The Discarded Pawn
Far north of Wintervalt, in a distant Giant Cave, the air was thick with heat from the breaths of hundreds of orcs. This cave held something no ordinary orc village possessed: a bone throne, crafted from the skeletons of countless monsters. Perched upon it sat a colossal orc. His name was Tarkan, a mutant among orcs and the great chieftain who had crushed and united the scattered tribes through sheer force.
"Kruk…."
"We… obey…!"
At Tarkan's feet, the orc chieftains who had once ruled their own domains lay prostrate in pools of their own blood, trembling uncontrollably. Those who had dared resist were long since dismembered, their limbs scattered as fodder for the surrounding beasts.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Then, an orc burst through the blizzard at the cave entrance. It was Karak, Tarkan's deputy and second-in-command of the orc legions. Twin axes dripping blood hung from his back as he dropped to one knee before the throne. His booming voice echoed through the cavern.
"Ku-ruk…! Great Chieftain! The nineteen tribes that ruled the western territories have sworn loyalty to you! Half the North now lies at your feet!"
Karak's eyes burned with devotion. He panted heavily, gaze fixed upward in eager anticipation of praise. But Tarkan merely shook his head coldly.
"That's not enough, Karak."
"Ku-ruk… Not enough, even after claiming nineteen tribes…?"
As Karak gaped in disbelief, Tarkan rose slowly from his throne. The orcs around it instinctively stepped back. Karak was massive enough to tower over the others, but before Tarkan, he looked like a mere child.
"To shatter the humans' walls and seize their warm lands, we must unite every tribe into one."
Tarkan's gaze drifted toward the cave's deepest shadows—the direction of the North, beyond the frozen wastes where the Demon King slumbered.
"The malevolent aura grows stronger by the day. The mana is corrupting, driving the monsters mad. Soon… the Demon King will awaken."
"Ku-ruk… The Demon King…?"
"Yes. When that time comes, this frozen land will be trampled by his armies. Before we're driven out like rats, we must steal the humans' warm territories and claim them as our new home. That's the only way for orcs to survive."
Unlike his kin, who raided out of mere hunger, Tarkan possessed insight on an entirely different level.
As Karak wracked his brain to grasp his chieftain's words, a hunched silhouette shuffled out from behind the throne. An elderly orc wearing an inverted beast skull helmet, leaning on a staff: the shaman Gur.
"Great Chieftain… the scouting crows have returned."
"Report, Gur."
Gur closed his milky eyes, communing with the crows.
"The humans' barrier has changed."
"Changed?"
"Yes. The old crumbling walls are gone. Now the entire barrier gleams blue and stands impossibly solid. And above all… the aura emanating from its ruler is unnatural."
Gur swallowed dryly before continuing.
"He's nothing like the humans of before. Incredibly, insanely strong. Not just him—the humans guarding the walls radiate a savage ferocity like wild beasts."
"……."
Tarkan fell silent. This was no longer the past, when starving humans shivered behind their spears. A reckless charge now would only spill orc blood in vain. He reached his decision.
"Hold off on the humans until winter deepens. Focus solely on fully uniting the remaining tribes."
"Ku-ruk…! But Great Chieftain! They're just frail humans! Our axes could smash that wall in one blow!"
The belligerent Karak bellowed in frustration. Tarkan's icy gaze pinned him.
"Karak. Charging in bare-handed to become target practice is idiotic."
Tarkan turned back to the shaman Gur.
"Gur. You've always been fascinated by human magic and tools, haven't you?"
"Yes, Great Chieftain. Indeed."
"Find an effective way to breach their walls. Build catapults, learn new spells—whatever it takes. We strike once, with overwhelming force, and crush them utterly."
"I… obey."
Gur bowed his head, while Karak scowled in confusion. Mimicking frail humans? It wounded his orcish pride. Then, Karak—whose memory was as short as his temper—suddenly recalled something and spoke up.
"Great Chieftain… I just remembered one more report."
"What is it?"
"Krok's band deserted the main force without orders. Claiming they couldn't wait for your command, he took five hundred elites and charged straight for the human walls on his own."
A chieftain who had defied Tarkan's orders and fled in rebellion. A situation that warranted fury—but Tarkan only smirked coldly.
"Foolish. I treated him like an ally instead of a subordinate because he showed a spark of strength, and now he forgets his place and runs off to die."
"Ku-ruk…! Shall I chase them down and bring you Krok's head?"
