Deus Necros

Chapter 700: 700 LETS GOOO WOOT WOOT

The orc group next to Ludwig were restless. More like, bored. Grath had slumped into a seated crouch near a tree, thick fingers plucking at grass and tearing it into little green ribbons that drifted onto his knees, as if shredding something, anything, could substitute for a fight.

Around him, the rest of the orcs made a messy ring of contained impatience: a few sprawled on their backs with weapons laid across their chests like they were trying to nap through the shame of inactivity, others leaned against trunks with their axes propped between their boots, rolling shoulders and cracking knuckles.

Twice, a pair had started bumping chests and testing each other’s pride with low growls, and Ludwig had stopped it before it became a real brawl, not with words, just with a look that promised consequences. Even a small scuffle would carry sound down the slope, and Ludwig could already picture a lizardman scout’s head lifting at the wrong moment, eyes narrowing toward the tree line.

The whole group felt unable to pass time doing nothing, and it showed in every restless shift of weight and every irritated snort. They were a warring tribe, they felt useless when there was no fight going on, and Ludwig could feel that uselessness boiling into stupidity if he let it sit too long.

Ludwig on the other hand peered over the slope, checking the situation. He kept low, elbows braced against dirt and roots, using the hill’s crest like a knife-edge of cover while he watched the settlement by the river.

The lizardmen from earlier that escaped them had already arrived to the settlement and spread the news, and the change was visible even from this distance: more bodies moving with purpose instead of wandering, more weapons carried openly instead of left leaning against posts, and the champions, easy to spot by height, ornament, and the way other lizardmen shifted aside, had been propped up with even better gear.

Leather armor sat strapped over scales in a way that looked absurd and still practical, because absurd didn’t matter if it kept a blade from biting. Their cold weapons looked sharper too, spears and scimitars catching the thin light whenever they turned; the metal had that human-made neatness to it, the kind that didn’t come from claw-forging, and Ludwig couldn’t help but file it under looted.

Meanwhile the normal lizardmen had climbed watch towers and platforms, tails balancing their posture as they surveyed the surrounding from the incoming orcs. They weren’t just watching the open field, they kept checking the tree line, because that was where orcs usually announced themselves.

For them, who were used to orcs, seeing how late it had become and no orc raid happened made the Lizardmen even more restless. They were used to the pig heads routine. They’ll come in clamoring like noise was the least of their worries.

Fight one to twenty and die ’gloriously’ in battle. That kind of behavior was predictable, and predictable enemies were comfortable enemies, even when they were violent. The settlement below had been built around that expectation: brace, respond, reset. Now the rhythm had been broken. Now however, there was no sighting of said orcs.

Nothing yet, no one moving down the tree lines, no one coming in howling bloody murder. And no squad of orcs challenging their members.

Ludwig watched the effect of that absence spread like a fever. Small clusters tightened closer to fires. Patrol routes repeated more frequently. Heads kept turning toward shadows that didn’t move. The orcs weren’t a race that planned or made assassination attempts. Nor were they a race that hid and waited for opportunities.

They always wanted war, day, or night. They’ll fight. And because the lizardmen believed that, they were spending hours burning their own focus on the wrong assumptions, rehearsing responses to a charge that wasn’t coming, while Ludwig’s people sat silent and unseen, letting paranoia do damage for them.

Ludwig took note of everything that was going on as he kept a lookout. He tracked the champions’ routes, the way they drifted toward the river and back as if the waterline mattered more than the huts, and he marked which towers had two watchers and which had one.

He noticed where the settlement looked thinner, where fewer bodies moved, and where it looked dense enough that a fight would become a meat grinder.

The longer the hours went the more restless his small troops became, but no matter how restless they were, the moment they remembered how Gale dispatched the Lizardmen earlier the faster they calmed down. That display had done what Ludwig’s authority still couldn’t fully do in this scenario: it had put fear into their impatience.

They couldn’t mutiny or even think of doing such foolish things, not when they had seen what “obedience under a strong chieftain” looked like and what “being in the way of that strength” turned you into. They have a leader now, a strong one, and he is being served by a mighty warrior, all they had in their pig skulls now was obedience.

Ludwig didn’t romanticize it, obedience built on intimidation was brittle, but brittle was fine for tonight. He only needed them to stay quiet long enough for Kaiser’s work to bite.

“Ludwig.”

The words came from the crystal that Ludwig held, he was waiting for news and it finally rung. The faint vibration against his palm was almost nothing, but it snapped his attention hard because it was the signal he’d been waiting on, the confirmation that this wasn’t just stalling.

“Yes, Kaiser, how are things?”

“The ritual is set up. You should see its effect later tonight. We’ll withdraw back.” Kaiser said.

