Chapter 22: The Failed Breakout

Everywhere, the air was filled with screams of agony, the thunder of muskets, and the clashing of steel. Humanity’s desperate resistance might have seemed like the final struggles before death, but it posed a tremendous obstacle to the orcish horde. Even when outnumbered ten to one, a hundred thousand people resolved to fight to the death were not easily slaughtered; for the orcs, it was a grueling and exhausting endeavor.

From noon, when the city fell, battle raged on into the night. Orcs and humans fought over every house, every street, even every latrine. The orcs’ aims were manifold: to kill every human, to demonstrate their honor and valor, and to fulfill numerous ambitions; but the humans had only one purpose—to fight for survival.

It was like a leopard hunting a wild boar: the disparity in strength was vast, yet a boar fighting for its life could make even the leopard pay dearly. Indeed, the orc emperor, Ironhammer, now found the situation merely troublesome. These humans were more tenacious than expected; after fighting for most of the day, less than half the city had been taken.

With the coming of night, the orcs had no choice but to halt their large-scale assault. In the age of cold steel, night battles tested an army’s discipline, and the discipline of the orcish hosts could only be described as laughable.

Scattered skirmishes sustained the daytime clamor through the night in the capital of Saint Tarren. Shouts of anger and cries of pain still echoed through the city’s dark corners. To prevent the humans from breaking out under cover of darkness, Emperor Ironhammer stationed more than a hundred thousand orc soldiers outside the two gates in the northwest corner that remained unconquered. The immense orcish encampments sealed off the plains beyond the gates. At least ten thousand elite warriors from the main orcish clans were posted at each gate; in close combat, these orcish braves could each take on two unorganized human fighters. Organizing a formation to break through in the dark of night? Not even Ironhammer believed the battered remnants of humanity could manage it.

In the council chamber of the governor’s mansion, Amaskia and dozens of human leaders were discussing their escape. It felt as though they had returned to the scene of ten days prior, when Amaskia had gathered here to debate the city’s future. But now, the screams from outside and the many unfamiliar faces in the hall served as constant reminders that everything had changed, and defeat had come like a landslide.

Those admitted to the governor’s mansion were no longer the colony’s elite nobles, merchants, or officials, but the city’s gang bosses and hardened fighters.

Looking at these obvious rogues, Amaskia sighed. “Gentlemen, I’m sure you all see the situation in Saint Tarren clearly. I’ll spare you further words: tonight, we must break out! I know each of you can muster at least several hundred men willing to fight and die. None of us wish to perish with this city. So I hope we can combine our strength, catch the orcs off guard, and break through in one decisive action!”

“With so many orcs outside, we have no choice but to unite,” one notorious gang leader spoke up, voicing the concern on everyone’s mind. “But in which direction should we break out? And who will lead us?” At this desperate hour, these ‘free men’ had no wish to take orders from Amaskia. No one wanted to be fodder for the cannons, dying in vain.

“I suggest we strike out to the north,” Amaskia replied, “and make directly for the English territory. There, your safety will be assured. As for my own status, you need not worry. Since we are acting together, I will not command or lead. In this moment, we are all equals. If we unite, we can break through, even without a leader—isn’t that right, gentlemen?” He smiled, seemingly unconcerned with relinquishing his power and position.

Reassured by his words, the leaders—who had always been wary of Amaskia’s authority—relaxed, grinning and calling each other brother, the atmosphere suddenly harmonious, as if among kin. The ensuing discussion was equally cordial. They agreed on a time to gather at the north gate and break out together. In practice, once through the gate, each would fight for himself, scattering in all directions to storm the orcish camp. The orc encampment was vast enough that the humans could distract their enemies and, if unlucky, only blame fate for being surrounded and destroyed.

With rousing cries and bold slogans, the leaders departed one after another, gathering their followers to converge at the north gate. Their only semblance of unity was the agreed-upon time; the rest—direction, order, position—was left to personal preference.

When the self-proclaimed leaders had all gone, a sly smile curled at the corner of Amaskia’s lips. “Let these fools draw the orcs’ attention. The chaos of tens of thousands will surely force the orcs to redeploy, drawing the emperor’s focus away. That will make my escape much easier!”

At quarter past three in the morning, rare peace descended over the chaotic orc encampments. Most of the orcs, oblivious to danger, slept soundly, and their disastrous command structure was incapable of organizing effective patrols. They simply relied on overwhelming numbers, encircling the city in a vast, disorderly camp; no matter which way the humans tried to escape, they would step into this immense orcish dump.

Suddenly, a rapid volley of musket fire shattered the silence. Amid the shouts, tens of thousands of ‘free men’ surged from all directions toward the northern orc encampment. The first line of defense, a goblin garbage heap, was overrun almost without resistance; many hapless goblins never even woke before dying, perhaps now sleeping a sweeter sleep than ever before.

The humans had won a stunning initial victory and pressed rapidly into the depths of the orcish camp—but the camp was just too damned big! No matter how far they ran, another throng of goblins seemed to leap out, shrieking and rushing forward—only to be slaughtered. The orcs’ adaptability was fearsome; they could settle down anywhere.

As the last of the human resistance—at least, that’s how they saw themselves—crossed one goblin dump after another, the orcish commanders reacted swiftly, dividing their elite legions into dozens of squads to reinforce all directions and sending messengers to the main camps for additional support.

In the ensuing chaos, the orcish main clans expertly delayed the human breakout, swelling the skirmish into a full-blown battle. Amaskia watched the distant flames and listened to the thunder of battle, smiling as he slipped away into the darkness.