Jammingwood Orcs
The Jammingwood Orcs stood well over 180 cm on average, their green-skinned bodies boasting the sturdiest physiques among all humankind. And among them, the orc warriors—towering over 2 meters tall with exceptional strength—weren't just big brutes. Their shoulders were typically twice as broad as a human's, and their muscle mass utterly overwhelmed any human of comparable height by several times over. It was common knowledge that only beastkin transforming under the moonlight could match orcs in raw physical power.
That said, they had a clear drawback: the lowest intelligence of any humanoid race. But it never truly hindered them in one-on-one combat. On the contrary, their beastly instincts and overwhelming strength often toppled even foes of higher realms. And Burkan, patrol captain of the Tomodo Orc tribe who raised massive prairie lizards called Tomodos, was an Expert-grade mana user brimming with the pride of an orc warrior.
'Weak humans? I could take even a Superior.' He'd once bested a Blader-grade knight in a warrior's challenge, so his confidence had solid backing.
But even so.
"Hraaaah!"
BOOM!
"Guh!"
When his full-force axe swing clashed with the hammer of a human far smaller than himself, a pain like his arm might rip free surged through him, his chest tightening until he tumbled back atop his Tomodo, sprawled out.
What drove Burkan even madder was:
"How about it? One more?"
The cocky human on his white wolf, casually flicking a hand. The short common tongue—even Burkan could understand it—only stoked his rage further.
The real issue? This head-on clash was already their third. His axe-grip hands were torn and bleeding, yet the human's face hadn't changed once. Pride wounded, fury boiled over. And when he spotted the crack in his treasured axe handle—carved from a unicorn leopard horn caught at his coming-of-age rite and enchanted by the tribe's shaman—his bloodshot eyes rolled back completely.
"Raaagh! Let's end this!"
Thud.
Absorbing its master's killing intent and mana, the Tomodo lizard flushed its scales red and charged. Atop it, Burkan's gleaming white axe blazed with fiery mana, aimed at the rider on the massive wolf.
But the next instant.
Crack!
"!?"
The wolf's sudden forepaw strike whipped the "running boulder" Tomodo's head aside. Burkan's axe sliced empty air.
And right after.
"Grow up a bit."
A low voice, and then the human's fist—tiny compared to an orc's—filled Burkan's vision.
Crack!
A sharp, explosive impact impossible for flesh-on-flesh. Burkan's eyes glazed over as he flew into the air.
"Krawr!"
Enraged at its master's sudden vanishing, the Tomodo bristled its scales again—but the moment it met the massive wolf's gaze right before it.
"Chirrp."
The lizard, unworthy of its fame, meekly flattened its scales and slammed its head to the ground.
The matches between Garen and the other orc warriors ended no differently.
"Orcs really are tenacious. What kind of second stage is this...?"
Garen clicked his tongue, but it was just banter. He might seem too carefree at times, but he was Blue Wing's vice-captain, a Superior-grade powerhouse with the moniker "Knight of Swiftness."
And finally.
"Human, warrior's challenge... passed. But..."
"As I said before, if you try anything beyond passing through the territory, the Tomodo Orcs' attack is fair game."
Garen beat the orc to the punch line, taking a small bone necklace from the reluctant warrior and inspecting it.
Proof of permission to traverse Tomodo Orc territory.
"They all look the same to me, but I hear each tribe's is different. Can you tell them apart?"
"Who knows? We just need to pass through, right?"
Tiny shrugged, and Garen chuckled, pocketing the token.
"Spot on. Let's go, then. Oh, and tone down the killing intent on that wolf. My lovely Sandra's scared."
"Easy enough."
Despite his words, Tiny enlarged Wolrang from horse-size—shrunk for the challenge—back to full glory.
"As long as she doesn't get scared, right?"
Over 2 meters at the shoulder, it looked like a white boulder. Empowered further by the shoulder armor Animus, the wolf spirit conveyed its will to Garen's horse.
- Submit.
The prestige of a forest lord and ruler in life poured onto a mere trained mount. After a brief snort, the horse mimicked human courtesy, bowing its head and bending a foreleg.
No explanation needed. Garen's face soured.
"...Like this?"
"Looks like she's not scared, at least?"
"Ha... ha, ha. Y-yeah."
