Dirty Rotten Magic

The large, muscular-bodied orc advanced with his ax held over his broad shoulder, his every step echoing against the gritty sand underfoot. Beads of sweat mingled with the dust on his toned and powerful body as the relentless sun bore down, igniting the air with a scorched tang. The edge of his half-moon blade glinted in the light—a shimmering promise of imminent violence—while his thick arm muscles coiled like serpents ready to strike. I shifted my own weight, angling my blunt axe head with determined precision to intercept his deadly swing, my senses attuned to every nuance: the sizzling heat, the metallic tang in the air, and the subtle sound of muscles straining before the impact.

As the two ax blades met, a spark of light burst forth, a fleeting star born of raw power and precision. The impact reverberated through my body, transferring a jolt of force from my arms down into my legs. The ringing clamor of the collision pierced my ears—a sound I recognized all too well from countless bouts that day, a harsh chorus of battle that was both a warning and a rallying cry. I stood firm, legs braced like ancient pillars, deflecting the blow with a determination honed by hardship. Just a month ago, this same strike would have sent me sprawling helplessly to the ground, but now, with newfound agility and resolve, I twisted my body in a fluid motion and delivered a retaliatory cut to the orc chieftain's robust frame. My training ax's edge found the vulnerable gap between his breast plate and lower belly protection, a precise and calculated strike. In that moment, a subtle flash from his personal shield acknowledged my success, as though the very magic of the battlefield approved; had my blade been any sharper, it would have carved deep into his flesh.

Retreating a step, the powerful orc's smile broadened as he addressed me with a gruff, almost jovial tone: "Greatly improved. You're not such an embarrassment to me now. I worried there for a while if I would be embarrassed to show you to my wife as the man who nearly killed me." His words, rough as gravel yet laced with a peculiar fondness, blended with the rhythmic beat of our clashing weapons.

The past month since my singular combat with the orc chieftain at the stronghold had been a whirlwind of painful yet rewarding personal improvement. Each grueling day of training had propelled me from the depths of inadequacy to a position where I no longer ranked at the bottom in matters of combat. The chief had designed an intense, often agonizing training regimen to forge me into a warrior who could hold his own in this perilous world—a world where becoming a mere pin cushion for monstrous foes was no longer an option, despite my remarkable healing abilities.

Training alongside the harsh, uncompromising orc warriors had been a baptism of fire. I had stumbled through the basics of combat, making mistakes that, for others, might have been fatal, as they relentlessly pushed me to my limits. Yet, once they realized that death was no longer a guaranteed outcome, the practice morphed into a brutal contest: a test of endurance to see just how much punishment I could endure. I had come to embody the grim adage, "What does not kill you makes you stronger," with every scar and bruise a testament to that harsh truth.

The healing power I possessed was my saving grace, a relentless force that mended my wounds with astonishing speed. With each passing day, my resilience grew, and I marveled at the rapid recovery that allowed me to push further into the relentless barrage of combat. Now, at a respectable level in combat skill, I could stand toe-to-toe with even the lower orc warriors. Today, luck had favored me during the clash with the chief, awarding me a rare victory in our deadly dance.

This ascent in combat prowess had come at the cost of immense pain and relentless effort. Yet, like every law in this unforgiving world, practice was the key to survival. I noticed that the harder I fought, the more respect the orcs begrudgingly conferred upon me. The rough, scorching sand of the training area pressed against my bare feet, a constant reminder of the environment in which I had chosen to carve my destiny. Eschewing armor and shoes had become my trademark—an emblem of raw, unadorned combat prowess that earned both admiration and envy. Even as the orcs meticulously tended to their armor and weaponry—a practical yet proud display akin to humans parading elegant attire—their focus remained unyielding on the art of battle.

As I backed off, Chief Xugaa ambled over with a light, almost teasing pat on my shoulder. His booming voice resonated through the charged air as he declared, "It's time for you to travel to the south and see what we hold back from the rest of the kingdoms to the north and how they so undeservingly benefit from our struggle without fulfilling their obligations." His words, punctuated by the clink of his own battle-worn armor, mingled with the ambient clamor of the training grounds.

