B3 Chapter 50: Necessary Sacrifices

A head thumped to the floor of the battle pit, eliciting a fresh round of howls and jeers rose from the orcs crowding around its perimeter. The fountain of blood that erupted skyward from the stump intensified their frenzy further, its coppery tang fueling a [Battle Lust] haze so thick that it may well have been visible.

Grund simply sighed and set his axe back in his belt, doing his best to hide his disdain. The body crumpling to the sand before him represented his thirteenth challenger of the day. Maybe even his last, if he was lucky.

It was only to be expected, given the sheer number of orcs he’d called together. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy for his late brother. Thak had only needed to weather a fraction of these challenges when he’d claimed his position as warchief a decade earlier. His impressive size and undeniable strength meant that only the pinnacle specimens of their race even considered going against him.

But Grund… well, his “brethren” could hardly imagine losing to someone smaller than themselves.

Unfortunately, he was one of the rare examples where size could be misleading. His attempts to whittle down the crowd with clean, efficient killings had only served to worsen the problem. At least the unending stream of challenges had slowed now that he’d adopted a more brutal and theatrical style. Something that he should have known was unavoidable, yet still. It brought him no pleasure, even if it would result in less death and suffering in the long run. It made him feel like the hunters that savaged their prey before finally ending them, simply for their own enjoyment.

It only reaffirmed his resolve. His people could become more. Could change. And he would be its harbinger.

Grund felt the fox talisman around his neck warm as it absorbed the life force of the challenger across from him. He waited one more moment for another to leap into the ring, yet despite the churning of the crowd, none came. Grund allowed himself a small smile. Finally, he could get back to more important matters.

“Remember this, brothers!” Grund shouted to the baying orcs around. “Remember the strength of your warchief! The strength that will lead us to victory against any who dare stand before our might!”

The orcs roared in response. Despite the enthusiastic response, though, he knew they wouldn’t remember. It wouldn’t stop the challenges from starting anew tomorrow. It never did.

Strutting away from the makeshift arena, Grund began weaving his way back through the tent city of Makarpura. It, like so much of orcish culture, was a temporary thing that grew and shrank with the ebbs and flows of its nomadic people and the wars of its tribes. Yet with the numbers he had assembled under a single banner, the place had begun to resemble something like an actual civilization. It gave him hope for the future—and for his own success.

He soon retreated into his own tent. Digging in his pocket, he retrieved a folded scrap of thin, crackly material inscribed with all manner of symbols. Paper, it had been called. He’d taken whatever samples of the stuff whenever he found it among the humans, hiding it discreetly beneath more traditional loot in order to avoid even more scrutiny from his fellows. The idea of a writing system fascinated him. A way to personally pass down knowledge without need for himself or even an elder? It was mind-boggling. It could well revolutionize the currently oral tradition that his people operated upon.

The workings of these writings currently eluded him. And if he couldn’t make heads or tails of them, then he rather doubted that any other orcs would have the ability or desire to do the same. For now. But if he succeeded…

Grund’s attempts to decipher the writing were interrupted as the tent flap opened. A tall, wiry orc stepped inside, his hides a mottled mixture of brown and black that blended into the landscape well. A collection of axes hung from his belt, each sized a little smaller than the standard battleaxe that most orcs favored. Most notably, though, his arm bore a glowing brand in the shape of a curled fox—one eerily similar to the talisman hanging around Grund’s own neck.

“Nox,” Grund nodded in greeting. “What is it?”

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Nox grunted. “We found the humans. Fought ‘em not too far from here.”

Grund grimaced, his small tusks protruding a bit further from beneath his lip. “Did you engage them personally?”

“No. My tribe did, though. I pulled them back once it was clear we wouldn’t be able to crush them outright. I brought a few with me if you have questions for ‘em.”

“Good.” He’d been all but certain they’d be pursued after retreating from Novara, but had never been able to confirm. Scouting wasn’t exactly the orcs’ strong suit, usually. Though the implication that the humans had escaped was annoying, it couldn’t be helped. At least they would learn something from the encounter. “Do your people know where they fled?”

