"How's your injury, Thraigar?" Rain asked one night as they rested by the campfire, the crackling flames casting shadows on their faces.
"Fine, my friend. Nothing serious. Chi and the others have healed me well enough," Thraigar replied with a light laugh.
"Still . . . you've suffered so many injuries on your back, and your hand . . ." Rain's voice trailed off.
He cursed his own weakness, believing it was the reason everyone around him suffered in their efforts to protect him. If only there were a manual for instant strength — he needed it desperately.
Thraigar laughed Rain's concern off, his booming voice echoing in the night. "It's nothing serious. Though I can't move it just yet, I can still be useful with my other hand."
Isn't it serious, then? Rain thought, appalled at Thraigar's lack of concern for his own safety. "You should go back to the Oasis and rest."
Thraigar's face grew stern as he shook his head with conviction. "No, my friend. If there's a fight, a Goliath must be in the thick of it. It's dishonorable to stay safe behind walls while your comrades lay down their lives against the enemy."
Huh? Is that their slogan or something? Rain thought.
"Besides, they once captured me and made me their puppet; now, it's time to repay the favor," Thraigar continued. "More than that, I feel it's my duty to stop them. My hometown lies just to the north, and I can't let them march there unchecked."
"Is that so? Maybe we can see your tribe then."
"They are farther up north, but who knows?"
Anyway, don't get yourself in harm's way," Rain advised. "Now that Lord Izumi has lent us 1,000 Ebizo soldiers, we can attack from a safe distance. Their hard shells will serve as our shield while we volley attacks from the back."
Thraigar nodded. "Don't worry, my friend Rain. Thraigar knows not to rush headlong into a battle he know he will lose. Haahaahaa!"
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I don't know about that, Rain mused to himself.
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Meanwhile, the Orcs were preparing to meet the Hobgoblin forces on the barren plains away from their homeland, specifically in the Gate of the Iron Maw.
Ten thousand Orcs against a 100,000-strong Hobgoblin army.
"Are we really going to be alright?" General Helliana asked, her voice tinged with worry. Her skin was a deep green with a bronze hue, and her hair, red as the setting sun, was braided tightly.
For Orcish women, it wasn't unusual to be warriors in their clan. If they could contend with men, they could have a place in the Orc's army.
General Helliana's might as a Hunter was unparalleled. She wielded a great bow with precision and was knowledgeable in the ways of the Tamer as well. She led the heavy infantry atop her mount, Amber, a formidable bronze war mammoth.
When the meeting concluded, Warchief Kargoth asked his daughter to stay behind.
General Helliana remained at her father's request. When they were alone, the Warchief gazed into his daughter's eyes, his expression heavy with unspoken emotions.
As the only daughter of the Warchief, it was rare for Helliana to witness her father display such vulnerability. Most of the time, he was stern, unyielding, and strict, always demanding perfection in everything.
Because of her father's guidance, she had become a strong and respected Hunter within their clan. But now, she saw an old man, the lines on his face deeply etched.
When had her father aged so suddenly?
"Father . . . is something wrong?" Helliana asked, her voice soft with concern.
Warchief Kargoth took a deep breath and sighed. "This battle . . . if things go south, I want you to escape."
Helliana gasped, anger boiling in the pit of her stomach. "What are you saying, Father? I will not flee while everyone is fighting. I will fight till my last breath." She couldn't believe that her father was speaking of such nonsense like loosing.
The Warchief's face turned serious, his eyes piercing. "Listen to me, child. You're my only daughter, next in line to become the Warchief. No matter what happens, you must live and lead our survivors."
Helliana caught her tongue and couldn't speak, her mind reeling from his words.
"Without a leader, our people are lost. They need someone to guide them after we're gone."
"But, Father . . ."
"You're the only one who can do this, Helliana. Our people trust you, and they're more comfortable around you now. You're ready to lead them. You're born for this."
Helliana shook her head, but she couldn't utter a word. Her father hugged her tightly. Though Helliana towered over all the women in their clan, her father was still bigger and twice her size.
He was the Warchief, the chieftain, the leader of the Orcs. In most of her life, Helliana had never seen her father lose a battle. He was the strongest in the clan, so there was no way they would be defeated.
There was just no way.
"Promise me, child. You will save yourself if the situation looks dire. You must survive. You must. And you must lead our people. Promise me."
A tear streamed down Helliana's cheek as she choked on her words. "Y-yes, Father. I promise."
The words were a vow, a binding oath that weighed heavily on her heart.
As she embraced her father, Helliana felt the gravity of his request. It wasn't just a plea for her safety — it was the future of their clan, their people, resting on her shoulders.
The firelight flickered, casting shadows on their faces, as father and daughter stood united in their determination to protect their kin, no matter the cost.