The Last Banner

The streets of Thrace echoed with the thunderous roars of orcs and the desperate shouts of men. Fires raged on either side, casting flickering shadows that danced like wraiths across the walls of crumbling buildings. The stench of burning wood and flesh mixed with the metallic tang of blood, making the air thick and suffocating.

Hadrian ran at the rear of his retreating force, his sword drawn and his breath coming fast. The men in front of him moved in staggered groups, spearmen and musketeers retreating as one, their movements deliberate but appearing panicked. The sound of orc boots and guttural cries echoed from behind, growing louder with every step.

"Keep moving!" Hadrian shouted, his voice sharp and urgent. "Do not break formation!"

A musket cracked to his left, followed by the scream of an orc falling. The musketeer who fired turned toward Hadrian, panic in his eyes. "They're too close, sir!"

"Good," Hadrian replied, his tone cold. "Let them think we're running."

He glanced over his shoulder. The orcs were massive in the firelight, their crude weapons glinting as they surged forward. Some carried torches, their flames casting jagged shadows on the ruined streets.

At their head was an orc in mismatched armor, his tusks gleaming as he raised his axe high. "Humans weak! You run like prey!" he bellowed, his deep voice rolling like thunder.

Hadrian turned back to his men, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Stick to the plan. They're not chasing us—they're walking into their graves."

As Hadrian led the retreat, the sounds of gunfire and the clash of steel behind him signaled the toll his men were taking on the pursuing orcs. The system flared to life in his vision, the notifications flooding his mind even as he focused on the battle.

XP Gained: 10 (Orc Kill)

XP Gained: 200 (Orcs Killed by Your Command)

XP Gained: 20 (Critical Kill – Orc Shaman)

XP Total: 2400/3000

Hadrian's breath hitched for a moment, the steady flow of numbers reminding him just how much was at stake. Every command, every kill, every moment mattered.

Another musket fired, followed by the roar of an orc collapsing in a heap.

XP Gained: 20 (Orc Kill)

Level Up! Level 12 → Level 13

Stat Points Gained: 6

Hadrian's hand tightened on his sword. The surging power of his levels and stats was there—he could feel it—but he forced himself to push it aside. Not now. Focus.

"Sir!" one of the spearmen called out as they reached a fork in the road. "Which way?"

Hadrian pointed to the left, his voice calm but firm. "Left! Keep them funneled. We're almost there."

The notifications continued to ping:

XP Gained: 500 (Cumulative Orc Kills by Your Command)

Level Up! Level 13 → Level 14 → Level 15

Stat Points Gained: 18

Hadrian led his men through the winding streets of Thrace, the glow of firelight casting flickering shadows on the cracked stone walls. Their footsteps echoed in the silence, the din of battle fading as they moved deeper into the city's maze-like alleys.

Ahead lay the chosen ground—a narrow street bordered by crumbling buildings that leaned precariously toward each other. The road was barely wide enough for three men to walk abreast, its edges lined with broken barrels and debris from the day's chaos.

Hadrian raised his hand, signaling for a halt. The men stopped instantly, their heavy breaths and the faint crackling of distant fires the only sounds in the oppressive stillness.

"This is where we hold them," Hadrian said, turning to face his men. His sword hung at his side, its blade streaked with orc blood. His eyes swept over the exhausted faces around him—spearmen with battered shields, musketeers with soot-streaked uniforms. They were tired, bloodied, but still standing.

"Listen to me," Hadrian began, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "We've fought all day, and we've held. We've held because we're not like them. They have size and strength, but we have discipline. We have each other."

He gestured to the narrow street. "This is our ground. They'll come at us like a tide, but here, their numbers mean nothing. We'll hold them in this choke point, and we'll break them."

Hadrian's gaze locked on his musketeers positioned on the rooftops. "You aim true. You fire when I say. Make every shot count, and when they fall, you reload and fire again."

To the spearmen below, he said, "You are the wall. You are what keeps them out. Hold your line, and don't let a single one through."

The ground began to tremble faintly as the first orcs came into view, their massive forms barely fitting between the crumbling buildings. The firelight reflected off their crude armor and jagged weapons, their guttural snarls carrying through the night air.

At their head was a towering figure clad in mismatched metal, his tusks gleaming as he raised a massive axe. "Humans think walls can save them!" the orc bellowed, his deep voice rolling like thunder. "We'll tear this city apart, stone by stone!"

Hadrian's voice was steady as he gave the command. "Spearmen, hold the line. Musketeers, aim for the leaders. Wait for my signal."

The orcs surged forward, their roars growing louder as they barreled down the narrow street.

"Now!" Hadrian shouted, his sword cutting through the air.

The musketeers fired their first volley from the rooftops, the deafening cracks of the muskets tearing through the night. The bullets found their marks with devastating precision, punching through the orcs' crude armor and sending the front ranks crumpling to the ground.

The spearmen braced as the surviving orcs crashed into their line, their shields locking together under the force of the impact. The clash of steel on steel rang out as spears thrust forward, finding gaps in the orcs' armor.

"Reload!" Hadrian commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos.

The musketeers worked quickly, powder and shot loaded with practiced precision. Another volley followed, cutting down more of the advancing orcs.

Hadrian moved to the front, his sword flashing as he cut through an orc that had broken past the line. The creature fell with a guttural snarl, its massive body collapsing into the growing pile of the dead.

The narrow street worked against the orcs, their massive frames and numbers becoming a liability in the confined space. The bottleneck forced them into a chaotic mass, their movements hindered by the corpses of their fallen.

The musketeers continued their volleys, each shot precise and devastating. The spearmen held firm, their shields dented but unbroken as they pushed the orcs back.

Hadrian's voice rang out again, rallying his men. "Push them! Show them what it means to fight Thrace!"

The defenders surged forward, their momentum unstoppable. The remaining orcs faltered, their confidence shattered as the relentless assault drove them back.

The street fell silent save for the groans of the dying. Hadrian stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving as he surveyed the battlefield. The narrow street was clogged with orc bodies, their blood pooling beneath the rubble.

He turned to his men, his voice steady but sharp. "Well done. Hold this position until we're sure they've gone. Then regroup."

The orc commander stood at the far end of the alley, his massive frame blocking out the firelight behind him. His jagged armor bore countless dents and streaks of dried blood, each mark a testament to his brutality. The axe in his hand was almost as large as a man, its rusted edge gleaming ominously.