"We'll be leaving soon as the army is going south for replacement. They have come to the end of their required service, and now it's time for most of them to settle down." His tone carried both the weight of duty and the levity of camaraderie. With that, he strode away, his heavy footsteps sinking into the sand, as another warrior stepped in to assume his position.

During the brief interlude, I swiftly consulted my stats in the book of life, the pages filled with meticulous records of my journey:

Name:  Chrix   Top Skill   Blade weapon use

Character Total Level:  20

Major  Strength  Fortitude  Agility

Number:  11   11   11

Major  Intelligence  Charisma  Knowledge

Number:  130   16   10

Minor  Shield  Magical Power  Stamina  Carry Limit

Number:  N/A   660   65   32

Regen Sec:  N/A   27   2.1   N/A

Skill Table

Name  Major  Level  XP to the next level  XP  Comment

Unarmed combat  Strength/Agility  10  1100  10  Any fighting without weapons

Blunt weapon use  Strength/Agility  10  1100  200  Use of a blunt weapon in combat

Trading  Charisma  1  200  50  Buying and selling items

Romantic  Charisma  0  100  48  -

Running  Strength/Agility  15  1600  23  -

Gambling  Charisma  18  1900  45

Shield Magic  Intelligence  19  2000  200  Any type of shield magic

Domestic Magic  Intelligence  5  600  34  Useful for all types of work around the house

Fire magic  Intelligence  20  2100  115  Any heat energy magic

Blade weapon use  Strength/Agility  20  2100  500  Use of a blade weapon in combat

Thanks to the orcs' rigorous and punishing training, I had ascended to a respectable level of twenty in blade weapon use. The other skills had blossomed as well, nurtured during long hours of studying magical spellcasting beyond the harsh daytime drills. I was already mastering some domestic spells that not only improved my living standards in this technology-free realm but also imbued my day-to-day life with a touch of arcane convenience—spells that could clean, provide light, repair worn clothes, and perform other simple tasks with a flourish. Experimenting with these spells was as exhilarating as it was practical, a creative outlet amidst the brutal discipline of combat.

My unwavering focus on intelligence had yielded bountiful rewards, propelling me to level twenty in fire magic alongside my burgeoning martial abilities. Grinning cockily at the earlier compliment from the chief—a man whose respect I had painstakingly earned over the weeks—I shifted once more into a defensive stance. My ax, raised with renewed purpose, prepared to deflect the next onslaught from another orc warrior. The enemy's wild, decapitating swing of a wickedly curved ax blade cut through the air with a fearsome whoosh, but I managed to intercept it with my own, the resounding clang of metal echoing like a battle hymn across the training grounds. I silently thanked the magical maintenance spell I had learned, a necessary boon as the ceaseless skirmishes left their toll on my weapons.

For the ensuing hours, I battled warrior after warrior, each confrontation marked by the persistent, searing heat of the sun as it journeyed slowly across the sky. The intense sunlight bounced off the sandy arena, amplifying the oppressive heat, yet my endurance felt inexhaustible—a gift of my healing power that allowed me to persist through the most grueling challenges. I fought with a smile, buoyed by the knowledge that my seemingly unlimited stamina granted me the capacity to endure endless bouts, even as the orcs themselves took frequent breaks. Working in coordinated teams under the chief's command, they orchestrated a relentless cycle of combat, pitting wave after wave of warriors against me in a never-ending, swirling contest that resembled an infinite, brutal merry-go-round.

Amid the clamor of clashing axes and the low murmur of side bets—an ever-present undercurrent in this gambling-addicted nation—I noticed the orcs' growing astonishment as my endurance defied all expectations. Their bets, whispered in guttural tones and punctuated by boisterous laughter, steadily favored my survival as my prowess and resilience continued to improve. Over the course of my month-long sojourn at the stronghold, I had gambled frequently, never resorting to any 'magical' shortcuts for performance enhancement, yet still reaping a respectable windfall from their wagers.

