Chapter 285: Nowhere to run

The forest trembled.

At first, it was subtle—a faint rustling that could have been mistaken for the wind. The leaves shivered, and the branches swayed, their movements erratic and unnatural.

A strange quiet settled over the hidden horde.

The usual sounds of battle above—the screeching of harpies, the gusts of slicing wind—seemed to dull, muffled by some invisible force.

Volk's brow furrowed. His glowing eyes scanned the canopy, sensing something amiss.

The Orcs and Ogres in the branches froze, gripping their weapons tighter as an eerie tension seeped into the air, like the calm before a violent storm.

Then it began.

CRACK.

A single, sharp sound echoed through the forest.

A branch splintered violently above, falling with a slow, almost deliberate grace.

The broken limb crashed to the ground, leaves scattering like droplets of blood. The Orcs glanced around, confused. Their nerves were taut.

CRACK-CRACK.