When they turned toward the source of the thrown body, what they saw stopped their hearts cold.
A giant orc stood before them.
It was massive—at least eight feet tall, with a hulking, muscular frame. Crude metal plates were strapped across its chest, barely offering protection but enough to deflect a poorly placed strike. In its hands, it gripped a wooden club the size of a small tree, studded with iron bolts—one swing would be enough to shatter bone.
The orc had emerged from the wreckage of the destroyed wagon—the same one the orange-haired girl had been near. From the looks of it, the creature had been hiding beneath it all along, waiting.
The knights froze in place.
One of them collapsed to her knees, breath ragged from exhaustion and eyes wide in horror. The others held their weapons with shaking hands, dread washing over their faces.
Vaelira bit down on her teeth, panic clawing at her chest. This wasn't part of the plan. Orcs didn't join goblin raids—not unless something was deeply wrong. For one to appear now, without warning, could only mean one thing: they were cursed with bad luck… or something worse was at play.
She turned her gaze toward Solas.
He wasn't afraid.
No expression, no tension in his jaw or grip—he just stared at the approaching beast as the ground trembled with each step it took.
"Have you ever fought one of these before?" Solas asked, voice calm as still water.
Vaelira nodded slowly, eyes locked on the creature. "Yes… but only once. And we were well-prepared."
Solas raised his sword slightly, the edge catching a glint of light.
"Then make this your second."
The orc began closing in, heavy footsteps shaking the ground beneath them. But Solas and Vaelira stood their ground, unwavering.
"Take the right, and I shall take the left," Solas said, eyes fixed upon the creature. "Draw its swing—then I'll strike."
Vaelira nodded. "Okay." His commanding tone caught her off guard—issuing orders so naturally, without pause. It almost made her forget she was the one in charge. But that didn't matter now. He had saved one of her knights and turned the tide of the battle. He clearly knew what he was doing.
The orc was close now—almost within striking distance.
Solas raised his blade toward the towering brute. "Go."
Without hesitation, Vaelira charged, circling to the creature's far right. The orc snarled, rearing back before swinging its massive wooden club with crushing force.
She leapt back just in time—the club smashing into the ground, mere inches from pulverizing her side.
In that heartbeat, she glanced toward Solas—and saw he was already moving.
He darted in like a predator, low and fast, his blade a blur. With one fluid strike, Solas slashed across the orc's popliteal fossa, slicing deep into the tendons behind the knee. The beast bellowed in pain, collapsing to one knee with a shuddering thud.
The orc swung blindly in retaliation, but Solas was already gone.
The other knights watched, stunned—awestruck by Solas's speed, precision, and ruthlessness. In mere moments, he had crippled a monster that could have slaughtered them all.
Meanwhile, Rowena stood at the edge of the caravan, having tended to the wounded knight as Solas had asked. Her hands trembled slightly, but her eyes were locked on the battle before her.
She watched as Solas backed away from the orc, his gaze shifting toward Vaelira. The knight tightened her grip on her sword and closed her eyes.
Solas narrowed his eyes, unsure of what she was doing—until his lips parted slightly in surprise.
Vaelira's blade began to glow with a silvery-white light—ethereal, almost like it was forged of moonlight—before it shimmered into a flame-like aura.
Then she moved.
Faster than before—unnaturally fast. Solas could barely track her, glimpsing only faint afterimages of her and the burning blade.
The orc roared, lifting its right arm to block the attack—but too late. A searing pain coursed through it as its eyes widened in shock. From elbow to hand, its limb had been severed cleanly.
Its scream tore through the battlefield, forcing the other knights—and even Rowena—to cover their ears.
Vaelira pressed the attack, slashing again and again, every strike leaving glowing afterimages in the air. She was locked in, fully committed—too committed. In her fury, she left herself open.
The orc, howling in rage and desperation, swung its club with all its remaining might.
The blow landed.
Vaelira was sent flying, hurled off the road and into the tall grass beyond. Her body hit the ground hard and rolled to a stop.
The knights cried out in horror.
As the dust from her fall began to settle, the orc barely had time to breathe before Solas moved.
The orc, now down on one knee, leaned on its club for support—just enough for Solas to act.
Solas moved swiftly, running up the angled club and leaping into the air. The orc looked up, its eyes wide with terror—as though it were witnessing a divine figure descend from the heavens.
Above it, Solas raised his sword with one hand, his silhouette etched against the sky like a scene from scripture. For a moment, he resembled the archangel Gabriel—arm outstretched, sword poised—not with fury, but with precise, unshakable judgment.
Then, with a sharp thrust, he drove the blade down through the orc's eye. The sword tilted just enough to reach deep into the creature's brain, and the beast collapsed with a final, earth-shaking thud.
The sword pierced deep, angled just enough to reach the brain. The orc froze, then fell.
Lifeless.
Its massive body slammed into the earth, shaking the ground as Solas tumbled down, rolling from the impact.
Silence fell—save for the ragged breaths of those still standing.
Solas rose to his feet, brushing off the dust that clung to his uniform from the fall. Without pause, he made his way to Vaelira, who still lay on the ground, her breaths sharp and uneven.
Standing over her, he extended a hand. "You alright? That was quite a show you put on."
She managed a faint smile. "Yeah… I'm fine," she said, grasping his hand with a firm grip. With his help—and the support of her sword—she slowly pulled herself up.
Solas moved to her side, gently placing her arm over his shoulder so she could lean on him. "You can still move?"
"Barely," she chuckled, "but I'll manage." A light laugh escaped her before she winced and grabbed at her side, the pain reminding her of the hit she had taken.
For a moment, she forgot Solas was just another man. Fighting beside him—seeing his calm, precision, and resolve—had reshaped her view of him entirely. Something had always felt off about him, but now it was undeniable. Whatever he was, he commanded respect.
Then came the cheers. The other knights rushed toward them, awe etched across their faces. They had seen everything—Solas striking the final blow, Vaelira's blazing sword, the unity between them. And now, to them, Solas wasn't just another fighter; he was someone to look up to. Someone who stood tall when all seemed lost.
Solas glanced down at his right hand, a warmth rising within it. The symbol on his skin glowed faintly, pulsing as if in quiet approval.
He turned his gaze toward the caravan. There, Rowena stood still, tending to the wounded knight. But her eyes weren't on the injury—they were locked on Solas and Vaelira.
Though her hands still hovered over the wounded knight, her focus had long since shifted. Something unfamiliar stirred in her chest.
Something stirred inside her. A feeling unfamiliar, rising from the pit of her chest at the sight of them together, supporting each other like that. She didn't understand it fully, but it lingered all the same.
Then Solas looked her way. Their eyes met.
He gave her a soft smile, warm and wordless, like a silent "well done." She felt her heart skip as a smile of her own crept onto her face.
Rowena looked away first, uncertain why her chest felt tight. But even as the battle ended, that feeling didn't.
With the battle behind them, rest came at last. But it would be some time before they were ready to move forward.