One unavoidable drawback, however, was the glaring absence of advanced magical training among the orcs. Their focus remained primarily on the physical arts, leaving me with access only to the beginner-level spellbook I had purchased upon entering this dangerous world. Determined to break free from this limitation, I silently vowed that one of my first tasks upon returning to the human kingdoms would be to acquire higher-level combat spells and to meticulously reallocate my bonuses across each skill. For reasons that remained frustratingly enigmatic, the orcs' book of life system differed starkly from that of the humans, leaving me adrift without the guidance I so desperately needed.

--

Rhythmic, thunderous footfalls pounded relentlessly in my ears as the army surged around me, a living tide of orcs marching southward toward what everyone simply called "the wall." Amid the cacophony of singing, chanting, and raucous shouts that echoed off the trees, a raw, boisterous energy enveloped the procession. The songs—filled with a crude, enigmatic humor and arcane references that evaded my human understanding—merged with the deep bass of guttural laughter. I could not fathom why all the males in the army buzzed with such anticipation as we headed south, not even the chief's usually stoic visage could hide the gentle warmth of a rare smile.

As we pressed further into the wilderness, the forest transformed around us: its foliage grew richer in shades of green, the canopy thicker and almost suffocating with life. The humid air carried the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a primal perfume that announced our approach to a jungle-like realm. With each step, I noticed more and more monstrous silhouettes flitting between ancient trunks—a grim reminder that danger lurked even in nature's embrace. This uptick in monster sightings provided ample chance to test my newly honed combat skills with my ax. The chief had positioned me at the frontline in every clash, insisting that nothing compares to the brutal, visceral experience of real combat.

He often repeated in his gravelly tones, "Nothing is a substitute for real combat. It will do you good to get some under your blade." Now, with my ax sharpened to a deadly gleam by a fresh enchantment, I could feel it slicing effortlessly through the hide of the creatures. We had just emerged victorious from a gruesome battle against a horde of tusked pigs—massive beasts, each as large as a small horse, whose blood still stained the forest floor. The chief's command to butcher the slain beasts for food had sent shockwaves of coordinated efficiency through the warriors; I watched as comrades expertly gutted the monstrous swine and stowed their entrails and meat into crude, makeshift packs for transport to the wall.

We broke into a run to recover lost time. I sprinted beside the formidable orc chief at the head of a sprawling column that had trudged south for a week. Trailing behind us, numerous wagonloads laden with supplies creaked along slowly—a caravan purchased by northern orc embassies with the spoils of the chief's victorious skirmish against humans. Securing these vital supplies for the wall had been a colossal effort for the chief, whose urgency betrayed an inner anxiety over the impending siege. I marveled at the intricate trade between kingdoms: orcs trading northern weaponry for spoils of monstrous hunts, a system I planned to exploit to extract coin from the northern realms.

Amid the pounding of hooves and feet, my mind turned inward. Each step seemed to fortify my body, a physical metamorphosis as stamina surged within me. The run, though arduous, was eased by the slow-moving wagons we guarded, their creaking wheels a steady counterpoint to our racing hearts. Ahead, the horizon boasted an extensive mountain range—a serrated line of peaks slicing across the sky. I wiped sweat from my eyes and gazed upward, where jagged mountains, crowned with glistening ice even in the midst of summer, rose like ancient sentinels. The interplay of white and blue snow against rugged black rock created a dramatic tapestry that filled me with awe and ignited my curiosity about winter's harsher embrace.

Below the icy caps, massive, gray-black rocks jutted from the slopes, forming an imposing, nearly impregnable barrier accessible only to the most skilled climbers. Rumor had it that a solitary pass through these forbidding mountains led to the world beyond—a pass now fiercely guarded by the wall and the legendary women's army of orcs. "We'll be able to see the pass into the mountains soon," the orc chief remarked beside me, his voice heavy with both pride and wariness. "This is our main line of defense against the sea of monsters surging north. Our solemn duty is to uphold this line forever—even if the kingdoms to the north forget the peril we face daily."

