The Lord: In Another World, I Have a Summoning Card !-Chapter 32 : The Night of Bloodshed (3)

The numbers were terrifying—not just scattered groups of raiders, but an organized legion, moving as if driven forward by a single force.

At the front of the army, massive creatures, twice the size of an average human, advanced, wielding giant clubs and crude iron swords.

Their arms were covered in glowing tribal markings, as if burning with a hidden energy.

On the distant hills near the fortress, Gerom stood at the peak of a rocky plateau, gazing at the fortress walls that shimmered under the torchlight.

Behind him stretched the orc army’s temporary command camp, where fires illuminated the tents and soldiers moved in clear preparation for the impending battle.

One of the commanders approached him—a hulking orc with dark gray skin, his arms covered in scars, and his eyes gleaming with savage excitement.

This was Kargas, one of the fiercest leaders in the orc army. In a gruff voice, he said, "Gerom, we are ready. The men await your orders."

Gerom did not reply immediately; instead, he continued watching the fortress with a cold gaze. Beside him, Drogel, who had also been observing silently, finally whispered, "They know we’re coming..."

Kargas growled, his eyes locked on the fortress, burning with battle lust. "So what? Let’s storm the place and tear them to pieces!"

Murmurs of agreement rose from the other commanders, except for Akar, who remained silent. Gerom noticed this and gestured toward him, curious about his opinion.

Akar took a deep breath before speaking in a calm voice. "A blind assault won’t help us. If we wait as planned, we’ll receive reinforcements from the court—just as you told me before."

Gerom paused for a moment at the mention of reinforcements before speaking in an enigmatic tone. "The reinforcements have already arrived."

Upon hearing that, the expressions of the commanders shifted from joy to confusion and doubt.

They exchanged questioning glances, but Akar seemed to understand what Gerom was hinting at.

Still, Gerom gave no chance for misinterpretation and continued his words in a quiet yet sharp tone:

"The reinforcements have already arrived... but they’re over there."

He raised his hand, pointing toward the fortress, where the torchlights gleamed atop the walls. Silence fell over the place, and not everyone grasped his meaning at once, but unease began to creep into the hearts of some of the commanders.

Then, Drogel growled impatiently, his tone carrying a mix of mockery and anger:

"What are you talking about? Not only have you decided to suddenly attack the humans’ stronghold, but now you tell us the reinforcements have arrived—and they’re in that fortress? Have you started thinking and talking like humans after all your defeats at their hands?"

Drogel’s words were like a dagger, striking an unhealed wound in Gerom’s heart. Rage flared in his eyes, as though a hidden fire had been ignited within, reflected in his tightening grip on the hilt of his sword. For a moment, a heavy tension hung in the air—like a storm on the verge of eruption.

A flicker of deadly silence... then Gerom’s fury exploded.

With a single motion, he raised his sword and swung it down, driving it into the ground between Drogel’s feet, splitting the stone beneath.

The entire camp trembled briefly under the force of the blow. Some of the commanders instinctively stepped back, but Drogel stood his ground, staring at Gerom unflinchingly—even as his fingers instinctively curled around his weapon.

"Do you dare repeat your words, Drogel?"

Gerom’s voice was low, yet it carried a threat so tangible that the very air grew heavier. His eyes gleamed with a dangerous light, as if he were ready to tear his opponent apart at any moment.

Drogel, despite his defiant nature, was no fool. He was a seasoned warrior, hardened by countless battles, and he knew that sometimes silence was more effective than shouting.

Yet, his pride would not allow him to remain completely quiet. He could feel the real danger in Gerom’s tone and the fire in his gaze, but he steadied himself and responded in a measured, cautious voice—more wary than angry:

"I do not doubt your strength, Gerom. But we are here for victory, not to stumble over unclear decisions. Our soldiers are waiting. They want to understand... Why now? Why in this manner?"

Gerom stared at him. For a moment, it seemed as though his fury would ignite, but instead, he slowly pulled his sword from the ground.

He gazed at the blade, as if recalling something, then lifted his eyes to the surrounding commanders. The air remained thick with tension, and a suffocating silence settled over them, as if everyone was holding their breath.

Gerom let out a slow sigh before speaking in a deep, steady voice:

"There is no point in waiting any longer. The plan we made, the time we counted on to bring reinforcements from the court... it has been thwarted. The humans in that fortress were not as unprepared as we expected."

He raised his gaze toward the hills, where the torchlights shimmered along the fortress walls. Then, with a voice filled with both regret and simmering anger, he added:

"What we had prepared for our day of victory, what we had planned to increase our strength and shift the balance of power... has been destroyed. Everything is over."

The commanders exchanged uneasy glances, and for the first time, expressions of concern crept onto faces that were usually marked by brutality. Drogel stepped forward, growling in frustration:

"Are you saying the reinforcements won’t arrive?"

Silence.

Gerom, too, fell silent for a moment, offering no direct answer. Instead, he swept his gaze over everyone before speaking in a resolute voice:

"If we wait any longer, we will lose control. Tonight, we fight. Tonight, we burn everything. And if we carve an opening through the wall..."

A sharp glint flashed in his eyes as he declared:

"I will lead the charge myself."

There was no room for objections after that. An orc does not retreat from war, nor does he flee from humans or creatures he sometimes considers emergency rations.

