History has its graveyards — and Teutoburg Forest was one of them.
In 9 AD, three Roman legions followed a trusted guide into the mists of Germania.
The forest swallowed their order. Rain turned roads into sludge, trees pressed inward until shields scraped bark, and narrow trails tore their formations apart.
Then came the strikes—
Trees crashing down.
Traps snapping shut.
Warriors vanishing into fog after every blow.
The Romans never escaped.
For days, the forest bled them dry until discipline shattered, pride decayed, and not a single man returned.
It was a lesson carved into the bones of history: terrain can kill an army just as surely as steel.
And now, I stood on a rain-slick slope, about to write that same lesson again.
No Romans this time.
Just orcs—battle-hardened, rage-fed monsters chasing with the same blind fury that doomed their kind last night.
No trusted guide. No smiling traitor to lead them to ruin.
Just me.
The same enemy who cracked them once... ready to break them again before they could even lift their heads.
I looked downslope.
Armenia stood like a storm sculpted into a woman. Twin axes loose in her grip, her wolf-head helmet casting deep shadows over her eyes. Brassier and battle shorts clung to her like a dare, rain tracing the pale lines of her muscular legs, tribal tattoos snaking up her thighs like sleeping beasts.
She caught my stare and raised a single hand.
Her unit was in place.
To my left, Selene waited astride her golden-feathered cuckoo, spear held low, its shaft gleaming slick under the rain.
Her eyes met mine. A nod passed between us—sharp, precise.
The bait was ready.
I tilted my head upward.
Through the dripping canopy, Lyssa crouched in silence. Spear drawn. Stance coiled like a hawk just before the dive.
I gave her the last nod.
The one that meant: We begin.
And right on cue, as if the gods themselves were tuning the sky to our battle cry...
The heavens split open.
But no—
That wasn't divine thunder.
That was Kyro, my artifact, belting out a war chant from atop a tree stump like a rock god reincarnated as a frog.
Rain slammed into the leaves.
Mud swallowed the slope.
The world drowned in the sound of our signal.
As I raised my hand, they moved.
Selene followed right behind me, eyes focused, her wet armor glinting in the stormlight.
Above us, twin moons pierced through the rolling clouds—one silver, one gold—casting shifting hues across the battlefield. The silver light rippled across the rain-soaked ground like a ghostly tide, while the red moon painted edges of armor and feathers in blood-colored shimmer.
The Valkyrie unit galloped close behind, seventeen strong. Their shadows flickered across the mud, stretched thin by the broken light of the heavens.
We followed the path Dobi laid out for us. According to his last sighting, the orcs were stampeding this way fast, disorganized, and angry. Perfect.
Then… we heard them.
At first, it was faint, just a vibration in the mud.
Then it grew louder.
Thump.
Thump... Thump.
Not a few. Hundreds.
Boots smashing through soaked earth.
Splashing. Slipping. Charging.
Their grunts cut through the rain.
Armor scraped against trees.
The whole forest seemed to breathe with them, choking under their weight.
"Stop!" I commanded.
Everyone halted at once.
Selene stopped five meters to my side, the Valkyries fanning out behind her.
Then they appeared.
Dozens of orcs emerged from the trees, snarling and dripping wet. The one in front stood taller than the rest, his body riddled with old scars.
He raised a hand, and the others froze.
I stepped forward, the rain sliding down my brow.
In my hand, I held the trophy I had once given to Selene. Without a word, I threw it toward them.
The scarred orc caught it in one hand like it weighed nothing. He looked down at it, then slammed it into the mud.
He roared.
And they all charged.
"Release!"
Selene's voice echoed beside mine.
A volley of javelins tore through the rain.
The first row of orcs fell instantly. Some screamed.
The Ephone on my belt buzzed softly.
Coin gain.
I stood still.
The scarred one ran straight at me.
I reached behind Kentucky, pulled the spare spear tied to his saddle, and launched it forward without a second thought.
It struck clean through the orc's eye.
He tumbled.
"You took command?" I shouted at the wounded brute. "Then your clan really is finished. Because the new leader's dumber than the last."
I turned. Group together with unit
As the formation shifted.
Nine Valkyries stepped up, loosing their spears, then retreated.
Ten more rushed up to replace them.
Throw. Step back.
Throw. Step back.
Our formation flowed like a machine.
A storm of spears and feathers grinding the enemy before they could even reach us.
"Keep them on the path," I ordered, my voice calm but sharp. "Aim for the flanks. Push them inward."
Spears arced through the rain, striking the orcs closest to the trees, forcing them to huddle tighter in the middle. The more they crowded, the easier it was to control their momentum.
"They chase… we throw," I muttered, "until we reach the rendezvous slope."
The terrain was already doing half the work for us. The narrow path ahead funneled them like cattle. On either side, wooden stakes impaled their fallen kin—left behind as grotesque warnings. The orcs saw them. Their howls sharpened with every step past those staked corpses, blinding them with rage. They didn't even notice what loomed above them.
I glanced at Selene. She gave a silent nod. That was all we needed.
