The Greenskin's Greeting
Their eyes met, and the moment he shrugged, Estiang instinctively knew. That one was the leader—the chieftain of the orcs.
Kwaaak!Krwooo! It stood in stark contrast to the orcs still slamming their heads against the Great Wall with roars, resorting to body-checks when their skulls proved insufficient.
This wasn't about looks or hints of intelligence. His instincts were sounding the alarm.
The orcs bashing their heads against the ramparts were collapsing under volleys of flaming arrows and showers of scalding sand, but those witless fools were nothing more than sacrificial pawns. The distance was far too great to sense any presence, yet Estiang instinctively grasped that this orc was formidable—no battle required.
"Outrageous."
Even one-on-one, he doubted he'd lose. But it grated on him all the same.
"Pardon? Your Grace. Is something wrong?"
"Sir Wolfgang, can't you see it? You should be able to. That big blot over there."
"What do you mean...?"
Wolfgang tilted his head, peering where Estiang pointed with a puzzled frown.
"Filthy huge thing. A troll? Why isn't it charging straight at us like usual?"
"It's an orc."
At Estiang's words, Wolfgang's eyes bulged as he looked again.
"True, the ones around it do look like orcs."
"And an exceedingly arrogant one at that."
"Pardon?"
Wolfgang echoed the question, as if demanding clarification. Estiang couldn't suppress a hollow chuckle.
"It's observing us. Watching how we fight."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Karl's expression shifted dramatically.
"An orc... observing us, Your Grace?"
"Exactly."
Two thousand orcs charging the Great Wall. They hadn't inflicted a scratch, tumbling pathetically before even closing for their vaunted melee. But that chieftain clearly didn't count it as a loss.
Just two thousand. Over the centuries of Berg's history, how many orcs had perished failing to breach this wall? Easily millions.
Among them, the number he'd personally buried exceeded a hundred thousand—perhaps two or three hundred thousand, if the tales held true.
"Compared to that, two thousand is pocket change. Confident in sheer numbers? What kind of insane breeding rate is this?"
His voice emerged weary despite himself.
Sacrificing two thousand as disposable scouts to study their response. Learning their tactics in real time—countermeasures, everything. Turning a negligible loss into a textbook.
"If Your Grace is correct... then the orcs must already know."
"The rangers reported wiping out a couple of small villages on recon. Traces everywhere—of course they'd know."
"That we're not just hunkering down defensively anymore. That we're gearing up for offense. If they've clocked that, it explains the behavior."
"Exactly why it showed its face personally, when it never even peeked before."
Humans were no longer a passive threat cowering behind walls. They were an active danger, primed for battle.
Ironic. Monsters were existential threats to humans, and humans to monsters—mutual menace.
Just as he'd racked his brains countering intelligent monsters, that massive orc must have done the same, anticipating human strikes.
Hence its personal appearance.
"Doesn't add up," Wolfgang muttered, brow furrowed.
"If something like that existed, why have the orcs stayed quiet all this time?"
"No telling. Could be a shift in thinking."
Estiang replied promptly. Possibilities abounded: maybe it emerged recently. Pure speculation, every one.
"Anyway, it rubs me the wrong way. Best seat in the house, no ticket bought."
"Your Grace, that's dangerous."
His body itched to charge out. Roena sensed it and intervened at once, with Wolfgang chiming in.
"A breakthrough with the knights would be trivial, but the range is too extreme. It'll bolt before we reach it."
"Tch."
He clicked his tongue. A creature clever enough to scheme like that likely had ambushes prepped—or failing that, the distance doomed them. Even leading the Iron Fang Knights personally from the vanguard, it'd spot them and flee.
No fool would just stand there gawking.
If only he could nip it here. But let it spectate unanswered?
As he mulled, the orc stirred.
The hulking shadow accepted a long stick from its orc underlings. Arms crossed in pompous vigil till now, it finally moved.
It swung its arm experimentally a few times, then gripped the stick and assumed a stance. Backpedaling slowly, stick clutched tight.
"What the...?"
"It's moving—retreating?"
"Looks like a run-up... a run-up?"
Then it charged, hurling its grip.
A javelin. Whiiiiiing—! A shriek tearing the air, loud enough for the entire battlefield.
The spear bridged the vast gap in a straight line, plummeting down. Arcing high into the sky, it bore dead-on diagonally toward him.
"Scratch 'arrogant.' Now it's indescribably loathsome."
"Your Grace, evade!"
Roena lunged in horror, as if to shield him bodily. Estiang merely extended a hand.
"Sir Roena. Your loyalty touches me deeply, but I've no cause to dodge trash like that."
The honed bone tip zeroed his heart. Impressive skill, but a split second from his armor—
His outstretched hand snatched it mid-flight.
The spear bucked with rebound force, flexing with a resonant thwang, a faint tingle racing up his arm. Pure physical throw, bereft of aura. The empire's strongest had no trouble snaring it.
"Ha."
He fixed the orc with a stare, spear secured. Far off, it capered wildly, waving arms like thunderous applause.
"If that's deliberate provocation, it's a masterclass in gall."
How could everything about it be so infuriating?
"Something's attached. A wooden tag with writing—Imperial common tongue."
Even the unflappable Karl pointed at the spear, composure cracking.
The chieftain of the Greenskins, Gromkul, sends greetings to the human chieftain.
"Greetings? Greetings?"
Wolfgang sputtered in disbelief.
An orc that had mastered human speech, delivering its message in the tongue of men—not its own guttural greenskin babble.
In this scene defying sight itself, Estiang gripped the spear as firmly as it had.
"So its name's Gromkul."
"Your Grace?"
"Greetings received. Time to return the courtesy."
He seized the javelin that had flown such distances, aura surging explosively through his veins. Muscles taut to breaking—
Unlike Gromkul, no run-up. From standstill, he hurled with everything.
The air screamed louder than its throw, tracing the inbound path higher still—a meteor scouring the earth, plunging diagonally.
Courtesy returned. Your move.
Intent bare, he locked eyes. Gromkul recoiled with a startled leap.
Kwaaaaang—!
Distance be damned—a colossal blast echoed clear. On impact, pent aura detonated in a blizzard gale.
Like an avalanche, white flurries whipped through the explosion.
When the snow cleared, Gromkul emerged unscathed from its retreat.
It capered again, mimicking applause.
"That filthy...!"
Wolfgang snarled.
Thrown to kill, but he'd expected no hit.
"His Grace threw a javelin...?"
"No, something flew at him earlier too."
"What the hell happened?"
Soldiers who'd witnessed the exchange amid their duties murmured. By then, the mere two thousand orcs had melted like sugar cubes in scalding tea, most sprawled lifeless.
Task complete even in the uproar, the troops traded baffled glances.
The nerve war with Gromkul had ended the battle. Battle over, Gromkul waved once more grandly.
Then turned, as if bored of the show, and sauntered off.
"Karl."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Summon all officers the instant cleanup finishes. Emergency council."
"Understood."
Karl, who'd seen it all, nodded crisply.
Gromkul, Hellscrim, whatever—its name meant nothing.
"Their chieftain paraded openly? Time we planned countermeasures."
After general came foolhardy pursuit—the natural flow. Once in grasp, no mercy.
"Topic: emergence of orc chieftain specimen. Countermeasures assuming it's learned our tactics."