The Lord of the Rings: Lords of Middle-earth.

What are Olaf and his group, whom Roland has been so concerned about, doing right now?
"Captain! They look like they're trying to cross the river!" a valiant soldier whispered.

"I'm not blind! I can see for myself!" Olaf stared intently at the group of orcs, lost in thought.

Calling it a river is an exaggeration. It's a tiny stream that's not even marked on a map, barely a dozen meters wide and no deeper than knee-deep. Right now, the orc centurion is sending his vanguard across the river.

Dozens of orcs waded through the stream, their feet sinking deep into the water. The frigid winter air had caused the entire stream to freeze over with a layer of ice about two fingers wide. With a cracking sound, the orcs, shivering from the cold, pulled their feet out of the ice holes and continued on their way.

"Sir, what should we do?"

"Is everyone here?" Olaf asked calmly, after all, he had divided his forces into three groups for pursuit, even though he only had three soldiers at his disposal...

"Yes! Everyone's here!" The warriors standing to the side solemnly counted the number of people and then nodded seriously.

“Okay!” Olaf nodded. Because he was wearing a barrel visor, no one could see his expression, but if you lifted his helmet, you could see that Olaf’s expression was serious and he was silently calculating the time.

"That's about it!" Olaf suddenly stood up and raised his halberd sharply.

"Attack while the enemy is crossing! Take the enemy leader!" Olaf roared and charged out.

The orcs, who were crossing the icy river at that moment, turned around in surprise at the noise and found four burly men jumping out of the withered bushes. After seeing their attire, all the orcs were terrified and turned around to run towards the other side.

The orcs, whose brains were already underdeveloped, could only see the terrifying war halberds that could cut people like grass! In a panic, the orcs started shoving each other, trying to cross the icy river in front of them. Many orcs who were wading through the water were pushed down by the orcs behind them, and then countless huge feet chased over their backs, making the already narrow icy river boil over! Everywhere there were orcs crying for help after falling into the water.

"Kill!" The previously stunned warrior charged forward amidst the despair in the orcs' eyes, his swung halberd drawing an arc that filled them with hopeless terror...

The orcs, who were still able to struggle, had been turned into frightened birds by the valiant warriors. Olaf and his men's continued pursuit was the last straw that broke the orcs' back! In fact, the number of orcs killed by Olaf and his men was far less than the number of orcs who drowned or were trampled to death in this knee-deep, nameless creek. A large number of orcs were trampled into the water and drowned by their own people.

"Kill!" Olaf swung his halberd, and a row of orc heads fell off. Seeing this, the orcs surged even more eagerly toward the opposite bank.

"Stop him..." the orc centurion roared, parrying Olaf's spear with his sword. Before he could finish shouting, the spear, which had spun around, sliced ​​off half of his head.

"Roar! Kill!" Olaf pounded his chest, his powerful battle cry terrifying all the orcs. The corpse of the orc centurion lying on the ground was still twitching slightly, which further strengthened their determination to flee this place.

……

"..." Roland stared blankly at the battlefield before him, a scene of utter carnage. Orc corpses lay scattered on the ground, the dead and wounded blocking the icy river. Large swathes of ice were stained a dark, inky black, a horrific scene against the pale snow, like a tragic ink painting. Four valiant warriors, carrying long spears on their shoulders, sat asleep atop the pile of corpses in the river. As for why they weren't dead... Roland admitted he could still hear their deafening snores. "They did this?" Roland's voice trembled. A single glance was enough for him to confirm that the number of corpses, including those found here, far exceeded five hundred. In other words, this ten-man squad had slaughtered most of this nearly one-thousand-strong rout!
"Yes, although most of them were trampled to death by the orcs themselves, they still deserve credit!" Omsk returned after inspecting the area.

"A stampede?" Roland suddenly had a flash of inspiration, as if he had grasped something. No wonder, they were able to kill so many orcs, which was a great help. After all, they were just ordinary soldiers. Hundreds of orcs stood there and they couldn't cut them down. Ordinary soldiers without battle aura would have broken their blades long ago.

However, the Valiant Warriors were indeed fierce, and Roland was quite surprised. These brutes were truly amazing in combat. But Roland was not interested in this type of unit. Firstly, it was a special unit of the Lion King family, and secondly, the versatility of this unit was not necessarily higher than that of the Swift Infantry. Nevertheless, the Valiant Warriors were still an excellent unit (although the heavy armor classification was somewhat forced).

“You…” Apophis Breo was about to step forward when Roland stopped him.

“Let them rest for a while, they’re too tired…” Roland said, looking at the white smoke rising from the gaps in the helmets.

Apophis Breo shook his head helplessly at the four sleeping, snoring people, took off his cloak and draped it over one of them. Roland and Omsk also draped a whole deerskin over the others, since Roland had many leather goods made by the common people in his space.

……

"Can you see anything?" Roland nudged Omske, who was sitting in front of the campfire deep in thought.

"Hmm? Your Highness! Come and sit down!" Omsk, who had been startled awake, moved a wooden stool for Roland.

“Tell me about the situation of these orcs!” Roland said, warming his hands by the fire.

“Hmm, something’s definitely not right! They don’t seem like the main force!” Omske composed himself and said hesitantly.

“I don’t think so either! You’ve seen the elites of Gambada and Dolgodo. I don’t think these few ordinary soldiers could hunt down so many orc elites.” Roland shook his head. He didn’t know that Olaf had given the orc centurion a piece of raw fish.

"And most importantly, their equipment! It's terrible! Why are they still using bone weapons? This is definitely not their main force, it's cannon fodder!" Roland frowned. When did orcs become so poor that they can't even afford iron weapons? Are those bone clubs a joke?

“But that doesn’t make sense. Such a large group of orcs doesn’t look like wandering orcs. After all, a tribe of wandering orcs is considered a large tribe if it has at most a thousand people! This time, it’s said that there are several thousand orcs!” Omsk rubbed his chin and asked in confusion.

"Where did they come from?" Omske asked, poking at the campfire in confusion.

“I don’t recognize their totems either…” Roland was also frustrated. These were neither Mordor totems nor the totems of Dolgodor and Gombard, but such a large group of orcs came from the south. Could they have been conjured up?
"Is the South still a gathering place for orcs?" Roland asked.

“No!” Omsk shook his head. They knew the totems of the major orc settlements very well.