"No. Let them go."
Tarkan leaned back on his throne and closed his eyes.
"They'll make perfect meat shields to test just how sharp that human ruler's blade really is."
Tarkan's forces, entrenched in the mountains, were steadily swelling in power.
A snow-swept wasteland just beyond Wintervalt's walls.
"Krawaaaaargh!"
An ear-shattering orc roar sliced through the raging blizzard. The proud chieftain Krok led five hundred elite warriors southward, trampling the snow underfoot. In his grip was a fearsome bone axe carved from a wyvern's spine.
"Ku-ruk…! Tarkan…! Cowardly bastard!"
Krok spat phlegm and bellowed. For an orc, he mimicked human speech remarkably well. Chieftains naturally picked up the tongue to issue commands.
"Ku-rurruk…! Since when do orcs copy human toys?! Orcs conquer everything with our massive bodies and weapons alone! Ku-ruk…! Ain't that right, brothers?!"
His followers bared filthy teeth in savage agreement.
"Kruk! Humans! Meat!"
"Humans! Eat! Weak! Tasty!"
Dim-witted, they couldn't handle complex words, but they obeyed orders flawlessly. Their eyes blazed with hunger for blood and flesh.
Krok grinned, stroking his wyvern bone axe.
"Kuku-kuk…! I'll smash their walls in one swing! Once the gates fall, devour those trembling weaklings inside to your heart's content!"
"Humans! Eat!"
"Humans! Tasty!"
"Ku-ruk…! By the time that tardy Tarkan arrives, we'll have claimed all their warm lands! I'll flatten that smug nose of his!"
Krok reminisced about the distant past. Human walls, piled stones—fragile things that crumbled under a few axe blows. Behind them, scrawny soldiers whose spears shook with terror. The sweet taste of their blood made hot drool drip from Krok's jaws. He'd turned back once his belly was full, but today they had numbers to feast properly. Monster meat built strength but tasted like shit. He was sick of it. Why grind for power forever when delicious humans were right there?
Tarkan was a coward. Tarkan was boring. His warriors had chosen the fun-loving Krok over dull old Tarkan.
"Hurry! We'll feast on their guts before sunset!"
Krok and his five hundred charged toward Wintervalt like starving beasts.
How long had they run? The fierce northern blizzard began to clear.
Krok's brutish face split into a grin.
"Ku-ruk…! There it is! The humans' walls—!"
His words cut off. An otherworldly sight halted him in his tracks.
"……Ku-luk?!"
Krok's jaw dropped in stupidity. Orc faces tended to look dim by default.
"Ku-ruk… What the hell is that?"
The crumbling walls from his memory, felled by a single axe strike, were gone from Wintervalt. In their place loomed a magnificent fortress. Steel Trees formed its skeleton, packed tight with glowing blue slime mucus. An impregnable iron bastion.
"Kr, ku-rurruk…? Boss? We… attack that?"
"Hit… that…?"
Even to these idiots, chipping it with axes would just shatter their teeth. But what truly rattled Krok wasn't the material.
It was the faces of the humans packing the walls.
In Krok's memories, humans fled screaming at orcs' approach, dropping spears in terror. Even brave knights' eyes brimmed with fear. Humans were weak, cowardly creatures by nature.
But these humans staring down at them were different.
"Kiiiii-yah!"
"They're here! At least five hundred!"
"Brother! Time to show these southern adventurers some platinum-rank archery!"
"You got it. Housing prices are insane—who cares about inflation! All those orc magic stones are ours, Gale Party!"
Far from cowering, the humans drooled and leered with greedy smirks.
Orcs had never seen humans look at them that way. Thin-skinned, tender, delicious humans… who weren't even shivering in the cold.
The orcs panicked. A sun blazed atop the walls.
"N-Nighttime… why sun…?"
Overwhelmed by their momentum, Krok took a step back. A first in his life. Shame flushed his face crimson. He couldn't admit it. Grinding his teeth, he roared.
"Ku… ku-ruk…! It's all a bluff! The humans are just posturing out of fear!"
Krok thrust his wyvern bone axe skyward, bellowing at the top of his lungs.
"Charge! Shatter their flimsy walls and rip open those arrogant bastards' bellies—make 'em pay for mocking us!"
"Wooooaaargh!"
Krok's roar ignited their feral instincts. The orcs surged toward the walls—blissfully unaware that a monster of a duke was sharpening his blade, waiting.