The ground quaked as the orcs bellowed and roared out their pain and frustrations! Who knew how many thousands they had lost in the massacre!? The orcs converted the anguish buried within their souls into raging flames that could only be expressed in the loudest and most terrifying screams. The cries carried along the wind, and all the living beings for several miles were scared off by the intense bloodlust.

The rage-fueled roars continued for over ten minutes before the orcs until the orcs finally vented the anger and rage in their hearts.

Clack!

The orcs' attention were drawn to the center as Grimlock stabbed the jagged greatsword in his hand into the earth. The orc chieftain gazed at his people as he said, "Brothers, I feel your rage, your pain! To think someone would do such a heinous thing! We orcs are no heroes nor are we good, but we meet our enemies on the battlefield with honor and strength! We do not avoid the strong and attack the weak. Yet some bastard thought it proper to slaughter our women and children." Rage burned in Grimlock's eyes as his hands clenched around the sword hilt. "Brothers, what do we do when we find the bastard responsible!?"

"Kill them!" "Burn them!" "Tear them apart!" "Destroy them!"

"Kill!"

"Kill!"

"KILL!"

The orcs' chant shot across the city, the bloodlust infecting all the orcs in the city. The orcs' eyes reddened in rage regardless of their location as they joined in the chant. The bellows shook the roofs off all the buildings in the city, reaching all the way to the elven district. Within one of the buildings, Honne-Onna looked out at the raging city with a devilish grin. "Not enough. Cry out even more."

Within another building, an old dwarf stared at the Rink in his hands with shock and fear. "Are you serious!? No disrespect sir, but I don't think the orcs are in the mood to sit down and talk."

"We must try, regardless!" The voice in the Rink was strong and proud but held a hint of panic. "Otherwise, these lands will be covered with not just our blood, but thousands of our brothers and sisters too. We cannot let things reach that stage! Our lives are a small price to pay to secure the future of our race."

The dwarf shook his head but eventually gave a reluctant sigh. "As you wish, Farvulia-sama. I will see that it is done."

"You have my gratitude, Uthman-san," Farvulia thanked the dwarf. "I will soon set out. By Aygor's mercy, we'll get to the bottom of this before it gets too far."

"As the lord commands," Uthman acknowledged. The rink's light dimmed, signifying the end of the call, and the dwarf sullenly stowed it in his bag. Uthman Keggrog was a dwarven trader sent to trade with the elves and orcs by Rudega Farvulia, the dwarf most of the younger generation thought had the highest chances of claiming the dwarven king throne. At least, until the king in the east arose from nowhere.

Although Uthman appeared to be a simple trader, he had another task. To spy on the orcs and relay any odd behavior to Farvulia. The majority of dwarfs saw orcs as a primitive tribe not worth a mention. As far as they were concerned, there was only one thing you needed to know about orcs. And that was when they would attack. Since orcs had the inane habit of blowing on a horn before beginning any raid, dwarven settlements often had a chance to react and fortify themselves before any attack.

Rudega Farvulia, on the other hand, saw the orcs as both a potential ally and threat. He knew that the only reason the dwarfs were able to remain so complacent in this land was that the orcs were not a united nation. Usually, they only had to face one small tribe's attack a time, which was quite easy to fend off. The consequences would definitely be dire If they were forced to confront a united region. Hence, Rudega always ensured he had a spy in the important orcish cities to look out for any large gathering.

That insight finally paid off, as through his contacts, Uthman was able to report the latest development in time, preventing the dwarfs from getting blindsided. However, who knew Rudega would go one step further and ask his spy to go confront the orcs head-on to buy some time?

Uthman seriously questioned his sanity for remaining loyal even at this moment. However, though he grumbled and complained, he still grabbed an overcoat and stole into the streets. He made his way to the arena, carefully avoiding the main roads and sticking to the alleyways instead. The old dwarf did not want to risk meeting an orc in this atmosphere. There was no telling how they would react after all.

Meanwhile, within the arena, Grimlock raised his hand to end the chants then turned to Durst. "You've heard the cries of your brothers. Tell us, whose head do we have to chop off?"

Durst's eyes narrowed, but he did not speak the word on his lips. The six-hour ride had cooled his rage from a blazing inferno that consumed his thoughts to a simmering flame buried deep in his heart. This granted him time to think, and he had begun to find some few odd things about the entire fiasco.

To begin with, dwarfs were never the best at warfare. It was quite difficult to believe a group of dwarfs could easily take down entire villages filled with orcs. After all, the women and children of orcish tribes were no pushovers. Orcs learned to fight and kill from the moment they were born. The reason orcish women remained behind during hunting expeditions was not to take care of the home, but raise the next batch of warriors for the tribe. Durst could easily think of a few female orcs who could fight him to a standstill.

Something else bothered the orc chief. The orc that survived long enough to name the dwarfs as the culprit. Was that really providence? Or was the murder planned so the orc would live long enough to reveal the dwarfs as the culprit, but not long enough to be questioned further?

