A few minutes later, ten people, who looked like they had narrowly escaped death at the last moment, dropped the orc they had dragged along at the entrance of the camp. Even when the three mechanical weapons on the iron gate were pointed at them, they didn't move; they only managed to stay on their feet for five breaths before taking their places next to the orc.
Unlike the military units near the border, this place was protected by another variation of the portable castle Nafız had won during a raid on the Orc Steppes. Metal walls, five paces high and wide enough for two soldiers to comfortably walk side by side, completely surrounded the military area.
While mechanical weapons placed every ten paces and patrolling soldiers stood out on top of the walls, the gate, the weakest point of the defense, slowly opened. A team of fifty people had pointed all kinds of weapons, which they channeled energy into, at the ten soldiers and one orc lying on the ground.
They were nervous because the news coming from the outpost first destroyed by the raiders under Nafız's command told them they had a new enemy. King Jashua of the Hell Realm, having made an agreement with the Orc Empire he had good relations with, had included orc guerrilla squads in the ongoing war between them.
If this hadn't been the case, the only thing awaiting the eleven people who arrived at their gate would have been death, but mercenaries were experts when it came to adapting to changing conditions. The soldiers, who didn't have a single weapon on them, were put into a small-sized mechanical vehicle meant for transport, and the orc on the ground began to be dragged by the chain attached to the cuffs connecting her hands behind her back.
Once inside, the ten druids disguised as soldiers began to move toward the right side, while the Blood God in the position of a captive moved toward the left side. On one side, there were the tracks left by the mechanical vehicle on the soft ground; on the other, a red trail undulating forward.
Soldiers emerging from the khaki-colored tents they passed by watched both situations with curiosity; even though they had heard orcs had come to the continent, this was the first time they were seeing a live one. On the other side, the soldiers who managed to survive the other border outpost they just learned was destroyed had arrived at the only white tent in the military area to receive their initial treatment.
Men and women in clothes of the same color carried the heavily wounded soldiers onto stretchers one by one and took them inside the tent. The uniforms, which added an air of nobility to the wearer when put on, had turned into rags, and some had even gone inside the open wounds and stuck to the soldiers' flesh.
"The situation is very critical! Everyone to their stations!"
"Prepare the IVs, they're suffering from extreme fluid loss! If a blood transfusion isn't done, we might lose them all!"
The inside of the tent was as noisy as the outside; on one hand, there was the effort of doctors and nurses trying to save lives, on the other hand, the arguments of the soldiers gathering around the white tent were ongoing.
"After E-2, T-1 has been destroyed too!"
"It's unbelievable, what are they doing? What does it mean to be defeated by a handful of orcs?"
A voice came from every head, and it was impossible for there not to be opposing views.
"How do you know they're a handful? Those damn creatures not only breed fast, but they also reach adulthood in a week; how do we know they haven't entered our lands with a massive army!"
"Davor is right; in the past, we could easily defeat them due to their low intelligence, but now they've become equal, sometimes even superior to us in every way. It's been a long time since their numbers surpassed a billion; even if they attacked with a force of a million people and lost, they wouldn't care!"
The Mercenaries were experienced when it came to dealing with the Hell Realm, and even though there were extraordinarily powerful individuals among them, the enemy's might didn't frighten them, but orcs were an entirely different matter. The general approach of the Merchant Guilds, which formed the foundation of their nation, wasn't only reflected in daily life, normal people, or the form of administration; even though they had the title "soldier" in their names, the armies possessed the same mentality.
Merchants didn't want to get into a business where they couldn't make a profit. Of course, it couldn't be done without taking risks, but the profit the risk would bring had to cover it, and the risk had to be at the lowest level. If a risk scale from one to ten was determined and the subject was orcs, the resulting number would definitely not be below eight.
On the Orc Steppes, they had lost first the civil war where they supported the Orc Lord of the time, and then the war called the Two-Year Wars, where they fought alongside the forces of the other three civilizations.
The Wild Swamp continent was under occupation for a hundred years, and a quarter of its vast lands was under their control. They exploited its natural resources as they pleased, and the long wait was almost over, the shield protecting the druids was on the verge of disappearing, but orcs appeared before them once again.
Even though a massive army formed by the joint forces of the Four Civilizations and headed by mighty names was established, the result didn't change again. By slaughtering the enemies before them down to the last person, the forces of the Orc Empire screamed to the whole world that the era had now changed.
While these events that took place in recent history kept their freshness in memories, telling a mercenary that orcs had entered their homeland was enough to make their heart beat faster and their palms sweat. As audacious and ruthless as they were against enemies they thought they could defeat, they could be just as cowardly and slippery the moment they realized they could lose.
It was exactly for this reason that while the ten soldiers were receiving medical intervention, the orc warrior they claimed to have captured had been crucified. Her arms, spread wide apart, were cuffed to a metal alloy stretching from one end to the other, while she was chained to the ceiling of the bunker built underground. The soldiers, who hadn't forgotten to cuff her feet together as well, hadn't set their weapons aside even while the blood flowing from her body formed a puddle underneath her.
"Attention, Commander Pavlovich is coming!"
When the metal hatch, measuring two paces by two paces, was lifted, first the lights illuminating the military area and then the voices of the guards above entered the bunker. The soldiers, not letting go of their caution, stood at attention at that moment, and the bitter cries of the bolts connecting the metal steps to the skeleton of the stairs circulated inside the bunker, which was only slightly larger than the medical tent.
"At ease! What is the captive's latest condition?"
The fourteen soldiers, standing guard over one of the orcs who were the greatest fear in their subconscious, were now face-to-face with the person they feared the most in real life. The person whose name alone made them stand at attention, the highest-ranking commander of this military area, was asking a question looking straight into their eyes.
"The captive is incapacitated. Her vitals are poor and getting worse by the minute."
Pavlovich was as tall as Alyon. Even if not as much as him, he had a burly body and turquoise-colored eyes that sent shivers down one's spine when he looked at them. Even though the white in his hair said his age was fifty or above, the aura overflowing from his body rivaled someone at the peak of their youth.
"What are you waiting for then? Heal her immediately!"
Flicking his cape, which started from his neck, went all the way down his back, and extended to the floor, Pavlovich headed toward the stairs, taking the two subordinates waiting a step behind him along. There was nothing else for the commander to do here after giving his order; the place he needed to turn his direction to was the white tent where the ten soldiers were receiving treatment.
The situation there wasn't better than in the bunker actually; the heavily wounded bodies, stripped of their clothes, were lying on white sheets turning red in color, and at least five people were struggling in a cold sweat at the head of each one.
"Blood, we need blood here!"
"IV, bring the IV!"
An organized chaos reigned inside the white tent, and the nurses, running left and right like leaves blown in a storm, somehow managed to reach their destinations until a voice they heard rooted them to the spot.
"Attention! Commander Pavlovich is coming!"