As the massive army rounded a bend in the forest track, we emerged into a sweeping clearing carpeted with wild grass. In its center lay a meticulously mown meadow, a stark sign that the wall's sentinels had long been aware of our arrival. Neatly arranged tents formed a sprawling camp, an orderly cluster prepared for immediate occupation. Yet, it was not this scene that arrested my breath—it was the awe-inspiring sight of the wall and its guarding pass that left me momentarily speechless.

Never before had I witnessed engineering of such monumental scale, whether in my own world or this one. Between towering, steep mountains lay a deep, rugged, and cavernous pass carved into the stone. Trees clung tenaciously to the near-vertical slopes, their gnarled roots wedged into every crevice. The scene evoked the image of a divine force—a colossal, mythic ax sweeping a clean cut through the mountain, as the orc legends claimed. On either side, towering mountain outcrops plunged into unfathomable depths, the exposed stratified rock revealing swirling ribbons of color as if painted by the hand of time itself.

Yet my eyes soon shifted from the natural marvel to the man-made wonder obstructing the pass—a colossal, seamless stone wall stretching for hundreds of meters. Its mass reminded me of the awe-inspiring Hoover Dam, its sheer presence dwarfing everything in its vicinity. Atop the wall stood imposing forts, their black granite ramparts crowned with parapets lined with deadly engines of war. Far below, the orcs appeared as scurrying ants against the massive battlements, their movements punctuated by the sharp twang of artillery launching projectiles into the yawning pass. It was as if the mountain itself had been tamed and carved into an impregnable citadel, guarding the northern lands with unwavering resolve.

"The southern pass to the world to the south of the continent," declared the chief with a blend of pride and apprehension in his eyes, "was engineered by the dwarves hundreds of years ago. We have defended these dark battlements for all these years, a duty bestowed upon us by our allies."

With the gravity of the moment weighing upon us, we resumed our run toward a fortress nestled at the base of the immense wall. Encircled by high walls and patrolled by vigilant defenders armed with long spears, the fortress loomed as a beacon of security. Behind it, the gargantuan wall continued its stalwart vigil over the pass. The fortress's dual-layer defense underscored the wall's critical importance. As the army began to disperse into the camp in response to shouted orders, the chief and I sprinted toward the imposing metal and stone gates. Before us, a squad of orc warriors in full battle armor bristled with readiness.

I knew the famed women of the orc nation were the guardians of this formidable barrier, yet seeing them arrayed in battle regalia was a revelation. Though slightly shorter and more lithe than their male counterparts, their armor gleamed with intricate detail and bore magical symbols that whispered of ancient power. Their presence confirmed the vital role they played in our defense. Up close, it was unmistakable—their lithe, elegant forms exuded both grace and lethal strength, affirming Sir Lohein's words that the female orcs were paragons of beauty. I noticed several male warriors exchanging wide-eyed glances, clearly captivated by the sight of these formidable guardians.

The chief halted before a squad of guards, nodding in respectful acknowledgement. "Please inform the empress that her husband is here with the supplies and the army," he intoned. One of the female warriors, her armor scuffed yet dignified, smiled broadly at the sight of the wagon train approaching. "Thank goodness. We feared we might have to pull defenders from the wall to confront the humans ourselves," she remarked, her tone laced with both relief and a teasing bravado. The chief's face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and humility—a stark contrast to the usual imposing warrior I had come to admire. Normally, I would have expected him to challenge her in a duel of honor, but instead, he simply nodded, his silence speaking volumes about his internal chagrin at the supply shortfall. I sensed that his restraint stemmed from a deep-seated principle: he would never lash out at his own soldiers, even under provocation, though his history bore witness to the force he wielded when needed.

The guard, still confident in her provocation, stepped aside and relayed orders through a small portal embedded in the stone and metal door of the fortress. As we paused for a few tense minutes awaiting her reply, I edged closer to the chief—a proud, stalwart figure known for his strength—and remarked quietly, "You seem to have an endless reservoir of patience and tolerance with the women here." He inclined his head with a modest smile and replied, "I know my place. Mine is to support the empress's paramount duty—to hold back the relentless tide of monsters seeking to flood the north. Unfortunately, today's shortage of supplies means we might be forced to redeploy defenders from the wall, a prospect that could spell disaster for us all."

