Chapter 102: The Sneek Attack

As the darkness of night intensified, the moon gradually fell behind the mountains, shrouding the forest in deeper gloom.

The sentries on the walls of Orgrimmar were clearly showing signs of fatigue, with some even beginning to nod off. They were mercenaries, not regular soldiers, and their discipline might not match that of a formal army, perhaps it was even worse. Wu Qingsong had established numerous military regulations, but over months without a single attack, the houndmen had naturally become lax.

Their innate talents, however, ensured they would be alert to the slightest disturbance.

The fires in the two encampments outside the city slowly died out. In the enveloping darkness, the attackers had donned their armor and used bundles of grass to simulate sleeping figures, while they stealthily concealed themselves in the shadows.

The night patrol, following their routine, slowly made their way around the periphery of Orgrimmar. They quietly discussed their plans for days off and shared amusing anecdotes from their unit, pausing occasionally to listen for unusual sounds or scan for anything out of the ordinary before proceeding.

“I heard the lord is planning to start a school, teaching all the kids to read and do math,” one houndman said excitedly, a dream unimaginable during their time in the slums of Bota.

“I heard that too. Master Tagraedi is truly the best master in the world,” another houndman added, his tail wagging involuntarily.

“Too bad he’s not an elf,” remarked an older houndman. “Otherwise, we could pledge our loyalty to his family for generations.”

A somber silence fell upon the group. The inability of half-elves to have children was a major concern. Wu Qingsong was a rare find for them, and they could serve him and maybe even his son, but half-elves, despite their longevity, didn’t live as long as elves. When Wu Qingsong aged and died without an heir, the Thirteenth Mercenary Group would dissolve, leaving their descendants without a master.

The empire didn’t recognize adoption rights for succession, likely to prevent the rise of half-elf warlords. Once dead, all achievements and power would vanish, and everything would revert to zero, taken back by the empire.

The mood quickly shifted from joyful to melancholic, as the houndmen regretted broaching such a sensitive subject.

“As long as our lord lives, we stay loyal,” the first houndman to speak said. “Why worry about what’s decades away?”

The group concurred with this view.

“Wait,” he suddenly sniffed the air, detecting the foul odor of the grease used for maintaining armor.

Whoosh!

Simultaneously, a crossbow bolt shot out from a nearby bush, piercing his head. He collapsed without uttering a sound.

A sudden onslaught of arrows erupted unexpectedly, catching the ten-member patrol team completely off guard. They didn’t stand a chance to react before being struck down. The assailants aimed directly at their heads, rendering the houndmen’s leather armor ineffective.

A swarm of dark figures rapidly emerged from the bushes. The older houndman, shot through the mouth and neck, attempted to raise the alarm. A hyenaman swiftly closed in and, with a single swift stroke of his sword, decapitated him, severing his head from his body.

The heads of all the fallen houndmen were rapidly removed, and their bodies were hastily dragged into the underbrush. The attackers then concealed themselves within the bushes. On the watchtower, a houndman soldier stirred, his ears twitching. He opened his eyes to glance toward the area, but he failed to notice the missing patrol team, seeing only silence and stillness. He closed his eyes once more.

After waiting briefly, the attackers started moving quickly through the bushes toward the city wall. With only thirty sentinels incapable of covering the entire expanse of the wall, stationed only in six watchtowers, the attackers adeptly avoided these posts and approached the wall’s shadow.

Several of them extracted ropes, hurling them towards the top of the wall. The ropes’ loops quickly caught onto the wooden stakes of the wall. A hyenaman tested the rope with a forceful pull, ensuring its secure grip, then was the first to ascend silently.

These individuals were expertly selected, seasoned combatants, well-prepared with a comprehensive plan, making each of them acutely aware of their assigned tasks in this stealthy operation.

Half the attackers moved silently towards the watchtowers, while the rest cautiously searched for the barracks and guard posts within the city, preparing their flammable oils. Their objective was a complete annihilation of the city’s inhabitants. However, since the spoils of war were to be theirs, and the city contained many burnable leather armor and materials, they refrained from setting fires unnecessarily, not wanting to damage what they considered their future possessions.

Some moved stealthily through the shadows of the buildings, heading for the tallest structure in the wooden city’s center, likely Wu Qingsong’s residence. Their goal was to assassinate him first. Without their leader, they believed the houndmen would be easily subdued.

Near the entrance, two houndmen guards engaged in quiet conversation were unsuspecting of the danger. The assailants, progressing through the shadows and hugging the walls, edged closer to the guards. Suddenly, a roar of alarm from a distant tower alerted the guards. In that instant, swords emerged from the darkness, deftly bypassing armor defenses to penetrate the guards at vulnerable points!

The houndmen cried out in agony. A group of attackers swarmed them, quickly finishing them off before they could react, and then charged into the building.

The surprise attack now uncovered, the assailants began creating havoc across the city. Fires sprang up in various locations, and the hyenamen roared as they tried to seize the watchtowers. The houndmen on the towers raised the alarm and fought desperately to repel the invaders.

Crossbow bolts whizzed chaotically through the air. A mastiffman, struggling with his upward attack, erupted in rage and set the watchtower’s supports ablaze with flammable oil.

“Choose your death! Burn, fall, or be slain by me!” he bellowed with a mocking laugh.

Wu Qingsong, having stayed up late planning a specific area for the mercenary troops, was jolted awake by the guards’ howls. At first disoriented, the tumult and roars from the watchtowers quickly sharpened his awareness. Springing from his bed, he seized the shortsword on his desk and dashed out.

In the corridor, several armored figures stealthily moved forward. Wu Qingsong burst from his room, catching them off guard. 

They shouted in excitement, “It’s Tagraedi! Kill him!”

A crossbow bolt hurtled toward him. With no time to dodge, Wu Qingsong clenched his teeth and absorbed the impact on his shoulder. The force of the bolt slightly unbalanced him, but as the leading attacker lunged with a sword aimed at his chest, Wu Qingsong swiftly thrust his shortsword through a gap in the assailant’s armor, slicing through his neck’s carotid artery.