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The Orcs began to adjust, their movements slowing as they found rhythm in Volk's orders.

Shields interlocked, creating a unified wall.

The next time an Ogre struck, THOOM! the shield line absorbed the blow with a dull, resounding thud.

Though the force made their boots dig into the earth, the line did not break.

"Good!" Volk roared, pacing behind them like a predator watching over its pack. "Now, stabilize! Front row, focus on defense! Second row, spears ready! Don't thrust yet—wait for my signal!"

The Ogres, noticing the growing cohesion, grew more aggressive.

One of them grabbed a nearby boulder and hurled it toward the line.

WHIRRR—CRASH!

It smashed into the ground just shy of the Orcs, spraying dirt and debris.

Another Ogre roared, charging headlong at the formation, its jagged blade aimed straight at the shields.

Volk's eyes flicked to the charging beast. "Front line, brace! Second row, strike at its legs when it gets close! Stay together!"

The Orcs followed his commands.

As the Ogre barreled toward them, its weapon smashed down onto the shields, sending sparks flying.

But as its momentum carried it forward, the spears from the second row jabbed out in unison, aiming for its thick, muscled legs.

THUNK! THUNK!

The tips bit into flesh, eliciting a howl of pain from the Ogre. It stumbled, its knee buckling.

"Pull back and reset!" Volk shouted. "Don't overextend!"

The Orcs obeyed, retreating just enough to reform the line.

The injured Ogre thrashed wildly but failed to land another hit as it tried to retreat, limping back toward its allies.

The battle continued like this, a grueling test of endurance.

At first, the Ogres' relentless assault rattled the Orcs.

Blows fell heavy and fast, the ground shaking with every impact. Yet, as Volk's voice cut through the chaos again and again, the Orcs began to adapt.

Their movements grew sharper, their defenses sturdier.

One Ogre, frustrated by the impenetrable wall, reached down and grabbed one of the shields, tearing it away with a roar.

The Orc behind it barely had time to react as the Ogre's fist swung toward him.

"Duck! Roll to your right!" Volk shouted.

The Orc dove to the ground, just narrowly avoiding the crushing blow. Another Orc stepped forward to fill the gap, shield raised high.

"Good! Cover each other! No gaps!" Volk commanded, his voice filled with a mixture of anger and pride.

The Ogres' ferocity began to falter as their efforts were met with unyielding resistance.

Every time they struck, the shields held firm.

Every time they overcommitted, the spears darted out, striking at legs and arms, drawing blood.

"Push forward!" Volk finally called, his voice rising like a battle horn. "Step by step! Drive them back!"

The Orcs began to advance.

Their shield wall moved as one, inching forward with each synchronized step.

The Ogres, unused to such organized resistance, began to hesitate.

One swung its club wildly, but the shield wall absorbed the blow without faltering. Another tried to charge but was met with a line of spears that drove it back with a pained roar.

By now, the Orcs were no longer trembling.

Their movements were confident, their shields a unified bulwark.

Each command from Volk was met with instant obedience.

The line advanced relentlessly, forcing the Ogres to retreat step by step.

Volk smirked as he watched the tide turn. "That's it," he said under his breath. "You're learning. Good."

The Ogres, now bloodied and frustrated, growled in frustration. One of them slammed its weapon into the ground, sending a shockwave that knocked a few Orcs off balance.

"Recover!" Volk barked immediately. "Back in formation! Don't let them intimidate you!"
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The Orcs scrambled back into position, their shield wall re-forming almost instantly.

The next Ogre that charged was met with a coordinated counter strike.

Spears jabbed into its legs, forcing it to stumble. The shields pressed forward, slamming into its torso and sending it crashing to the ground.

"Finish it!" Volk commanded, and a flurry of spear thrusts ended the Ogre's struggles.

The remaining Ogres hesitated, glancing at one another. Their confidence, once overwhelming, was now shaken. The Orcs, on the other hand, stood tall, their line unbroken.

Volk paced behind them, his voice calm but filled with authority. "See? They're not invincible. They bleed like any other beast. You're Orcs of the Horde—act like it!"

The Orcs roared in response, their voices filled with newfound pride and determination. The Ogres, sensing the shift in momentum, roared back in defiance.

And then, with a final command from Volk, the Orcs prepared to push forward again. The battle was far from over, but the tide had turned.

The battlefield hung in an uneasy silence, broken only by the labored breaths of the weary combatants.

The Ogres, battered and bloodied, slumped where they stood, their massive forms heaving as they struggled to stay upright.

Across from them, the Orcs remained in their tight formation, shields locked, and spears poised, though the tension in their lines had eased.

The Ogres had spent their fury against the unyielding defense, and now they looked more like overgrown beasts than unstoppable juggernauts.

Volk stood behind the Orcs, his arms crossed and his sharp eyes scanning the battlefield.

His mind worked quickly, weighing the benefits of ending the fight now against the potential gains of prolonging it.

Sweat trickled down his temple, but his stance remained strong, his presence an anchor for his horde.

One of the Orcs near the center of the line turned his head slightly, daring to speak over his shoulder.

"Warchief," he rasped, voice hoarse from the tension of battle.

"They're done. One more push, and they'll fall. Should we end it now?"

The murmurs of agreement rippled through the Orc ranks.

The idea of a swift and decisive victory was tempting, especially after enduring the relentless attacks of the Ogres.

Many of them still bore minor injuries and bruises, even if the shields had done their job.

Volk raised a hand, silencing the whispers.

His eyes remained fixed on the Ogres, watching their labored movements and the flicker of confusion in their dim, animalistic gazes.

He took a deep breath, then turned to address his warriors.

"No," he said firmly, his voice carrying a weight that silenced even the grumbles of dissent. "We fall back."

The Orc who had spoken looked bewildered. "Fall back?" he echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Warchief, they're vulnerable. One more push, and we can—"

"Fall. Back." Volk's voice was like steel, brooking no argument. He stepped forward, his presence alone enough to cow the protesting Orc.

"Look at yourselves. You're still clumsy. Your shield formations falter under pressure. Your spear thrusts are imprecise.

"Yes, you've done well, but there's more to learn. These Ogres are tired, yes, but so are you. Do you think you'll learn anything from a fight you win too easily?"

The Orcs exchanged uncertain glances.

The logic was sound, but the idea of retreating when victory was so close was foreign to their bloodthirsty instincts.

Still, Volk's reputation and the undeniable authority in his tone made them nod reluctantly.

As the order spread, the Orcs began to pull back, their movements deliberate and measured.

The Ogres, seeing the retreat, blinked in confusion.

Their hulking forms swayed on unsteady legs, and their primitive minds struggled to process what they were witnessing.

Relief washed over their brutish faces, though their expressions were still wary.

Volk watched as the Ogres slumped against trees or collapsed onto the ground, their weapons lying forgotten beside them.

The massive creatures were too exhausted to pursue, and their breaths came in guttural wheezes.

For a moment, it seemed as though the battle had truly ended.

But Volk had other plans.