If it was the former, everything was good. But if it was indeed the latter, then the orcs were playing into the hand of a terrifying enemy. Of course, all this hinged on the fact that he just could not fathom the dwarfs suddenly getting the strength required to accomplish the massacre.

Was he looking down on the dwarfs? Durst's mind tumbled with contradictory thoughts. What if the dwarfs had been biding time, building their strength for this specific attack? Wouldn't his hesitation buy them more time to achieve more dastardly deeds?

Durst's hesitation did not pass Grimlock's sharp eyes. The war chief smiled and questioned, "What is the matter, Durst? It's not like you to hesitate."

Durst nodded. "You're right, Grimlock. I don't know why, but I feel uneasy about this."

"Hmph! I see married life has tamed the ferocious Blood-Drinker," a strong voice mocked. Durst looked to his left and met the eyes of Brast Blackblood, a large orc with black soot black skin. Brast was scary even for an orc, oozing air that screamed bloody murder. As always, his war ax was firmly grasped in his left hand, almost as if he expected an enemy to pop out at every turn. "If you know who we should be fighting then spit it out! What's with the wishy-washy attitude!? Are you afraid!?"

"Me, afraid?" Durst growled accompanied by a low, guttural chuckle. "You're as insane as ever, Brast."

"Enough with the nonsense," another orc interrupted Durst, this time from his right. "Our enemies are the dwarfs. I saw one scamper away with my own eyes."

Durst looked to his right. The speaker was Rernark Ragelock, one of the few orcs from the older generation that could stand toe-to-toe with Durst and Grimlock. Rernark was a tough old bastard, even among the orcs, and well respected for his strength. The orc's only flaw was his penchant for the 'old days.' Who knew how many poor orcs had been forced to listen to his drivel about the good old days of the orcs.

Of course, no one dared to point out the fact that Rernark himself was not alive during those 'good old days,' and was thus talking out of his arse.

"Dwarfs? Did he say dwarfs?"

"He said dwarfs."

"Those weak dwarfs dared to do this?"

"Those bastard dwarfs," Rernark grunted as the surrounding orcs muttered in confusion. "They've been hiding their strength. I say we stop wasting time and dig out those fools before they do something worse."

"Yeah! Yeah! Kill the dwarfs!"

"Slaughter the bastards!"

Durst frowned as the orcs roared expletives and curses while swearing to any god who would listen that they would destroy the dwarfs. The faster things escalated, the worse Durst felt. He could not shake the feeling something was wrong somewhere. However, at the same time, he could not justify calling off an attack on the dwarfs. All the evidence pointed to them. His hesitation could result in more lives lost if his suspicions were false. Eventually, he sighed shook his head.

What was the point of all the doubt? Worst-case scenario, the orcs would be pulled into a fight with the dwarfs. Was there an orc out there who feared battle? There was no way the orcs would lose a war against the dwarfs. As long as that remained true, there was no need to worry about the consequences of war.

Grimlock caught the change in Durst's demeanor. With a smile, he once again stopped the chants with a raise of his hand. "We know who the enemy is. Do we attack?"

"ATTACK!"

The orcs collectively bellowed and raised their right arms to represent their agreement. Durst only hesitated for a brief moment before also raising his hand. At this time, the orcs needed unity, not divisive thoughts. Within moments, every orc had their right arm raised. Well, almost every orc. There was one orc who remained quiet, calmly sitting on the earth and sharpening his ax with a whetstone.

The orc sharply stood out, but no one said a word because that orc happened to be Ragnaf Banbeast, the current orc champion.

The orcs, as if coming to an understanding, chose to ignore his presence. Their chants once again shook the earth as they shouted, "To War!" "Kill the dwarfs!" "Exterminate the Dwarfs!"

Suddenly a single cry screamed over everyone else's. "What!? There's a dwarf! There's a dwarf here!"

The cry seized the orcs' attention, and a deathly silence descended over the arena.

"Unhand me, you brute!" someone shouted, the tiny voice proving its owner was certainly not an orc. "I have an important message for your chief!"

"You bastard!" the orc cursed. "I'll tear you apart."

"Wait!" Durst was not sure what got into him, but he quickly shouted, stopping the orc from carrying out the threat. "Let's hear what he has to say." Durst turned and sent Grimlock a searching gaze.

Grimlock nodded and bellowed. "Bring the dwarf to me. Let me see the face of this dead man."

A scuffle was heard as an orc pushed his way through the crowd and unceremoniously dumped a small sack onto the floor. The 'sack' struggled and removed its brown hood to reveal itself.

Grimlock's eyes sparkled with bemusement. "Oh, Uthman, is it? Why did you come here? I thought you valued your little life above everything?"

"It's because I value my little life so highly that I took the risk of coming here," Uthman grumbled as he dusted his robes. He then bowed to Grimlock and formally announced his reason for coming, "Grimlock-sama, I am here with a message from the Farvulian household."