For the first time since our encounter in the arena, I caught a glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes—a humble admission from a battle-hardened warrior. Off to the side of the main door, a smaller entry swung open to reveal a guard whose armor, though battered and streaked with fresh blood, retained a refined elegance. Her presence was commanding; a broad, toothy smile greeted Chief Xugaa as she stepped forward. "It's good to see you with the army—and especially good to see the supplies you bring," she declared, her voice resonant with both warmth and professional pride. More diplomatic than her counterparts, she exuded a sense of calm authority.

"Thank you, Chancellor Yotul," the chief responded, his voice a mix of gratitude and restrained pride. As he glanced briefly at the earlier insolent warrior, who now returned his look with a mischievous smile, the chancellor admonished lightly, "Enough flirting with the chief. You know the empress will not tolerate such behavior. Look at what he's delivered—a whole male army at your disposal. Now, leave him be." The guard, rather unperturbed, merely nodded as she watched the incoming wagons, a playful glimmer in her eye.

"Follow me. The empress is currently on the wall," Yotul instructed, "and bring along that human—whatever he may be. We've all heard much about him. The empress is preparing for a heavy wave of monsters that will soon attack through the pass, and it will be an ideal opportunity for your army to display its prowess. I'm sure the women finishing their duties will relish demonstrating their skills as well." The chief's smile broadened with pride as he issued commands to his lieutenants. Soon, we found ourselves ushered into the fortress.

Inside, the cold, unyielding stone beneath my bare feet spoke of ancient, masterful engineering. The seamless ground, unbroken by cracks or unevenness, hinted at a construction performed by a meticulous hand. I couldn't help but ponder the genius of the Dwarven engineer responsible for this fortress. Leaving behind the caress of warm sunlight, we stepped into a dim, cavern-like interior that evoked the eerie calm of a subterranean cave. The heavy door we passed through was solid, its counterweighted heft suggesting that every element of this fortress had been crafted to last. Every mechanism—from the thick stone walls to the sophisticated door locks—echoed with an air of enduring elegance. Even the armor and weaponry worn by the women here were of a quality far surpassing anything I had encountered in this world.

Navigating the winding tunnel at the fortress's base, I marveled at how the passageway snaked its way through the stone. It was illuminated by a mixture of magical lights and oil lamps that hung like tiny beacons on the walls and ceiling, casting shifting pools of yellow-white radiance that danced across the rugged surfaces. In these fleeting moments of light, I could discern intricate carvings of ancient, swirling runes, as though the very walls whispered secrets of old magic. Noticing my curiosity, the chief remarked, "Dwarven runes. You'll find them etched throughout this complex. Don't ask me what they do—just know they are part of the wall's design, and yes, they are magic." I committed these enigmatic symbols to memory, suspecting that my magic book might someday offer their hidden meaning.

After what felt like an eternity winding through the tunnel, we emerged beneath a grand portcullis into a vast, vaulted hall. The immense space resembled an armory on a monumental scale: rows upon rows of long spears and assorted weapons, arranged meticulously on wooden racks. Each weapon seemed to hum with a latent, almost palpable energy—as though they were not merely tools of war, but conduits of some profound, suppressed power. I wondered at the cost and craftsmanship of such magical armaments.

In one corner of the hall, a wooden doorway led to a bustling courtyard where the metallic clamor of a blacksmith at work resonated like the heartbeat of the fortress. I imagined the ceaseless rhythm of hammers striking anvils, echoing the fervor of a northern stronghold where skilled craftswomen labored over weapons and armor for the coming siege. Yet instead of venturing through this open gateway, we were guided toward another exit—an adjoining tunnel leading to a grand spiral staircase. Before ascending, we passed through heavy metal doors guarded by vigilant soldiers who, upon recognizing the chancellor, allowed us to proceed without a word.

"Heavy security," I muttered under my breath.

