, weapons, armor, and miscellaneous plunder. The convoy stretched nearly a kilometer.
Bloodfang was in exceptionally high spirits. As one of the leaders commanding this southern raiding expedition, they had seized a truly massive haul. Victory tasted sweet.
With this much food, his tribe could produce countless more offspring. With these weapons and armor, they could conquer rival tribes and claim even richer hunting grounds. Glory and power awaited him.
His skin was a deep emerald green, so vivid one might wonder if he could photosynthesize like a plant. Standing nearly seven feet tall with a massive, imposing build that radiated his barely controlled violent nature, he cut an intimidating figure. A vicious scar ran from his forehead, down across his nose, and split his left cheek, a trophy of a battle long ago, where he'd just barely defeated his opponent.
He scanned the slow-moving convoy with satisfaction, his eyes landing on the overflowing supplies, and let out a thunderous, triumphant roar that echoed off the canyon walls.
"WAAAAAAAAAA!"
The other orcs immediately roared back in unison, their battle cry shaking the very ground.
"WAAAAAAAAAA!"
Suddenly, without warning, an arrow tore through the air with a lethal whisper and buried itself completely through an orc's exposed throat. The excited roar cut off instantly, replaced by a wet, choking gurgle.
The orc lowered his head in disbelief, staring stupidly at the arrowhead protruding from his neck as thick green blood dripped steadily from the razor-sharp tip. Then he collapsed.
Before anyone could react, more arrows followed in rapid succession.
"Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!"
Several more projectiles flew in from concealed positions, each one precisely striking a different orc with lethal accuracy. Rangers don't miss.
Only then did Bloodfang's battle-honed instincts finally kick in. His eyes instantly turned blood-red with rage and adrenaline.
"Enemies! We're under attack!" he bellowed. "Kill them all!"
Magic suddenly surged violently through the air. The ground beneath several confused orcs abruptly writhed and came alive. Tendrils of animated sand and earth burst upward with explosive force, skewering the screaming orcs and violently dragging their impaled bodies underground before they could even draw their weapons.
Aisha and her elite ranger squad revealed themselves from their concealed positions along the canyon rim, arrows already nocked and ready.
"Leave one alive for interrogation," she commanded coldly. "Kill the rest. No mercy."
The rangers loosed their arrows in perfect unison, a rain of steel-tipped death. The elven mage began chanting again, arcane syllables building power rapidly. A massive fireball materialized above his outstretched hands, growing larger with each word, then slammed with devastating force straight into the densest concentration of orcs.
"BOOM!"
The explosion was catastrophic. Several orcs were instantly engulfed in magical flames, their screams cut short as they transformed into living torches that stumbled blindly before collapsing as charred corpses.
This orc raiding force, nearly a hundred strong and easily capable of overwhelming any normal settlement, might have been unstoppable when up against ordinary civilians or lightly armed guards. But against the Moon Elf Nation's elite ranger corps, trained specifically for this kind of combat, they were nothing more than livestock being led to slaughter.
Bloodfang stared at his attackers, eyes blazing with fury and hatred. He would kill them. He would personally slaughter every last one of these arrogant elven bastards and add their skulls to his trophy collection.
The orcs abandoned their precious supplies without a second thought, grabbing whatever weapons were closest and charging fearlessly at the elves. Retreat wasn't in their vocabulary. Once you got close enough, you could hack these fragile knife-ears to pieces. That was the orc way.
"WAAAAAAAAA!" Bloodfang hefted his massive, blood-stained battle axe, roaring with fury as he sprinted forward at the head of his warriors, determined to close the distance.
On the elven side, devastating attacks continued pouring out with merciless efficiency and perfect coordination. With every desperate step the charging orcs took, they paid dearly in blood.