Garen flashed an awkward smile, turning his horse. Tiny snickered, then set off with Wolrang.
Wolrang's display of fear earlier proved Tiny was nearly at the next stage of spirit arts.
A path Wolrang itself hadn't foreseen before.
'Now I can see it.'
Thanks to his soul strengthened by Animus, he reaffirmed it as the best choice.
* * *
One month after leaving the capital, they crossed Tomodo territory into Jammingwood, the great city of the Red Boar Orcs.
Tiny wanted to push straight to Elvenheim, but:
"Sandra's at her limit. Let's rest here."
Garen lacked Jenas's knack for prolonged mana sprints, forcing a break.
"Sorry to drag you down."
"No issue. We need you to enter Elvenheim. Matching your pace is only right."
"Appreciate that."
Garen grinned sheepishly, clapping Tiny's back.
Soon, they reached towering log walls woven from giant beast bones. A skull the size of a 10-meter gate served as the entrance, guarded by burly orc warriors who raised weapons at the sight of them.
"Ftofsto!!"
"Halt, humans!"
"We've cleared the warrior's challenge!"
Having already bested Red Boar riders in challenges, the hostile guards lowered arms when Garen raised the token, snorting and looking away—like they hated it but rules were rules.
"These orcs don't seem human-friendly."
"Can't blame them. Hill tribes aside, prairie ones war with the Empire every few generations."
"Ah..."
Tiny nodded silently, recalling how prairie orcs had raided the Empire's west amid past-life civil war chaos.
'Generational grudges.'
But with the Empire strong now, no repeat. Still, one worry lingered.
'Orc civil war. Years away, but...'
Learning more about orc cities couldn't hurt.
"That's the last rite, right?"
"Yeah, orcs hate pomp."
"Then in we go."
They stepped inside.
"Vrdytvd..."
"Elvvdycl?"
Murmurs.
Wary orc stares—halting, glaring—were hard to ignore, but understandable for outsiders.
First sight in Jammingwood: a feast of massive tents everywhere. Gasps escaped naturally.
"Whoa!"
Unknown hides, but the largest dwarfed five-story human buildings. Colorful, seamless skins adorned with unique bone motifs, neatly arrayed. Bone walkways at two-to-three-story heights bustled with orcs.
A wondrous city of hide crafts and bone architecture, alien to human ways. Jammingwood impressed Tiny deeply.
"...Way cooler than I thought."
Garen chuckled at the honest awe.
"Folks who haven't seen orc cities call them barbarians. Visit once, and that changes."
"I bet. Stunning."
"Yeah. And their meat dishes? Varied and delicious. You'll be shocked."
"That good?"
"Absolutely! You know some orc tongue, yet surprised here. Never been before?"
"...No. Wrong circumstances back then."
Tiny scanned the streets blankly, wry smile forming. Demon Beast Legion descents hit Great Forest elves and prairie orcs hardest. Beasts infested woods and plains, corrupting mana. Tribes fought to annihilation or abandoned civilizations, retreating over generations.
Tiny knew orc cities only from Warlord Zerik's tales.
'Zerik bragged for a reason. If Jammingwood's this grand, Bator must be epic.'
Recalling his old comrade in the orc holy city, Tiny smiled faintly. If Reaper Luna and Sword Emperor clashed most with him among the Ten Knights, Warlord Zerik and Moon Knight Silver Fang were closest.
Similar builds led to bets on raw strength, bonding them.
Though it sparked misunderstandings.
- Why fists when words work? You're humans, not forest beasts!!
Estina had fumed, but those pure physical contests built faster camaraderie than any talks among the Ten Knights.
'Five-four, seven-five my favor? My body was strongest. Now, post-regression? Zero losses.'
Tiny grinned at rare fond end-times memories—until:
"Great cities have inns for merchants. We'll rest there till Sandra recovers, then go. Careful: no fights with other orcs."
Garen pulled him back to reality.
"Pardon?"
"I'd love bonding with strong warriors, but prairie moods are sour lately. With our schedule, play safe."
Tiny's face hardened. If friendship-hobbyist Garen said it, things were bad.
But before the words settled:
"Humans who aren't merchants—rare sight. What brings you to Jammingwood these days?"
Fluent common tongue halted them.