Chapter Six: Preparing for Battle

Some might wonder why the orcs, after more than a century of war with humans and suffering so long under the onslaught of firearms, never seem to have modernized their own weaponry. The main reason lies in the orcish aversion to anything involving much thought or the learning of new techniques. Even when orcish craftsmen forge cold weapons, their work is generally crude and haphazard; as long as it’s durable and can be used to hack or smash an enemy, it’s deemed sufficient. As for armor—do the mighty orc warriors truly need such concealing contrivances? Bare-chested and unburdened, they can fully unleash their strength and agility, while their bulging muscles serve to intimidate their foes.

Thus, the mainstream arsenal of the orcish army is limited to battle axes, machetes, and bows and arrows. The more intelligent members of orc society have almost all become esteemed shamans. Their bloodlust rituals, combined with the vast population of the Orcish Empire, render any interest in technological advancement trivial. After all, shamans are busy folk: organizing regular sacrifices, moonlighting as apothecaries and healers, and—most crucially—fulfilling their primary role as spiritual pillars of the orcs by extolling the greatness of the Beast God, who guides the orcs to plunder ever more food and wealth.

Such doctrines are perfectly suited to orcish appetites; for them, war and procreation are the sum of life itself. Even without shamanic guidance, orc tribes of the borderlands are notoriously savage and belligerent, worshipping strength above all. Take, for example, the Wolf Fang Tribe, which has mustered over two thousand warriors and is now marching toward Sun Li’s camp.

Spears bristling like a forest, morale soaring sky-high. At this moment, Sun Li stands on a high platform, gazing down upon five hundred neatly assembled pikemen, three hundred foot archers, and a hundred swordsmen. Even if these soldiers possess the intellect of automatons—capable only of mechanical fighting, marching, and eating—the sight of so many massed in a tight phalanx is still awe-inspiring for a homebody like Sun Li. He is taken aback by his own newfound authority: so I, Sun Li, have truly become a general! A swelling pride rises within him, almost involuntarily.

“Xiao Bai, with these nine hundred stalwart, fearless soldiers, wouldn’t it be child’s play to massacre those primitive tribal orcs?” Sun Li boasted.

“Based on system analysis and projections,” Xiao Bai replied, “though the orc tribes are backward, their population is immense and their nature is fiercely warlike. Please do not underestimate the enemy, host. Also, our scout cavalry reports—remember, summoned troops don’t count toward population limits—that an orcish force of roughly five hundred is en route to this location. At their current pace, they’ll arrive in about an hour. Lord, you must prepare for battle.”

“Well, isn’t that a coincidence! No sooner have I finished reorganizing the army than some hapless orcs come delivering themselves to us. How endearing they are,” Sun Li remarked with a relaxed chuckle.

“Friendly reminder,” Xiao Bai interjected at just the right moment to pour cold water on his enthusiasm, “System scans indicate these orcs belong to a mid-sized tribe, the Wolf Fang Tribe. Given their tradition of universal conscription, they can muster at least two thousand warriors. Judging by the timing, they’re likely here to avenge the goblins you killed.”

“Hmm, that’s quite a number. Best to proceed with caution—let’s deal with their vanguard first,” Sun Li replied, his expression growing serious.

“March out, form ranks: archers in front, pikemen behind; forty swordsmen to each wing for defense, the remaining twenty forming my personal guard,” Sun Li ordered the elite pikeman who had just been promoted to messenger. It couldn’t be helped: system-generated soldiers were too dull for complex commands, so those who had advanced in rank during the last battle had to serve as messengers.

“At your command, my lord.” The elite pikeman responded crisply, then hurried off to organize the troops.

As Sun Li finished preparing his forces for battle, the Wolf Fang Tribe’s vanguard approached in orderly fashion. At the head stood a gnoll who was clearly all brawn and little brain. Seeing the seemingly numerous human force before him—a sight that promised a satisfying slaughter—he immediately ordered his troops to charge, eager to seize the glory before the main force could arrive. Setting an example of reckless valor, he led the charge himself.

The entire orcish vanguard looked for all the world like a gang brawl: the chief let out a furious roar, and his followers surged forward wielding an eclectic arsenal. Their spirit was certainly that of seasoned street fighters!

Compared to this, Lord Sun Li seemed almost timid, skulking at the very rear of his formation, a full mile from the front, surrounded by his personal guard—well out of harm’s way should he need to make a hasty retreat.

Sun Li felt no shame about this at all. He even pointed and commented to Xiao Bai, “Look at that rabble—one tall brute leading a bunch of shorties, some even wielding stones that look like bricks. They really are treating war like a neighborhood brawl. This world must be truly backward if tribes like this can survive, even flourish into medium-sized powers. Perhaps my dream of unification isn’t so far-fetched after all, heh heh.”

Xiao Bai, well accustomed to his shamelessness, was entirely unfazed.

So, while Sun Li joked and chatted, the gnoll chieftain’s troops entered archery range. A volley of three hundred arrows rained down; the gnoll leader, bristling with shafts, was transformed into a human pincushion and toppled to the ground, never to rise again.

As for the goblin cannon fodder, they fell into utter confusion. The survivors suddenly noticed that the left and right flanks ahead were now eerily empty, while agonized screams filled their ears. Aside from a few slow-witted ones who continued their charge out of sheer inertia, the rest stood rooted in terror.

A second volley followed, and the so-called orc vanguard broke completely. Even the densest goblin now understood: this was not a source of heads and loot, but a host of death-dealing specters!

No goblin dared advance; the field was filled with panicked, directionless, wailing little figures. The elite pikeman launched a charge, four columns of spears advancing in perfect formation. The goblins, untouched by the arrow storm in the rear, were slaughtered as they tried to flee—though, in truth, orcs wore no armor to shed.

As the full assault devolved into a massacre, Sun Li let down his guard entirely, believing the battle to be virtually won. Little did he know, this very attitude would leave him with a lesson he’d never forget—one that would change the carefree life of this homebody forever.