"Nothing is more important to the empire than this wall," the chief replied, his tone firm yet laced with resignation.

The spiral staircase itself was a marvel—a massive, twisting structure wound around a central stone column, its breadth ample enough for four or more to climb abreast. Timeworn indentations in the stone hinted at countless ascents over the years, while Dwarven runes along the walls shimmered faintly with magical energy. I focused on memorizing these ancient patterns as I steadily climbed, grateful for my physical fitness even as the ascent seemed endless. Occasionally, I stole a glance through a narrow slit in the wall, watching the forest shrink into a miniature tableau far below. The orc chancellor bounded up with youthful vigor, while the chief, encased in heavy armor, grunted and joked, "Next time, we should take that cursed lift."

"I forgot how much you hate the climb," the chancellor quipped. "It'll do you well to scale these steps two or three times a day. And perhaps, your wife would appreciate a trimmer gut." I glanced at the broad, muscular chief, puzzled by the remark—he was as fit as a warrior could be—but recognized it as familiar banter between old friends.

At last, the staircase yielded to a top landing—a solid expanse of stone seemingly hewn straight from the mountainside. Soldiers, hot and dust-covered from battle, descended the steps; among them, several women in flowing magicians' robes attended to wounded comrades, their hands aglow with healing magic. I watched as vibrant waves of magical energy coalesced around deep wounds, knitting flesh and closing cuts in a mesmerizing dance of restoration.

Exiting the stairway, we entered another vast hall brimming with supplies and weaponry for the warriors stationed on the wall. The chancellor, now turning her courteous attention to me, explained, "This is the citadel at the top of the wall. The empress is currently overseeing its defenses. We have intelligence that a major wave of creatures is about to strike the pass, so she's preparing for battle." Squads of orc warriors maneuvered with disciplined urgency across the hall, their movements a blend of precision and anticipation. Winding through a labyrinth of twisting tunnels, we were finally directed toward a final arched tunnel sealed by a massive stone door.

At one side, the empress herself spoke softly into a small brass trumpet, "This is Chancellor Yotul. I need access to the top of the wall. Today's password is…" Her voice trailed off, barely audible above the hum of the fortress. As her words faded, a grinding sound began from deep within the wall—a cacophony of giant mechanisms shifting massive amounts of stone. Gradually, the enormous door, embedded with iron teeth that gripped the floor, slowly lifted into the ceiling. I marveled at the engineering: square metal teeth fitting perfectly into carved recesses, locking the door in place with mechanical precision. The door's immense weight was evident in its laborious movement—a force so tremendous that, if it were to fall, it would crush anything beneath it to a mere smear.

Passing through the newly revealed passage, the noonday sunlight burst through the tunnel, welcoming us into a scene of military order. A large squad of female soldiers, clad in full armor and wielding long spears with broad, gleaming heads, stood guard. Many also bore axes or swords at their sides, each carrying a sturdy shield. Their vigilant eyes scanned the horizon, ever alert to the encroaching threat. One of the women at the rear of the squad turned and greeted, "Greetings, Chancellor." The chancellor returned the nod as we emerged onto the flat surface of the gargantuan pass wall, and I couldn't help but wonder at the ingenuity behind such a colossal construction—an edifice that rivaled the very mountains that embraced it.

Citadels, carved directly into the mountainside, flanked the wall, their platforms bristling with engines of war that fired missiles relentlessly toward the narrowing pass. From the sheer edge, I beheld a scorched no-man's land—a barren expanse where nothing dared to live except for the monstrous creatures relentlessly attacking the wall. In the distance, several colossal beasts slithered from the forest, their forms grotesque and unrecognizable, as if fashioned by a deranged sculptor. I stood in shock at the sight of one particularly monstrous entity: a creature with a blue, turtle-like shell protruding from its back, its surface marred by the scars of battle. Despite its small size—barely five meters long—it moved with a determined, almost pained persistence. As it inched forward, heavy metal bolts fired from the citadel's engines rained down upon it, some ablaze with tar that seared its hardened shell, yet the beast continued its assault, driven by an inexplicable, relentless will to breach the wall.

