The moon, a pale sentinel in the star-strewn sky, bathed Khao’khen in its ethereal glow. A quiet energy hummed within the orcish encampment, a mixture of exhaustion and anticipation. The warriors, most with wounds carefully bandaged, sat before their tents, their eyes flickering with an insatiable hunger for battle. Their victory over the Ereian forces had been hard-earned, brutal, and decisive, but it had only whetted their thirst for more.

Khao’khen, his form imposing even in repose, stood in front of the two captured cannons. The immense black iron structures, testament to the ingenuity and power of its makers, stood as silent trophies, their power yet to be harnessed by the orcs. The chieftain saw their potential – a potential that could swing the tide of the battles in their favor. He had tasked the shamans with the aid of the mages on their side to study the concept behind it, and figure out if they can replicate it. Such an additional powerful weaponry would a great boon to the might of the horde.

The chest, a simple, unassuming wooden box, lay open near the cannons, bathed in the moonlight’s pale silver. Within it, twelve crystals, each a pulsing heart of arcane energy, glowed with an otherworldly radiance. These, too, held immense power, a power that could devastate their foes when harnessed properly. He knew they were potent, but their origin and their other uses, he was yet to figure them out.

The Drakhars, clad in their armor, patrolled the perimeter, their vigilance palpable, a testament to their resolve to make amends for their perceived lack of participation in the previous battle. A few orcs, their hunger for combat outweighing their exhaustion, had volunteered to join the patrols, their eyes constantly scanning the shadows, yearning for a glimpse of the enemy.

Beneath the moon’s cold gaze, the camp buzzed with a thrilling enthusiasm, a simple symphony of anticipation. The horde knew that the victory was a mere pause, a fleeting moment of respite before the next inevitable clash, their conquest of the Burning Sands was not yet complete.

Khao’khen, with his resolute gaze, saw beyond the immediate triumph, into the swirling abyss of the future, where shadows of doubt and uncertainty danced with the flickering flames of hope. He knew that the war was far from over, that the true battles were yet to be fought. The captured magic cannons, the magic crystals, they were just but examples of unknown weaponries that their future foes might possess. Although he was uncertain about what the future holds, the system’s reactivation gave him more confidence to tackle the unknown in this new world that he was in.

As Khao’khen stood sentinel-like under the moon’s pale light, his gaze fixed on the captured cannons, the war chief, Gur’kan, approached. The chieftain’s imposing figure, even in its stillness, commanded respect, and Gur’kan’s steps slowed as he drew near.

“We are always ready for battle, chief,” Gur’kan reported, his voice carrying a quiet intensity. “Our numbers are still strong, and our warriors thirst for victory. But we must also consider our wounded. Many are bandaged and resting, but their hunger for battle remains. We will need a few more days to recoup our full strength, lest they complain about being left out in the next battle.”

Khao’khen, his eyes flicking between the cannons and the distant horizon, nodded, his expression resolute. “Our recennt victory over the Ereian forces was a bit difficult, but it is still our win. The upcoming battles might be of the same intensity, and we must be prepared. What of the cannons? Have our shamans and mages made any progress in understanding their power?”

“They work tirelesslyc Chief,” Gur’kan replied. “The cannons are a something that our shamans encountered for the first time, and our mages are not familiar with it and have no prior knowledge about such arcane weaponry. Our shamans however, sense a magic of different nature on those cannons, they mentioned something about the weapons being inscribed with something similar to that of shamanic runes.”

The chieftain’s eyes had a look of surprise, his eyes filled with curiousity. “Shamanic runes? What’s that?” Khao’khen asked, at first he wanted to question the system, but then its unresponsiveness reminded him that it was making some adjustments.

Gur’kan was stumped by the chieftain’s question, he had no knowledge about shamanic topics, “I’ll call for our strongest shamans to explain it to you, chief. I lack the understanding about such things”, he answered while scratching the back of his head.

Khao’khen nodded in understanding, “You can find me in my quarters”, he said before parting ways with Gur’kan who was going to look for the shamans.

Gur’kan, his face etched with the weight of responsibility, ushered the two shamans into the chieftain’s quarters. Khao’khen regarded them with a silent intensity. The air in the dimly lit room hung heavy with the scent of burnt wood and the hushed anticipation of the moment.

Hekoth, a wiry figure with eyes that held the ancient wisdom of the forest, stepped forward. He raised a hand, the air shimmering with a faint green glow. “Chieftain, the runes are an echo of the ancient spirits. They are not mere symbols, but doorways to a realm beyond our comprehension.”

Gunn, his scarred face illuminated by the faint crackle of lightning, added, “They are whispers from the Great Spirit, fragments of power we can harness.” His voice was a rumble, echoing the storm within him.

“But we are not yet able to wield them,” Hekoth interjected, his tone laced with a tinge of regret. “Our predecessors, the true masters, were able to weave them into reality, to somehow affect the tides of battles by a lot.”

Khao’khen, his gaze unwavering, questioned, “And what knowledge do we possess of these runes?”

“Only the legends, whispers carried on the wind,” Gunn answered, his eyes flickering with a dangerous light. “They say the runes hold power beyond imagination, power to heal, to destroy, and in its strongest, affect reality itself. But their true nature, their true potential… we only know in fragments.”

Hekoth, his voice low and resonant, added, “We know that they were used to bind the elements, to communicate with the spirits, to somehow alter the very fabric of existence by a bit. But the knowledge of their true purpose, of how to wield them, has been lost for generations.”

Khao’khen, his gaze intense, questioned, “Can we not recover this knowledge? Can we not learn from the past, from the echoes of the ancient spirits?”

Hekoth, his gaze contemplative, responded, “Perhaps, Chieftain. Perhaps there are echoes of this knowledge within our very souls, fragments of understanding passed down through the generations.”

Gunn, his gaze fixed on the fire crackling in the hearth, added, “We must be willing to face the darkness, to confront the shadows that lurk within the forgotten corners of our minds. The runes hold power, chieftain, but also danger. We must be prepared to sacrifice, to risk everything in our pursuit of this ancient wisdom.”

Khao’khen, his gaze hard, uttered, “What kind of shadows exactly? It would be a great boon to the horde if we possess and harness it.”

Hekoth and Gunn, their faces illuminated by the flickering fire, exchanged a solemn glance. They knew the weight of their words, the burden of the truth they carried. “Chief Khao’khen, the shadows we speak of are not merely abstract concepts, but a reminder of the demon’s grasp on our race in the past,” Hekoth began, his voice steady but laced with a hint of trepidation. “The demonic powers that once held our ancestors in their thrall are the very same forces that we risk encountering when delving into the ancient power.”

Gunn nodded, his expression grim. “The demons corrupted many of our ancestors, their demonic powers influencing our lineage. It is a darkness that still lingers in the corners of our bloodline. That is why it is almost impossible to find a shaman among our race who is powerful enough to be capable of using shamanic runes without being influenced by the whispers of the demons. Haven’t you notice it, chief, warlocks are far more powerful than us shamans. Many of those warlocks were former shamans who dared to dived into our ancient powers but were not capable of keeping the demon’s influence at bay.”

To access the full power of our ancestors, we must confront these shadows and prove our resolve against the demonic influence that once held us.” Khao’khen, his gaze unwavering, listened intently, understanding the gravity of their words. “Are we prepared to face such a threat? What assurances can we have that we will not fall prey to the same corruption that befell our ancestors?” he asked, his voice steady but reflecting the weight of his responsibility to the horde.

The two shamans shook their head in response. “We have yet to find a perfect method to avoid it”, Gunn answered, his voice filled with hopelessness.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep