"Remember this, none of you are allowed to go to that place!"
Inside an Uruk camp, the Uruk captain barked the order harshly at his subordinates.
But his words were quickly met with doubt.
"Is that the master's command?"
The one who questioned him was straightforward and calm, clearly one of the more thoughtful Uruks. He was also among the stronger elites. If the captain were to die, he would likely be the next in line to lead.
"What you need to do is obey."
The Uruk captain stepped closer, glaring at the troublemaker, his tone carrying undeniable authority. If he couldn't even suppress his own men, then he had no right to be captain.
"Yes, obey, I'll certainly obey. But only if it's for the master."
The elite Uruk clearly wasn't convinced. He repeated his question, "So I have to ask, are these the master's orders?"
"And if they aren't?"
The captain grabbed him by the throat, speaking with cold indifference, "Listen, if they aren't, then so what? The master didn't order us to attack that place, did he?"
"But the master didn't order us to abandon it either."
Smack.
The elite Uruk slapped the captain's hand away.
"So, you're looking to challenge me."
The captain was furious.
I can't defeat that warrior, but you think I can't defeat you?
"Fool, you have no idea what kind of hell I've returned from!"
"No one can last more than a single exchange against him. No one survives a duel with him, except me!"
Though truth be told, he was disarmed in just that one exchange... but still, it was a fight, wasn't it?
"I'd say you look more like a cowardly deserter, trying to spread your fear to everyone else!"
The elite Uruk was defiant.
"Fine. Good. Then show me what gives you the courage to defy me."
A fight was inevitable. The noise drew the attention of the surrounding Uruks, who quickly formed a circle around them.
A natural arena was born.
The captain raised his cleaver and pointed it at the elite.
"If I find you can't even withstand a single strike from me, then tonight our menu will feature a dish named after you."
"I'll return those words to you, filth!"
Both Uruks dropped all pretense.
Fight!
"Roar!"
The surrounding Uruks shouted and jeered, cheering the duel on.
Thump!
Some Uruks beat their weapons against a fallen dead tree, the sound echoing like war drums.
"Argh!"
The elite Uruk seized the moment, raising his cleaver and launching the first strike.
"Too slow."
The captain didn't even use his weapon, he simply swept his arm, knocking the blade aside with his bracer, then followed up with a brutal kick that sent the elite sprawling.
"Die!"
The elite scrambled up and swung again, refusing to admit defeat. But in the next instant, his wrist was seized, and his vision went black.
A crushing headbutt had slammed into him.
Thud!
Down he went again.
The captain spread his arms wide, strutting inside the circle, showing off his muscles. So far, he hadn't even needed to draw his weapon. Twice now, he had floored the defiant elite with his bare hands.
Being a captain in Mordor wasn't a job just anyone could keep. Without real strength, you'd have long since been culled by the ever-bickering orcs or the stronger Uruks under you.
For the Gondorian frontline forces and the Rangers, every Uruk captain of this sort, cold-headed, powerful, was a mini-boss. The units they commanded were tough opponents, nearly impossible to take head-on without resorting to ambushes or surprise attacks.
But that was under normal circumstances.
Recalling how the squad he'd led out earlier had been utterly slaughtered, and thinking of that man's figure, then glancing down at the fool who challenged his authority, the Uruk captain only felt weary.
Too boring. Let's end this.
"Time for fresh meat!"
He roared, stamping down on the fallen Uruk elite, raising his cleaver, and hacking the head clean off in execution.
The scene was gruesome beyond measure, but it only excited the Uruks around him even more. The camp instantly devolved into chaos as the soldiers swarmed forward, tearing the corpse apart and dividing the spoils. In moments, flesh and limbs were scattered everywhere, splattering the ground.
For anyone who challenged the leader, there was only one ending: Becoming meat for the pot.
"Hahahahaha!"
The Uruk captain threw back his head and laughed, flaunting his strength.
His brutality and might would spread to the northern and southern camps alike, this was the orc's unique kind of glory.
---
"Not bad."
In the grand hall of Minas Morgul, the Witch-king, watching through the eyes of a bat, nodded in satisfaction at the savage Uruk captain in his vision.
"We're short on someone who can lead. Let him be the commander of this batch of Uruks."
With a wave of his hand, an order was sent out.
"Summon him before me."
At once, a Warg-rider departed from Minas Morgul, and before long, he arrived at the camp where the event had unfolded.
"You're in luck."
The rider found the Uruk captain and said, "The Witch-king wishes to see you."
Overcome with excitement, the captain followed the rider back into the hall steeped in dark power.
Strangely, as soon as he entered, his heart felt unusually steady. Even his fear of that person outside seemed to ease.
"From this day forth, the army at the crossroads is under your command."
"I swear to serve the Master unto death!"
The captain immediately dropped to his knees.
"Good."
Brutal and strong, those were the very reasons he had earned leadership.
Looking upon the Uruk before him, no, the Uruk chieftain now, the Witch-king nodded slowly.
Sauron's breed of stronger orcs were indeed capable, far more reliable than the common orcs.
If orcs were sent to capture someone, chances were they would return with nothing but the person's corpse, not because they lacked loyalty, but because their entire race was too chaotic.
Uruks had no such problem. Even if they themselves died, they would never let their master's quarry perish. Their execution of orders was absolute.
The Witch-king rose, his tall, thin figure looming over the Uruk chieftain, and from his throat came a grating whisper:
"Serve well, and you may gain more, power, blood, everything you desire... all of it is here."
"Now tell me, what news from the front?"
With the promise spoken, his figure dispersed, reappearing in an instant upon the towering throne.
"The Gondorian garrison still hides like turtles in that ruined city. The Rangers skulk about like rats, crouching in the grass, never showing themselves before our armies."
The Witch-king gave no reply.
In truth, wasn't this simply saying that the defenders could not be dislodged, the Rangers could not be caught, and their assaults had made no progress at all?
But then again, the Gondorian soldiers, armored head to toe in steel, could hardly be broken by mere bands of orcs and Uruks.
This couldn't be rushed. They would have to wait for Sauron to finish amassing his strength. When that time came, not only Gondor, but even that man, even that road would...
"There is one more report, Master."
The Uruk chieftain summoned his courage to speak, "There is a man in the war zone who has declared a territory of his own..."