Chapter 31 – Rite of the Warlord
Ember 25, 2999 | 9:18 AM – Lena's Mansion → Ironhowl Kin Territory
Sunlight spilled through the tall windows of Lena's estate as a quiet buzz filled the morning air. The scent of perfumes, incense, and showered skin drifted through the master bedroom while Shiro tugged on his designer pants with a lazy yawn.
The girls were already getting dressed.
Zarrah shimmered in a sleek black catsuit laced with silver threads. Lena wore a short, backless dress with subtle enchantment runes glowing along the hem, hugging every curve like it had worshipped her body.
Then Rena walked out.
Out of her maid uniform.
And into a form-fitting jade green top and black pants that clung to every inch of her fox-curved frame. Her long hair flowed down, and her twin tails flicked playfully.
The room paused.
Zarrah blinked. "Ohhh… so that's what you been hiding under them aprons."
Lena arched a brow. "Rena, is this allowed in public?"
Rena giggled and adjusted her sleeves. "Mistress said dress nice, not modest."
Shiro gave a low whistle, slipping on his rings. "Damn, maid of the year steppin' out like a goddess."
Rena smirked at him, her voice sweet as cream. "Try not to drool, Master~"
Lena rolled her eyes, snapping a pic of herself with her phone crystal—angled to show her curves and subtle thigh tattoo, but just cropping Shiro's face out behind her.
Posted to her feed with the caption:
"When you win, but can't show the trophy." 💋
Zarrah burst out laughing. "You tryna start a war with Belladira?"
"I don't start wars," Lena said smugly. "I finish them."
Rena turned to the Sable twins—Vaelira and Kaelyn—now neatly dressed in matching black-and-white maid dresses with golden sashes. Their posture better, their eyes less defiant.
"Twins," Rena said smoothly, adjusting their collars. "Don't embarrass me today."
"Yes, Miss Rena," they chorused, pouting slightly but with more respect than before.
Lena gave Rena a proud glance. "You're really shaping them. Well done."
Rena winked. "I always did love molding chaos."
⸻
9:40 AM – Inner Ring, Lena's Driveway
A sleek, obsidian-colored hover car with silver trim floated down the estate ramp and parked with a low hum. Its doors opened vertically, steam hissing from enchantment valves.
It looked like a mix between a luxury limo and a predator's fang.
"Personal ride's here," Lena announced.
They slid inside. The interior pulsed with soft ambient lights, scent diffusers, and a low bass rhythm from the custom sound system. R&B poured from the enchanted speakers—smooth, sensual, and heavy with temptation.
Shiro leaned back, spreading his legs a bit as the car glided into motion.
It wasn't long before the teasing began.
Zarrah slid close on his left, fingers tracing the inside of his thigh. "You smell like sin."
Rena leaned from behind and whispered in his ear. "Still got Belladira's scent on you, huh?"
Lena, seated to his right, ran a hand down his chest. "Relax. You need to look calm when facing tribal tradition."
He flinched slightly as the three women started pressing closer, kisses grazing his neck, hands sliding under his shirt.
"Okay, chill—hey—y'all wildin'," he muttered, trying to hold composure.
They just laughed and kept teasing him.
⸻
10:03 AM – Ironhowl Kin Territory
The hover car descended on the Ironhowl outskirts. The scene below was alive.
Massive bonfires crackled near obsidian stone towers. Drums echoed from the central ring. Orcs of all shapes and shades stood in proud armor, body paint, or wrapped in tribal cloaks. Children ran between food stalls. Wolves howled in the distance.
It was like a festival. A ceremony. A challenge wrapped in celebration.
Grakka stood at the front gates with her arms folded, wearing war leathers and a smirk. Her eyes locked onto Shiro as the car doors lifted.
He stepped out slowly.
Every orc nearby stopped talking.
A beastman had arrived to challenge the suitors of a warlord.
Grakka's smirk deepened.
"This boutta be fun."
As Shiro stepped out, the sun hit him just right—chiseled abs peeking from his open button-up, gold fangs glinting, white dreads freshly retwisted, falling over his shoulders like a crown made of storms.
The three women who stepped out behind him didn't help the tension.
Zarrah, in her tight catsuit, walked with the lazy grace of a predator. Rena glided with twin tails swaying, her jade top clinging like a lover. Lena? She didn't walk—she owned the space. Her enchanted dress shimmered with power, elegance, and a silent warning.
The gathered orcs murmured.
"Who are they?"
"Is that Lena Cordash?"
"Damn, he got a whole harem?"
Even a few of the female warriors sucked their teeth and whispered low.
"Why she look like that for him?"
"I'll show him a tribal greeting…"
Grakka's expression shifted just slightly. That was enough.
Without a word, a subtle pulse rippled from her body—like thunder in reverse. A possessive aura flooded the clearing, primal and hot, sending chills up the spines of the gawking women. Some instinctively looked away. A few bit their lips. One young warrior girl straight-up turned around and left.
Grakka's voice rolled across the stone courtyard like distant thunder.
"Eyes off. He's mine."
Even Shiro blinked. "Damn… I feel like I got claimed by an earthquake."
Grakka walked toward him, hips swaying in perfect rhythm with her confidence.
Behind her, her other suitors stood tall—mostly male orcs with weapons on their backs and thunder in their blood. One in particular, a thick-shouldered warpriest with jade tattoos and tusks capped in silver, stared murder at Shiro.
He wasn't just mad at Shiro.
He was mad at what Shiro brought.
"You bring your whores to sacred ground?" the warpriest spat.
Shiro tilted his head, a slow grin blooming. "You talkin' to them or me, tusky?"
The man stepped forward, trying to tower—but Shiro didn't move.
Lena chuckled darkly. "You sure you wanna play disrespect games today?"
Zarrah tapped her nails together. "We don't mind thinning out the competitors before the duel."
Even Rena smiled sweetly, tails curling. "We're quite good at being bad."
The warpriest grit his teeth, but said nothing.
Then Grakka's voice cut through again.
"Enough."
She stepped between them.
"This is my rite. My mate. My challenge. Not yours."
The priest spat to the side but stepped back.
Grakka glanced at her father standing on the upper terrace beside her mother. The chief looked ready to explode.
Not just because of the suitors.
But because his wife—Grakka's mother—was quietly admiring Shiro like a fangirl.
She leaned toward one of the elder wives and whispered, "Whew… no wonder our baby blushin'."
Her husband scowled. "Woman. Please."
She just giggled.
Meanwhile, Shiro leaned toward Grakka and whispered, "Yo… even your moms starin'."
Grakka elbowed him lightly. "Say one more thing, I'ma bite you in front of everybody."
Shiro grinned. "You sayin' that like a threat."
Grakka stepped close, inches from his mouth, and murmured:
"After this ceremony? You mine in front of the flames."
He looked around, chuckling. "I thought I already was."
She tilted her head. "Now they all gonna know."
From the center of the ceremonial ring, the old shaman raised a bone-carved staff. A horn echoed in the distance. Orc warriors gathered in a circle, surrounding the arena pit.
The Rite of the Warlord was about to begin.
And Shiro?
He was grinning like he couldn't wait.