Nox scoffed. “Of course. My trackers know the land well enough to see where they were headed.”

Grund appraised the orc before him. The Shasha clan were hunters, accustomed to utilizing stealth and guile in their tactics—moreso than practically any other. Though that wasn’t the only reason Grund felt a kinship with them. Nox’s eyes had a certain enlightened clarity to them, not too dissimilar from Grund’s own. It was a far cry from the delirious state the tall hunter had initially been found in, stumbling toward the encampment as his freshly-carved brand left a trail of blood in his wake.

He wasn’t the only one, either. More and more worshippers of Morgranth had sought Grund out with each passing day. Some were former recluses like his mentor that had hidden away among the wastes. Others babbled on about a divine mission and enlightenment until Grund shepherded them away from the readied axes of Makarpura’s current populace.

Nox had recovered far better than some of the others. Though all of the followers of Morgranth had proven more useful than the rest of his brethren. They were able to think, to go beyond the basic tactics of “charge and attack”. Some even were able to wrangle their brethren better than Grund could. The orcish god of wisdom did not suffer fools, it seemed.

They made excellent commanders. Those who survived taking charge, at least. Though even they needed time to solidify their place in the hierarchy and learn the art of directing their brethren. Something Grund was all too glad to help with.

At this point, almost a fifth of his army followed the command of such a leader—less than he would’ve preferred, but considering its sheer size? The number was nothing to scoff at. There was much he could do with the options now available to him, the tactics he could employ now. This time, the humans would have a much more fearsome foe to contend with.

“Good job, Nox. Take me to these fighters of yours.”

The tall orc grunted and turned to leave without another word. Grund followed obligingly.

Visiting Nox’s men gave him more details as to how the engagement had progressed. Wildly different ones, but enough to paint a tough picture. Evidently, those remarkably tough shieldbearers had been the ones to pursue Grund into the wasteland the orcs tentatively called home. Based on the orc’s accusations of cowardice and trickery, they were proving just as competent as their last encounter. Possibly even more so, given how they seemed to use the terrain to their advantage.

He lifted his head, shouting so that his words could be heard above the din of the surrounding populace. “Brothers! We go to hunt!”

The simple words whipped the orcs into a frenzy. Immediately, they began to clamor into a group, those most affected by [Battle Lust] forcing their way to the forefront by virtue of their inflated stats. Grund allowed it. If he didn’t send them off to fight the enemy, then they’d soon start even more fights among themselves.

He idly thumbed the pendant around his neck, the warm stone fox feeling as though it were made of flesh and blood. The item’s full potential remained unclear. Sure, it had ignited the matching brands on his officers and bestowed them with improved mental clarity, even freeing them from the [Battle Lust] altogether. But Grund felt it was capable of more. Much more. If he could do that for all of his people, restore some semblance of thought to them, then maybe…

A glance at the rabid crowd before him brought him back down to reality. He hardly dared hope it would be that easy. But to test it, he needed more sacrifices. A lot more. It had fed well on the various brawls and challenges that broke out every day through the city, but now that a true battle was at hand… Perhaps this would be a good opportunity.

“Grund!” A shrill voice cut through the din and drew his attention. A brawny orc swaggered forward with axe in hand. “You are a coward and weak!”

The dead orc’s declaration drew a fair bit of attention as he announced his challenge for all to hear. Grund just sighed and motioned for him to get on with it. No sense in heading back to the arena just for this.

Grund waited for him to charge and dodged the subsequent axe swing. He grabbed the challenger’s topknot and used it to redirect his momentum, spinning him to the ground and landing on his back. In a flash, Grund’s axe was at his throat.

“Your sacrifice is not in vain, brother,” he whispered into the challenger’s ear. Then, he slashed the orc’s neck open. The pendant flared with renewed warmth as he let the corpse drop.

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