I broke away from the formation, melting into the slope's foliage, vanishing from the orcs' line of sight. Selene surged ahead, her unit holding the pace I had set.
The enemy followed—sleep-deprived, bloodthirsty, and unhinged. The scars from last night hadn't healed, and Selene's hit-and-run strikes only twisted the blade deeper. The funnel was working.
If they still had a commander, this would be different.
They would have stopped.
Regrouped.
Scouted.
But I made sure they wouldn't have that luxury.
Now, they were just muscle and instinct, driven by vengeance. And instinct wasn't saving them here.
No cover.
No visibility.
The ground was a wet sponge beneath their boots.
Even the trees seemed to lean in, whispering betrayal with every gust.
Still, they pressed forward, drawn deeper into the throat of the ambush. The slope on either side narrowed. Mist hung low, almost waist-high, wrapping around their legs like ghosts of the dead. Their column began to break, scattered between wounded, limping, or reckless fighters.
Above them, I moved quietly into position—on the left ridge, where the moonlight bled silver and warm across the leaves. Rain slicked the branches. My cloak clung to my back.
They had no idea I was there.
Their rhythm had collapsed. They still had ferocity, yes... but it was wild now, twitchy, broken.
Some in the rear had dropped their weapons. Others limped without armor, too exhausted to carry the weight.
This wasn't just a march anymore.
It was the death rattle of a force being led into its grave.
And the slope was hungry.
Moonlight flickered through the rain.Moonlight flickered through the rain.
And then it began.
BWWWAAAAAAAAHHH!BWWWAAAAAAAAHHH!
Selene's horn blared through the forest like a dying beast, long and thunderous.
The signal was clear.
The orcs had reached the end of the funnel.
CRACK!CRACK!
A tree came crashing down across the path, smashing through mud and bone.
CRACK! CRACK!
Another followed, slamming through brush and orcs alike.
CRACK! CRACK!CRACK! CRACK!
The woods howled as titans of timber collapsed.
Trunks twisted and snapped.
Nature fell like a siege engine.
Screams broke through the canopy.
Orcs scattered. Some crushed. Others tripped in the chaos, piling over their own.
BZZZT.BZZZT.
You earned 15 coins! You earned 15 coins!
BZZZT. BZZZT.
You earned 15 coins! You earned 15 coins!
BZZZT. BZZZT.
You earned 15 coins!
No time to look.
The numbers could wait.
The trees weren't meant to kill — not entirely.
They were meant to divide.
To shatter the marching column into three isolated chunks.
Cut the snake, break the rhythm.
Now, they were nothing but cornered beasts.
And we didn't let beasts breathe.
A pause for them… meant death for us.
Even before the last trunk hit the ground, the second phase began.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Thugguh… thug… CRUNCH! Thugguh… thug… CRUNCH!
Stones rolled from the slopes above.
Massive boulders, moss-slick and rain-washed, bounced downward like divine punishment. Some were wrapped in hay soaked with oil.
Even in this storm, flame curled through the mist, spinning as the bundles ignited mid-roll.
I gripped Kentucky's reins from the ridge.
"Go! Go! Go!"
My voice cut through the thunder.
The big cuckoo mount shifted, feathers bristling, legs eager to dive in.
To the left, a boulder the size of a wagon wheel slammed into the main cluster.
THUD… SPLAT.THUD… SPLAT.
Three orcs vanished beneath it.
BZZZT.BZZZT.
You earned 15 coins! You earned 15 coins!
BZZZT. BZZZT.
You earned 15 coins! You earned 15 coins!
BZZZT. BZZZT.
You earned 15 coins!
Some of them tried to brace — strong orcs, brutish enough to hold.
But they couldn't tell which rolls were fire, and which were stone.
Every hesitation cost them another life.
Every time they braced for a boulder… it turned out to be flaming hay, bursting beside them in crackling bloom.
Every time they ignored one… it shattered ribs and crushed morale.
Panic spread like wildfire across wet grass.
Confusion tore through their line faster than fire ever could.
Then—
Lightning split the sky.
For a moment, the battlefield turned to bone-white light.
In that frozen flash, I saw him.
The scarred orc.
One eye shut tight from the javelin wound.
Still breathing. Still standing.
He spotted me on the ridge.
Lifted his axe.
Roared.
His voice punched through the storm like a war horn.
They were going to climb.
But that's when the real purpose of the flaming hay revealed itself.
It wasn't meant to burn them.
Not in this storm.
It was meant to blind them.
To choke their senses — sight, smell, breath — under smoke, fire, and confusion.
Because in the downpour, with embers dancing like fireflies in the canopy and thick haze coiling through the trees...
Something worse than traps was already closing in.
The rain thickened.
Heavy now. Like the storm had made up its mind to drown the world.
I glanced sideways.
And there he was.
Kyro.
Balanced on a fallen log like it was a sacred stage.
Stubby feet planted wide.
Lute in hand.
Strumming with the raw, frantic energy of a rock god playing his final encore.
His voice rose, wild and cracked with electricity.
"You stole my heart, you stole my soul… now taste the thunder from a broken toad!"
I blinked.
"What the hell is he singing…?"