Author Notes:

I know it's been a while. I'm so busy with work, leaving little time to write and edit. Here are several Chapters. I am also trying to improve my writing style as I edit my chapters.

Chapter 45: Venom and Steel

The air buzzed with chaos as arrows whistled past, streaking toward the towering Wild Oracnids. Goblin sharpshooters, their repeater bows humming with deadly rhythm, kept up a relentless barrage. Below, the orcs roared their war cries, slamming into the enemy lines astride their own tamed mounts. The clash of steel and chitin echoed across the jagged, rocky terrain.

Nolen was a blur of motion, his Solar Powers flaring like molten sunlight. The weaker Oracnids fell before him with ease, their armored shells cleaving apart under his strikes. But there was no time to savor victory. He saw the flash of serrated mandibles as a Wild Oracnid lunged toward one of the scouting parties. Without hesitation, Nolen vaulted from his mount, his blade arcing downward in a clean, brutal slash that split the beast in two.

“Chief!”

A female orc’s voice cut through the din. She stood nearby, bloodied but alive, her expression filled with gratitude.

“Thanks, Chief!” she shouted before hurling herself back into the fray.

Something about her face tugged at Nolen’s memory, but the battlefield left no room for distraction. He shoved the thought aside, unleashing his strength against the next wave of enemies.

The goblins worked tirelessly, their suppressive fire keeping the Oracnids at bay. Arrows struck vulnerable joints, driving the beasts back. Meanwhile, the orcs engaged up close, their heavy weapons splintering carapace and bone. The goblins from the scouting party fought fiercely to protect the non-combatants, their small size granting them agility even as it left them vulnerable.

“Push forward! Don’t let up!” Nolen’s voice boomed, a rallying cry that spurred his warriors on.

The Red Sun orcs and goblins surged as one, their unity turning the tide. Yet, the battle was far from won. The Wild Oracnids were massive, their physical strength rivaling that of the strongest orcs. Their thick, armored shells deflected blows, but Nolen knew their weakness: their soft, unprotected organs.

Then came the poison. The goblins’ weapons, coated in a venom concocted by their witch doctors, began to take effect. Wounded Oracnids stumbled and faltered, their monstrous strength draining away as the toxin coursed through their veins.

“Goblin warriors! Use the poison blades!” Nolen commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos.

“Yes, Chief!”

With a collective roar, the goblins switched tactics, darting in and out of the melee with poisoned weapons. Nolen, now fully immersed in the fight, became a blazing figure of destruction. Solar energy crackled around him, beams of searing light firing from his eyes and hand, carving paths through the Oracnids.

The sight of their chieftain’s raw power ignited a second wind in his warriors. The goblins and orcs fought harder, their movements sharper, their attacks deadlier. Poisoned spears and blades weakened the beasts, while axes, hammers, and pure ferocity finished the job.

The battle raged on for what felt like an eternity. By the time the last Wild Oracnid fell or retreated, the rocky battlefield was littered with broken bodies and shattered weapons.

“We did it!” an orc shouted, his voice hoarse but jubilant.

The goblins and orcs erupted in cheers, their hard-won victory filling the air with triumphant cries.

Nolen, standing amidst the carnage, wiped blood from his brow. He couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at him. These Oracnids had fought with a cunning he hadn’t seen before. They weren’t like the tamed ones—they were smarter. More dangerous.

“Chief,” one of his warriors approached. “Thank you.”

Nolen nodded, his gaze drifting to the group of strangers the scouts had been guarding.

“So, who are you?” he asked, his tone measured but firm.

A man stepped forward, his clothing tattered but his posture trying to be proud. He was flustered by the mounts. This tribe was riding the same creatures that attacked them, and the armor that this tribe used was exquisitely made. Even so, a human seemed to lead them. Nevertheless, he answered, “My name is Kroan. We’re from the Blood Forge Tribe. Our village in the south is under attack—a massive Oracnid nest has sprung up nearby. We need aid.”

Nolen’s expression darkened. “You’re saying there’s more of these things?”

“Yes. We’ve tried to fight them, but our warriors aren’t enough.”

He exhaled, his mind already calculating the next steps. “Looks like we’ve got work to do.”

Turning to his warriors, he raised his voice. “Everyone, back to the fortress! We’re not done yet.”

“Yes, Chief!”

As the war party began its march home, Nolen allowed a small smile to creep onto his face.

“Things are starting to get exciting again.”