Chapter 46: March of the Red Sun

A week had passed since Nolen returned to the fortress. Now, the time for action had come. The Red Sun Tribe was on the move—a formidable force of over 3,000 orc riders and 7,000 goblin cavalry, all mounted on their tamed Oracnids. The massive war party surged out of the fortress-like a living tide, armed to the teeth with weapons forged by Nolen’s relentless ingenuity.

The Oracnid queen had been particularly productive as of late, thanks to the tribe’s meticulous care. Her brood, coupled with the abundance of food from the dungeon-grown mushrooms and the domestication of rock boars, ensured the Red Sun Tribe’s mounts were well-fed and ready for war. Nolen had solved the puzzle of logistics, laying the foundation for his tribe’s expansion. Yet, as always, his mind buzzed with calculations—logistics, strategy, the delicate balance of progress and survival.

Behind the advancing force, the fortress stood nearly complete. The outer wall, built through the tireless efforts of Nolen’s construction drones, now loomed as a testament to his vision. He had left only the bare minimum of guards behind—enough to defend the tribe’s core should anything unexpected occur. His focus now was the Blood Forge Village.

Nolen led from the front, his gaze fixed on the horizon as his war party thundered toward their destination. Kroan, the Blood Forge warrior who had come seeking aid, rode at his side.

“Alright, let’s move. We don’t have time to waste,” Nolen commanded, his voice steady and firm.

“Yes, Chief!” the reply came, unified and resolute.

The Red Sun Tribe’s strength was no accident. It was the product of Nolen’s leadership and the resources he had brought from his world. The weapons, tools, and tactics that equipped his warriors came from his drones, which worked tirelessly to shape the tribe into an efficient war machine.

Through Romy, his AI companion, Nolen had introduced concepts from Earth—historical strategies, tactics, and methods honed by civilizations like the Mongols. The orcs and goblins had learned quickly, adapting longbows, repeater bows, and crossbows into their arsenal. Romy had filtered the information, breaking it down into simple, actionable steps that could be seamlessly integrated into daily life. What started as resistance turned into understanding, then mastery.

The transformation was swift and remarkable. The Red Sun Tribe was no longer just surviving—they were thriving.

Nolen’s thoughts drifted as they rode, his mind running through contingencies. A voice pulled him back to the present.

“We’re almost there, Chief. I just hope we’re not too late,” Kroan said, his voice tinged with worry.

Nolen glanced at him and spoke with calm certainty. “We’ll make it in time.”

But when they crested the final hill, the scene before them shattered that hope.

Thick smoke rose from the Blood Forge Village. Fires raged across the settlement, and even from a distance, Nolen could see the chaos—a swarm of Wild Oracnids had descended upon the village, their monstrous forms tearing through defenses.

“Damn it,” Nolen muttered, his hands tightening around his reins. “It looks like we’re late.”

The sight sent a jolt of fury through him. His jaw clenched as he raised his voice, commanding his warriors. “We’re not letting these bastards destroy them! Move out!”

The war party roared in response, a wave of orcs and goblins charging down the slope.

“For the Chief!”

“For the Red Sun Tribe!”

The thunder of Oracnid mounts filled the air as the Red Sun warriors surged toward the village. Goblins armed with repeater bows loosed volleys of arrows from the flanks, targeting weak points in the Oracnids’ thick shells. Orcs with heavy longbows, axes, and hammers advanced in the center, their mounts crashing into the enemy lines with bone-shattering force.

Nolen rode at the forefront, his Solar Powers flaring. He drew his weapon, the blade glowing faintly with the light of his energy. The air seemed to hum as beams of light danced from his free hand, carving through Oracnid warriors like a scythe through wheat.

“Attack!” he bellowed, his voice carrying over the battlefield.

The Red Sun Tribe clashed with the Wild Oracnids in a chaotic melee. The goblins, small but quick, darted between the massive beasts, their poisoned weapons slicing into vulnerable joints. Orcs, unyielding and powerful, shattered carapaces with devastating strikes. Nolen himself was a whirlwind of destruction, every movement precise, every attack lethal.

As the village burned around them, the Red Sun Tribe fought with relentless ferocity. Their Chief had led them to this moment, and they would not falter.

The battle had only begun.