"Oh? That Rudega brat?" Grimlock chuckled. "That brat's sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. This is a problem for the South. Why's he poking his nose here?"

"Ah, as it happens, Farvulia-sama is currently residing in the Thonur Household," Uthman explained. "He heard about what happened and wishes to lend all of his assets to catching the culprits."

Grimlock frowned. "Thonur? What is that brat doing so far south?"

Grimlock's worry was warranted. Currently, Daggerfall was split into four major regions. North, South-East, South-West and Central regions. Each area shared a major dwarven settlement and an orc city. The North had Xynnar (dwarven) and Northmold (orcish). Central had Kinallen (dwarven) and Craydon (orcish). The South-East had Nuxvar (dwarven) and Oerbora (orcish) and finally, the South-West housed Aynor (dwarven) and Garigill (orcish).

The Thonur household lived in Nuxvar, which was located in the same region as Oerbora, while the elite Farvulian family lived in Xynnar. It was no surprise that Grimlock wondered why the man touted as the next dwarven king appeared in his territory just as such an attack was launched.

Uthman caught the suspicion in Grimlock's gaze and suffered a chill down his spine. "I swear on my mother, the Farvulian house had nothing to do with this attack! Please, Grimlock-sama, give us a chance to get to the bottom of this before war breaks out."

"Oh? What does the brat suggest?"

"A meeting at a neutral location of your choosing," Uthman replied. "It will give us a chance to talk before things escalate beyond the point of no return."

"Thousands of women and children slaughtered. Do you not think we've long since crossed that point?"

Uthman trembled. "Please! At least give us a chance to prove we are innocent before we go to war."

"Grimlock, let me go." Durst stepped forward. "Something about this whole thing doesn't sit right with me. At the very least, let me first hear them out."

Grimlock looked at Durst with a raised brow. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Durst confirmed with a nod. "No one craves revenge as severely as I do. But I do not wish to live the fool, satisfying my revenge while the true killer runs free. If I find it is indeed the dwarfs, you can be sure I will personally lead the charge."

Grimlock looked at Durst then at Uthman. The dwarfs mustache visibly shook as he weathered the war chief's stern gaze. "Fine. You will go on my behalf," Grimlock stated as he turned to Durst. "Your clan will accompany you for protection." Grimlock caught Ragnaf out of the corner of his eyes. "Take Ragnaf with you. He's lived his whole life within these walls and could do with some real-world experience."

For the first time, Ragnaf looked up from his ax, an excited glint in his eyes.

Grimlock looked at the ancient shaman that silently stood next to him. His voice was noticeably more respectful as he said, "Guvern-san. I'll have to trouble you to accompany them. You're the only one who can make decisions on my behalf."

Guvern Dreamstone was one of the oldest orcs alive. At over 190 years of age, he was rapidly nearing his end of days. However, if it were not for the mass of gray hair and shrunken body, it would have been impossible to tell. Guvern was every bit as muscular and strong-looking as the younger orcs around him.

Guvern let out a low chuckle as he grasped his bone staff. "These old bones have still got some life left in them. I'll gladly accept the chance to stretch 'em out after such a long time cooped up indoors."

"My apologies, and thanks," Grimlock said, then he turned to look at the other chiefs. "We will begin preparations for war but wait for Durst's report before we launch an attack. Any objections?"

The chiefs shook their heads.

"Wait," Rernark Ragelock called. He signaled a shaman at his side who cast a spell on Uthman, causing the dwarf to drop to the earth, unconscious. "There's a possibility this is a trap. My tribe will follow Durst's at a distance, just in case. I will also follow Durst to meet this Farvulian. With me there, they should not be able to play any tricks."

'Doesn't that mean that without you, I will fall prey to their tricks?' Durst snorted and looked at Grimlock.

Grimlock laughed at the anger in Durst's eyes. "Rernark, you may follow. Make sure you watch each other's backs."

"As it should be." Durst nodded.

"Of course," Rernark stated.

Grimlock looked at the unconscious dwarf. "Someone pick up this dwarf. Durst, Rernark, Ragnaf, follow me. The rest, begin preparations for war."

With that, Grimlock disbanded the orcs, while he took the negotiation team aside to talk.

In the elven district, Honne-Onna smiled as she listened to a subordinate report the outcome of the orcs' meeting in detail. "Good," she said as the report came to an end.

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SPECIAL THANKS TO MY PATREON STARS:

Residents: Andrew Maurer, Eli Calabria, Rusty Reaper, Cobalt_Storm, Eli Romero

Adventurers: Hyproxy, Merlin252, Michael Barton, OlusholaAbidakun, Mental_Napalm

Warriors: Caleb Ian Melton, Ragnaf, Cullen M Brewer

The High Council: Paul C. Bergeson (@facemaster), Sly, Jacob Morgan, Antinium, StrikerPrince

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