Chapter 323 — The Encampment in the Woods
The morning air was clean and sweet, the sunlight dripping through the canopy in golden ribbons. For once, Kael allowed himself a breath of ease. He walked side by side with Azhara and Lyria, Umbra padding silently behind. No war councils. No dungeon descents. No endless planning. Just the quiet rustle of leaves and the laughter of two women who meant more to him than he could ever admit aloud.
Azhara had braided wildflowers into Lyria's pale hair, and the elf mockingly swatted her hand away, though the faintest blush had risen to her cheeks. Kael chuckled, shaking his head. He almost forgot the weight of command, of battles fought and still to come.
For a fleeting hour, they were not leaders or saviors. They were simply people.
But then the wind shifted.
Kael froze, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his blade. The air carried a smell—smoke, iron, sweat, blood. He narrowed his eyes, scanning the trees ahead. Umbra growled low, fur bristling, ears pinned back.
They pushed through the brush and came upon a ridge.
Below them, sprawled across the valley like a wound upon the land, was a sea of tents, campfires, and banners. Orcs. The guttural roar of voices carried up to them, weapons gleaming, armor hammered together in crude but brutal fashion. The sight was endless. Kael's blood ran cold.
Not a raiding party. Not a scattered tribe.
An army.
At least a hundred thousand strong.
Azhara's hand clamped around Kael's arm, trembling. Lyria's sharp composure cracked for the first time, her lips parting as the sheer weight of what they were looking at settled in.
"Gods preserve us," Lyria whispered. "That… that's enough to wipe out kingdoms."
Kael said nothing. His mouth was dry, his heart thundering. For the first time in a long time, he felt fear clawing up his spine.
He turned, forcing his voice steady.
"Back. Now. Quietly."
They didn't argue. None of them dared.
The trio hurried through the woods, every shadow a threat, every snapped twig a herald of doom. Only when the Hollow's gates came into view did Kael let them slow, though the knot in his chest refused to loosen.
The council chamber filled quickly, projects abandoned at Kael's summons. The room buzzed with questions until Kael silenced them with a single raised hand. His eyes were hard, his voice low and grave.
"We found them. A host of Orcs. Not hundreds. Not thousands. Tens of thousands. An army unlike any I've seen before."
The chamber fell into stunned silence. Even hardened warriors like Rogan and Thalos paled. Azhara's trembling hands were hidden beneath the table, but Kael could see it.
He continued.
"We don't know their intent. We don't know why they're here. But if that horde turns toward us, the Hollow will be trampled into ash."
He looked to two of his fiercest blades.
"Zerathis. Varik. I want you both on them. Find out their numbers, their leaders, their intent. Where they march, when they march, and who commands them. Leave no detail unrecorded. But return alive. That's an order."
Both men bowed their heads in acknowledgment, though even Zerathis' usual sharp grin was absent.
The council broke into frantic discussion, plans and fears colliding in the tense air. Kael listened, but his mind was elsewhere.
When the chamber finally emptied and the Hollow buzzed with hurried preparations, Kael stepped away. Past the gates. Past the torches. Into the shadows of the woods where no one could see him falter.
His hands shook as he gripped the bark of an ancient oak, the rough edges digging into his skin. His breath came ragged.
He had faced armies. He had faced slayers, priests, zealots. But never this. Never a force so vast, so unrelenting. One hundred thousand orcs.
For the first time in years, Kael felt the bitter, alien taste of helplessness.
And it terrified him.
Kael stood alone in the woods until his breathing evened out, until the tremors in his hands stilled. Fear still coiled in his chest, but he buried it deep, locking it behind the iron will that had carried him through every battle. He could not let his people see him falter.
When he returned to the council chamber, the voices of his companions filled the air — harsh, frantic, overlapping in a storm of panic. Rogan's fists slammed against the table as he cursed their fate. Fenrik muttered grim calculations under his breath, already estimating how long the Hollow's walls would hold. Azhara pressed her sleeve to her lips, her pale face drawn with exhaustion and dread.
Even Lyria's sharp discipline had cracked; she paced the room, her steps quick and uneven.
Kael slammed his hand down on the council table.
The chamber froze.
His voice cut through the tension, steady, heavy with command.
"Enough. Panicking won't save us."
The silence stretched, every eye fixed on him. Kael let it linger, grounding himself in the authority that had become his armor.
"Yes, this army could crush us. Yes, their numbers are beyond anything we can match. But that doesn't mean we lie down and wait to die. We will think of a plan. We will prepare. And we will survive."
A slow breath escaped his lips, steadying himself as much as them.
"But we must also face the truth. If this horde marches straight for us, we cannot withstand them alone."
He turned his gaze toward the far wall, his mind already set.
"I will send a message to Thalren. The Ocean King owes us his friendship, and he knows our worth. If the worst comes, if the Hollow must fall… then he may take our people, give them shelter beneath his banners. We must prepare for that possibility."
The words weighed heavy, bitter in his throat. He had built this place to be a sanctuary, not a temporary refuge. But his people's lives mattered more than pride.
The council shifted, unease and shame flickering across their faces. Rogan leaned back, his jaw tight.
"You think we should run?"
Kael shook his head.
"No. I think we prepare for the fight of our lives — but I will not gamble the lives of innocents without giving them a chance at safety. We fight if we must. But we also ensure our people live on if we fall."
Lyria finally stopped pacing, her hands curling at her sides. Her voice softened.
"You would give up everything you've built here to protect them."
Kael met her eyes, his expression grim but resolute.
"I would burn this Hollow myself before I let it become their grave."
Silence again, but this time it carried weight, not panic. One by one, the council straightened, their breathing steadying, their fear tempered by Kael's certainty.
Zerathis leaned forward, eyes burning with a strange fire.
"Then tell us what to do, master. Tell us how we prepare."
Kael nodded.
"First, we buy time. Varik and Zerathis will learn what they can — where the horde marches, and who leads them. Meanwhile, I will send word to Thalren. If there is hope of aid, we must reach for it."
He drew in a deep breath, the weight of leadership pressing on his shoulders heavier than ever.
"This is not the end of us. Not yet. But from this moment on, every choice we make must be with survival in mind. No wasted effort. No careless mistakes."
For the first time since he'd seen the valley of orcs, Kael let a flicker of hope cross his face.
"We've faced the impossible before. And we're still here. So long as we stand together, the Hollow will not fall."
The council murmured their agreement, their panic slowly fading into determination.
And though Kael's heart still twisted with the image of the endless orc encampment, he held his head high. He would not let them see the fear he carried. That was his burden, and his alone.