Gerom raised his sword high, and with a voice that echoed over the hills, he shouted:

"Kill the enemies!"

In the next moment, the ground trembled under the weight of countless footsteps. Hundreds—no, thousands—of orcs surged toward the fortress like a flood of raging shadows. The war drums roared, battle cries rose, and banners of war waved above them, dyed in the colors of blood and fire.

This was the beginning... and the humans within the fortress were about to face hell.

There was no room for hesitation.

Even the orcs in the rear ranks pushed forward with brute force, and anyone who stumbled or slowed down was trampled underfoot before they could even glimpse the enemy ahead.

"They’re moving!"

one of the sentries cried, and the blare of alarm horns echoed across the fortress.

Though the soldiers had known the attack was coming, seeing that black tide flood across the plain sent shivers through their bodies. It was as if the very ground quaked beneath the weight of their charge, dust rising into the air, blotting out the moonlight—as if the night itself had turned into a living nightmare.

At the main tower, Victor, the military commander responsible for the fortress’s defenses, stood without a trace of fear on his face.

He knew that what he faced was not just another battle—it was a war for survival. His eyes tracked every movement with precision, measuring distances, reading attack patterns, and searching for any opportunity to exploit the orcs’ relentless charge.

But he didn’t need to think long—he already knew exactly what had to be done.

"Prepare yourselves!"

In an instant, orders spread like wildfire throughout the fortress, and the soldiers moved with speed and precision:

Archers took their positions atop the walls, bows drawn, strings taut, eyes locked onto the rapidly approaching enemy.

Catapults were readied, massive stones drenched in burning oil, prepared to unleash a fiery storm upon the orcs’ heads.

Within the inner courtyards, soldiers raised their shields, forming tight defensive formations behind the gates, bracing themselves for close combat should the enemy breach the walls.

There was no room for hesitation.

"Fire!"

The command rang through the sky, and the first wave of arrows was released!

From atop the walls, hundreds of arrows shot forth at once, slicing through the air like flocks of black death, aimed straight at the orcs’ front lines.

"Shoot them down!"

More than 150 archers rained arrows upon the enemy, though only 50 were positioned at the gate due to the limited space.

The objective was clear—to slow the orcs’ charge and inflict as many casualties as possible before they reached the walls.

After all, not all of them could be expert archers, and the fortress wall wasn’t wide enough to accommodate them all. Those capable of melee combat were stationed at the front, while long-range fighters stood in the rear. The rest were spread across the flanks to prevent a pincer attack on the city.

However, the fifty archers at the gate were far from ineffective. A dark hail of arrows rained down, and the advancing orc soldiers immediately howled in pain.

The first wave of arrows struck like a storm of death, piercing through the dark air toward the oncoming orcs.

Screams of agony erupted within their ranks as dozens fell under the initial strike, yet it wasn’t enough to halt their relentless charge.

Despite the heavy fire, the orcs’ resilient bodies withstood many wounds, and those who fell were mercilessly trampled beneath the feet of their kin, who surged forward like an unstoppable flood.

"Keep firing!"

A human officer shouted, and the fortress archers did not falter for a second.

Every passing moment meant more casualties, yet the orcs only grew fiercer with every hit, as if death itself only fueled their rage instead of stopping them.

Victor had no intention of letting them reach the walls without facing hell first. Standing at the command post, his sharp eyes tracked the enemy’s advance. Then, raising his hand high, he signaled.

However, whether it was Arthur watching from afar or Victor observing from up close, both could clearly see that the attack was not as effective as they had hoped.

First, the power of a light bow begins to drop significantly once its range exceeds thirty meters. Second, all orc soldiers possess rough skin and natural defensive capabilities, even without armor.

The archers swiftly reloaded their bows, and since the slope was steep, they still had enough time to launch a second volley.

The second wave of fire was far more effective. The iron arrowheads were sharper, capable of penetrating the orcs’ skin and striking vulnerable spots—such as the eyes, face, neck, or other vital areas—within effective range.

Even if the shots weren’t fatal, they rendered the leading orcs combat-ineffective. And that, without a doubt, was bad news for the enemy.

Their thunderous screams filled the battlefield as they were struck and then trampled alive by the comrades rushing from behind. Some tried to retreat, but the pressing wave behind them left no room for escape.

The defending infantry had no intention of showing mercy. Their spears, though not as long as those wielded by the orc warriors, were much more practical for standing atop the city walls and thrusting downward.

After completing two volleys, the archers fell back and concentrated on the stone towers flanking the gate to maintain a crossfire on the enemy.

Then, the orc infantry advanced, moving forward and preparing for battle.

The stone towers on either side continuously unleashed deadly arrows, and the rate at which invaders were being taken down was astonishing.

Even the attacking orcs didn’t realize how many of them had already fallen in such a short amount of time.

​Upon witnessing the scene at the foot of the fortress, Gerom’s expression darkened with burning hatred. He observed the flames consuming his warriors, his gaze fixed on the castle as he growled:​

"Continue the advance! Nothing will stop us!"​

"The Banuq tribe is launching a heavy infantry assault!"​

At his signal, massive creatures emerged from within the army’s ranks.

A unit of heavily armored Orc’s soldiers appeared on the battlefield, swiftly joining the fray at the breach.