Thousands of spears thrumd with elents that distorted the sky of Thaur'Gorath. In the spectating crowd, an icy shiver jolted Zul'Gora's old spine. Her eyes darted to Zul'Rakhan beside her. He shuddered like her, like the rest of the crowd. No, he shuddered more, making her rember his testimony: his blood ran cold, feeling powerless under the gaze of a beast that would swallow him. She would have called him a living cataclysm.
Then, she glanced at Bao in her hand. Realisation settled in her constricted pupils. The cute baby Pandarok purred, unshaken by Adam's true strength. Rather, she pawed at Zul'Gora's hands, thrilled that he finally used it, that the bad orcs couldn't bully them anymore.
Now it was their turn.
But she shared Zul'Rakhan's opinion from yesterday: it wouldn't work.
Around her, chaos spread across the crowd like wildfire. Orcs roared their outrage, beseeching the legendary warriors to end the foolish human who dared threaten them with extinction on their own turf.
The warriors crouched, ready to move. However, a heavy sigh overwheld every voice.
"Stand back." When Grum'Thal's voice rang, an echo of an age blurred in a distant past, abyssal-deep, powerful beyond their understanding, the legendary warriors froze.
The great shaman rose from his throne. Light erupted in his hand, stretching into a staff crowned by a massive horned skull.
Adam's eyes narrowed. Not a beast. He could feel it in his bones: a demon's skull. One that had been powerful at that. "The mont I feel threatened, everyone dies."
His warning fell flat on Grum'Thal's ears.
"We've faced extinction once already. We're still standing." Grum'Thal shrugged dismissively. The thrum of fire, the roar of wind, the spiralling splash of water, the radiant lights, the tears in the sky—everything faded into background noises.
Cold dread slithered into Adam's chest. Not mana, not Qi. What were the shamans using in the end?! Behind. Footsteps!
Ulgarath spun in the arena, lunging at Adam. His massive hand stretched in front of his face, blinding him, threatening to tear his head off his body. He bent back, mana threads erupting from the ground, barriers condensing, spatial Qi making the edge of his fra flicker.
Too late.
The orc was already on him.
BAM
A violent noise reverberated. Not the sound of his crushed skull as he had expected, but wood on stone, or sothing similar. Ulgarath's figure towered frozen in front of him, hand frozen an inch from his face. The red sheen of his eyes ebbed, returning them to green.
"I won't repeat my command, Ulgarath. I do not need warriors, legendary or not, that can't follow them." Grum'Thal struck his staff against the ground. His red eyes locked onto Adam.
Trembling, Ulgarath leapt. He landed inside the great shaman's box, his head lowered behind the other eight warriors.
Silence stretched. Adam's fingers tightened around his blade as he took a gracefully threatening stance. Quintella, his friends at the college, the four guardian beasts that raised him, Julius, Alina, and Shepard's students, all waited for his return. Chances to flee were... infinitely close to zero. But he would fight these monsters, try until the very end.
"Enough. Lower your blade. I didn't deny your victory out of unfairness. Understand it. I wanted Ulgarath to acknowledge you himself." Grum'Thal smacked his lips in frustration.
"The other warriors would have followed his example if he weren't so stubborn. Look at yourself. Your ancestors of the Eternal Fang tribe are weeping beyond the grave. You went all out, let Adomash incapacitate your right arm, and failed to kill him." His voice was like sand on dry bark. "He fought cunningly, but with more honor than you. Yet, you refuse to acknowledge him? Sha on you, Ulgarath. Sha on your tribe." He turned to the other legendary warriors. "Sha to anyone desecrating our traditions because of prejudice."
Each word made the orcs shudder. But the warrior? They felt like knives stabbing at their pride, at their lineage, ten tis more than Adam's taunts. Worst of all, they couldn't refute a single word.
Yet, most legendary warriors couldn't accept it either. Among them, Rokhan twisted his lips. "I understand, great shaman. We all do. But the human..." A sharp glare from Grum'Thal forced him to call Adam by his orcish na. "Adomash... went too far. You don't want to see our traditions desecrated, but you've seen him use mana and threaten our entire population as we did. He must have consud potions to strengthen himself before the duel, too. I demanded... punishnt that fits his transgression."
Many nodded in the settling silence, their glares drilling into Adam's battle stance. Adam ignored their hostility, his mind racing as he scrutinised the great shaman's leather robes.
'Grum'Thal isn't your enemy.' Zul'Rakhan's words echoed dully in his confusion. He didn't like it, didn't want to. It pissed him off, made him want to carve a path in blood and shattered bones on his way out of Thaur'Gorath. But... he lowered his blade with a heavy sigh.
He didn't have any other options.
He would trust Zul'Rakhan because Zul'Gora did.
"Wait!" A weathered voice erupted behind him, cutting off Grum'Thal's answer before it began. "Gora, you can't!"
Recognising Zul'Rakhan's voice, he turned, only to see Zul'Gora rush in front of him as fast as her old legs could carry her. Though her voice cracked when she bowed, her words didn't lose their political edge.
"If I may interrupt you, legendary warriors, great shaman."
Zul'Rakhan rushed beside her, his face twisted when he bowed his hunched back. His fingers found her free hand, trembling as they interlocked with hers. She ssed up, but mories of their shared life kept pouring into his mind.
Adam knew that behind the facade of indifference, Rakhan still loved Gora. To see him stand beside her ward his chest.
Grum'Thal nodded, and she continued. "We speak about traditions, so I ask all of you: what is our oldest one? And I an the fundantal one we've been observing before our skins turned green, long before we stepped into this land of humans flying on swords. I ask you, what do the broken chains at your belts an?"
The warriors fell into solemn silence. Only Grum'Thal answered. "Fundantal, indeed. Grakka, you may answer."
Grakka nodded, her high-pitched voice reminding everyone about the only truth that mattered. "We are the orcs of Sryl'vara. Our freedom is our birthright, our pride bound to no master. Our lives are our own to guard. None among us shall be scorned for doing what must be done to protect them against oppression. Should one of us be taken in chains, then all nine tribes shall feel the sting of the mines, the sting of what was done to us. We are the last, and first orcs. We stand as one."
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