Ludwig’s eyes stayed on the settlement as he spoke, because looking away in enemy territory was a habit that got people killed. He could almost picture Kaiser upstream, hunched over whatever corpse he’d chosen as the anchor of the poison, hands working with the calm certainty of someone who treated morality like an inconvenience. Ludwig didn’t flinch at the idea.

He turned to his members and made sure his voice carried just enough to be heard without turning into noise. “Alright, the trap is set. We’ll wait some time before it takes effect.” He let the words sit, because the moment orcs thought the plan was “attack now,” they’d start getting creative in the dumbest ways possible.

“Are we going to ambush them at night? That’s cowardly…” Grath said.

“No, I’m not stupid to fight Lizardmen at night,” Ludwig said.

Grath frowned, and Ludwig saw the shift happen behind the orc’s eyes. Not approval, Grath didn’t hand that out easily, but recalibration.

A coward avoided night because he feared fighting. Ludwig avoided night because he respected the enemy’s advantages. That was a language orcs understood: fight when it hurts the enemy, not when it flatters your pride.

“If it was any other race, a night raid would be optimal. But Lizardmen can see better at night than day, so we’ll attack at dawn. I’ll need you to do something, though,” Ludwig said.

“What is it, chieftain?” Grath didn’t want to think what Ludwig meant and was more than happy to receive orders.

“Mud. Get yourself covered in it. head to toe.”

“Mud, and Orcs, that’s like treating ourselves, but it’s not the Blood Festival yet…”

Ludwig frowned. Of course it turned into tradition in Grath’s head.

“I heard stories of Orcs having a yearly festival where they fight and wrestle in mud as tribute to their deity.” Gale said.

Ludwig shook his head, “No, this is for the upcoming battle, we need to be invisible to the lizardmen. Go get yourselves covered in mud and bring some with you. Try not to be spotted by lizardmen.” Ludwig ordered, and the orcs obliged, it was better than just sitting there.

They moved off with a low surge of energy, suddenly grateful for anything that felt like preparation instead of restraint. Ludwig watched them go and felt the small relief of motion being redirected into purpose. Mud would dull scent, kill shine, and break up outline, and most importantly, is very good against the lizardmen’s heat signature detecting eyes. Simple tricks, but simple tricks worked when the enemy relied on senses and habit.

“Have you fought Lizardmen before?” the Knight King asked.

“Yeah, a bit longer than we met. I had to take on a Champion and his queen by myself. Good times.”

“You were rather weak before we met… I wonder how you survived, that.”

“It cost me an arm, but I got it back, for now, let’s just wait.”

Ludwig returned his attention to the settlement as he said it, because the memory didn’t deserve more space than the plan.

The river still ran. The lizardmen still drank from it like it was guaranteed safety. Somewhere upstream, Kaiser’s ritual waited like a slow hand closing around their throat. Ludwig stayed crouched at the crest, breathing steady, letting boredom gnaw at everyone else while he counted minutes and watched for the first sign of weakness.

Ludwig felt no satisfaction yet. Satisfaction came after results. For now, he waited, and waiting was its own discipline.

Later that night when the sunless sky turned black. The Grath’s group along with Kaiser’s returned.

Their bodies were caked in thick layers of dark mud, some even carrying clumps of it in their hands to smear over their weapons and armor. The smell was unpleasant, but none of them complained.

Grath approached Ludwig first. The massive orc was almost unrecognizable beneath the mud coating him from head to toe. Even the tusks that jutted from his lower jaw were smeared brown.

Grath looked particularly proud of himself, his entire body coated head to toe.

“Chieftain, I am now mud,” he declared.

Ludwig stared at him for a moment.

“You always were.”

Some of the orcs chuckled quietly.

Ludwig nodded and glanced over the group. The tall grass helped break their outlines, and the mud dulled the faint shine of metal and bone. From a distance, they would look like nothing more than patches of dirt scattered across the slope.

“Good,” Ludwig said quietly. “Spread out along the ridge. Stay low.”

The orcs moved without protest, settling into the grass and behind scattered rocks. The earlier restlessness had vanished now that they had a task to focus on.

Below them, the Lizardmen settlement continued its uneasy watch. Torches flickered along the perimeter and silhouettes moved across the wooden walkways of the watchtowers. A few patrols circled the outskirts, their eyes scanning the tree line for the expected charge of screaming orcs.

None came.

Ludwig remained crouched at the crest of the hill, Durandal resting loosely in his hand as he observed the village below. They were alert, but their attention was in the wrong places. The longer the night stretched without an attack, the more their vigilance turned into frustration.

Exactly as he wanted.

Beside him, Gale lowered himself into the grass, the blade of Oathcarver laid flat across his back so it wouldn’t catch the torchlight from below.

“Your trap will begin soon,” he said quietly.

Ludwig nodded once and kept watching the settlement.

“Good,” he replied. “Let them stay tense a little longer.”