Drawing nearer, I observed its front—a gaping, cone-shaped mouth lined with jagged spiral teeth that flexed ominously, as though eager to grind down any matter ensnared within. Surrounding this macabre maw were long, crimson tentacles tipped with thick, hook-like pads, each seeking to grasp and rip apart any organic matter in its path, reducing it to a hideous paste. My stomach churned at the grotesque display, and I felt a surge of revulsion mingle with morbid fascination.

My gaze shifted back to the defense atop the wall. Organized battalions of orc warriors, their formations as tight and disciplined as a living organism, worked in unison to repel the monstrous onslaught. Along the outer edge, several orc women prepared formidable wooden engines—contraptions designed to drop massive bolts, as heavy and lethal as sharpened telegraph poles, onto any scaling creature. Other squads, armed with large shields and spears, moved in coordinated turtle formations, their collective strength forming an unyielding barrier against the advancing threat.

Before we could venture further, the chancellor called out, "Wait while they repel this attack. It shouldn't be too long." I sensed my own doubt lingering, yet her calm confidence dispelled it, "They know what they are doing." As I watched, the sizable, armored creature scaled the wall with a disconcerting ease, its centipede-like legs gripping the vertical stone. With bated breath, I observed as, with a concerted push and pull from the defenders, one of the bolt engines was maneuvered directly above the creature. In a fluid, almost mechanical sequence, a massive wooden bolt was released. Gravity took hold as the bolt plummeted down the wall, its metal tip piercing the creature's gaping mouth before slicing through its tender flesh. The beast collapsed onto its back, blood and viscous fluids erupting in a horrifying spray that splattered against the stone.

As if summoned by the macabre spectacle, smaller, insect-like scavengers emerged, scurrying over the fallen giant with relentless hunger. They began feasting on the still-twitching carcass, a grim scene that even the battle-hardened defenders paused to observe. Once sated, these scavengers retreated into the forest's shadowy depths.

Recovering from the ghastly display, a woman in full battle armor charged forward like a rampaging bull, crashing into Chief Xugaa with a forceful, exuberant embrace that rattled her own plate and mail. I wondered if the sheer momentum would unseat the chief, but he remained steadfast, absorbing the impact with quiet strength. As the pair finally separated, the chancellor stepped forward with a ceremonious tone, "May I introduce Oghash, empress of the orcs."

Their embrace, lasting perhaps too long for the bystanders, underscored a reunion that spoke of long separations and deep affections—a sentiment that drew knowing smiles from the assembled orcs.

The empress, her tone both matter-of-fact and warm, addressed her husband, "We have a major wave of creatures about to hit the wall. So it's going to get dangerous around here for a while." I mused internally on what "dangerous" truly meant, given that the creature we had just witnessed certainly qualified as a formidable threat. Then, turning directly toward me with piercing, recognizing eyes, she advanced and grasped my hand in a firm, assuring grip. "I must thank you, Chrix, for not killing my proud and foolish husband when you had the chance, and more importantly, for preserving his honor." Her words, though laced with teasing reproach, carried an undeniable sincerity. "We will discuss your plan to extract funds from the northern kingdoms later, after the battle. But for now, our duty calls. My husband claims you have greatly improved in combat; I would like to see your mettle. Will you join one of the skirmish groups and lend your ax to our cause?"

"Yes," I replied eagerly, ready to prove myself.

"The chancellor will now lead you to a unit of skirmishers. I must prepare for the incoming wave, so we shall speak again once the battle subsides." She then turned to her husband, adding with a playful glint in her eyes, "You've brought a couple of battalions with you. Shall we see how they enjoy serving on the wall?" The chief beamed with pride as he nodded, "I believe my men are eager to impress the women of the wall; I shall place them under your command."

"Good," the empress replied with a wry smile. "Let's see how many couples we can forge in the heat of battle, then." I glanced at the chancellor, whose laughter at my bewildered expression only deepened the mystery of her remark. "Wait and see what unfolds after the fight—an education indeed. Come with me; it's time for you to witness what we do on the wall."