Page 51 of Her Rugged Orcs

"Behind you!" Eira's scream cuts through the chaos.

I whirl to see a dark elf reaching for her with a garrote. Before I can move, Dren comes over from the shadows, his blade opening the bastard's throat in one clean sweep.

"Stay close," I order Eira, cutting down another attacker. "We move as one unit."

She nods, her blade dripping red. The way she fights now - it stirs something primal in me. She's learned well, moving between us like she was born to battle.

"More coming from the east!" Grash calls out, his massive form already turning to meet them.

"Good," I snarl, rolling my shoulders. "Let them come. Show these elf bastards what happens when they hunt orcs."

I assess the battlefield in seconds. Two dozen more approaching, trying to flank us. They think numbers will win this fight. They're wrong.

36

EIRA

Blood and steel flash in the morning light as Grash's warning rings out across the battlefield. "More coming from the east!"

My blade drips crimson as I spin to see his massive form already turning to meet the new threat. The familiar weight of my knife steadies my racing heart.

Murok's braids whip through the air as he assesses the battlefield with those piercing blue eyes. Two dozen more dark elves emerge from the tree line, trying to flank our position.

The metallic tang of blood fills my nostrils as I duck under a wild swing, my blade finding home in an attacker's throat. They think their numbers will win this fight. They're wrong. We're winning this. We're actually-

The world stops.

Steel pierces into Dren's side in a spray of dark blood. The scream tears from my throat, raw and primal. But Dren - my quiet, lethal Dren - doesn't fall. His eyes flash with cold fury as he grips the protruding blade and rips it from his own flesh. Blood pours from the wound, but he keeps fighting, keeps killing, like death itself cannot touch him.

"Dren, stop!" My feet are already moving toward him, heart threatening to burst from my chest. I have to reach him, have to help him before-

Murok's iron grip closes around my wrist, yanking me back. His face is set in stone as he meets my desperate gaze. "We finish this," he says, voice brooking no argument.

"He's bleeding out!" I try to wrench free, but Murok holds firm.

"And he'll keep fighting until his last breath," Murok says. "Just like we all will."

Tears blur my vision as I watch Dren cut down another elf, his movements slower but no less deadly. "I can't lose him," I whisper. "I can't lose any of you."

"Then fight," Murok growls. "Fight with us, not for us."

I turn toward the advancing dark elves when a familiar laugh freezes the blood in my veins. Through the chaos of battle, I spot him - Dex, the pit master, his silver-white hair gleaming as he emerges from the group. The same cruel smile twists his lips as when he bought me, when he threw me to the warriors like meat to dogs.

My fingers go numb around my blade.

"The little human whore," Dex calls out, his voice carrying across the battlefield. "Still spreading your legs for monsters, I see."

Before I can move, before I can even breathe, Grash charges past me with a roar that shakes the very ground. His massive form barrels through two dark elf guards without even flinching. The look in his eyes promises death.

"Grash, wait-" The words catch in my throat. Part of me wants to see Dex suffer, wants him to know the fear he inflicted on so many others.

But Grash doesn't hesitate. His blade flashes once, precise and brutal. Dex's eyes go wide as steel opens his throat. The pitmaster's hands clutch uselessly at the wound, dark blood spilling between his fingers. He tries to speak, but only manages a wet gurgle before collapsing.

Grash stands over him, watching with grim satisfaction as Dex drowns in his own blood. "That was for her," he growls.

The remaining dark elves surge forward, but we meet them as one. Murok's blade dances through the air, finding gaps in armor with lethal precision. Dren moves like a shadow despite his wound, each strike stealing another life. And I fight with renewed strength, because the man who once owned me lies dead at our feet.

When the last enemy falls, silence descends. The ground is soaked crimson and littered with dead bodies. My arms ache, my chest heaves with each breath, but we're alive. We've won.

---