The night before, Gavin Ward's forces had marched without pause. The half-orc settlement that lay before them was smaller than expected, yet filled with weariness. The people carried the weight of betrayal upon their shoulders.
"Real or fake…?" one half-orc whispered as he watched Gavin's disciplined soldiers.
"It can't be true… but these human armies really do look different from the others."
The murmurs spread like a cautious breeze among the tribe. Suspicion burned in their eyes, but beneath it lay a faint glimmer of hope that perhaps, for once, humans had come without chains or swords hidden behind smiles.
An elderly half-orc hobbled forward, his steps heavy with years and sorrow. His voice trembled as he addressed the young woman, Lina, who had returned to speak for Gavin.
"Child, Grandpa watched you grow up. I know you are not one to lie. But we…" He paused, and from the corners of his clouded eyes, two lines of turbid tears fell. "We are all terrified of being deceived by humans again."
The old man's words carried the scars of decades. Once, their tribe had numbered over ten thousand strong. They had lived in the valleys, vibrant and growing. But betrayal came from all sides—humans who enslaved them, orcs who plundered them, raiders who burned their homes. Again and again they fled, each time losing more. Now, after endless wandering, fewer than two thousand remained.
Lina's eyes softened. "Grandpa Tour, I understand. That is why I returned. The master's kingdom and his army are not like others. He gives us dignity, not chains."
She turned toward Gavin Ward, her trust shining openly. Gavin rose, his presence towering over the flickering firelight. His gaze swept across the wary half-orcs.
"Your people are strong," Gavin declared. "Not as large as the orcs, but no weaker than humans. You are a people worth protecting. I will not linger here long, but I will leave behind soldiers to shield you from harm."
The half-orcs shifted uneasily. Some clutched their children, others studied the polished weapons at Gavin's side. Their instincts screamed not to believe—but his words carried weight.
The old man bowed his head slightly. "Then, my lord… we can only hope your men restrain themselves within our village."
"Jerry!" Gavin called.
A young officer stepped forward sharply. His black uniform gleamed under the torchlight, brass buttons polished, the wide-brimmed cap casting a shadow over a face brimming with confidence. The medals upon his chest glimmered, marking him as more than just another soldier.
"Your Majesty!" Jerry saluted crisply.
"You will remain here with your company to protect these people," Gavin ordered.
Even Jerry, impressive by human standards, felt dwarfed in Gavin's presence. He stood ramrod straight. "Yes, Your Majesty!"
The army's shortage of officers had forced Gavin to promote veterans quickly. Jerry had once been a squad leader, but his valor in crushing bandits had earned him rise to Second Lieutenant, commanding his own company.
Turning back to his army, Gavin gave a final command. "Everyone else—prepare to march in three hours."
The response thundered across the camp: "Yes, Your Majesty!"
The sound of hundreds of soldiers moving in unison sent a ripple through the half-orcs. They had never seen humans act with such discipline. Their own warriors looked ragged by comparison. Watt, a young half-orc, could not tear his eyes away from the soldiers' immaculate uniforms. The black coats with crimson dragon crests seemed to radiate majesty. For the first time, Watt imagined himself clad in such a uniform—standing proud instead of cowering.
Three hours later, the camp stirred with purpose. Tents folded in perfect formation, gear was packed, and the army moved to their vehicles. Steel transports rumbled forward, their sides painted with the blazing red dragon of Kiswell.
The half-orcs froze as the convoys passed. Row upon row of soldiers sat within, helmets gleaming black, crests burning red. To them, it was as if an unstoppable tide of iron beasts had appeared. Any thought of resisting such an army now seemed laughable.
And just like that, Gavin Ward's army moved on, leaving Jerry and his hundred men stationed in the settlement.
The old orc elder, cautious as ever, approached Jerry after Gavin departed. His eyes darted nervously to the MG42 machine guns, 120mm mortars, and rocket launchers stacked neatly nearby. Though he did not know their names, his instincts screamed of their lethal power.
"Sir… what do you require of us?" the elder asked softly, fearing exploitation.
Jerry smiled, his tone gentler than expected. "If you can, just provide us with clean water. Nothing more."
The elder blinked. "Just… water?"
"Yes, old one. Our army is disciplined. We will not loot or harm you like the others. That is not His Majesty's way." Jerry's words were steady, carrying the weight of his King's command. This too was Gavin's hidden order—to earn the half-orcs' trust through patience, not violence.
The elder hesitated, then slowly nodded. "Very well… water you shall have."
---
March Toward the Heart of the Orc Empire
Days passed. Gavin Ward's army pressed deeper into the west of the Orc Empire. Again and again, they encountered orc legions—bristling with spears, axes, and crude war machines. But against Gavin's modern army, they collapsed in a single clash.
News spread like wildfire. A human army, unlike any before, had shattered several orc legions and was driving into the empire's very core. Panic gripped the Orc Empire, for the unthinkable had happened: their enemies were not retreating, but advancing toward Hal itself.
---
Hal, Capital of the Orc Empire
At last, the shadow of Hal rose on the horizon.
Hal, the beating heart of the Orc Empire, sprawled vast and terrible, home to five million souls. Its walls were stone mountains, scarred by centuries yet unbroken. At the city's center loomed a towering castle of stone and iron, its battlements stretching fifty meters into the sky.
Above, griffin cavalry wheeled endlessly, their riders scanning for threats. Upon the walls bristled rows of massive ballistas, repeating bows, and war engines, each one a relic of centuries of warfare. Orc shamans had etched great magical circles into the towers, glowing faintly with power.
Guarding the gates were the empire's finest warriors—hulking figures in full plate armor, halberds gripped in massive fists. They stood unmoving, as if carved from iron themselves.
Legends whispered of Hal's fortress. A century ago, the Tongsley Empire had marched with a million soldiers, their banners blotting the horizon. They reached Hal, breached its outer defenses, and even seized the city itself. But when they threw themselves against the castle at the city's heart, they were shattered. Orc steel, magic, and blood drove them back, leaving the invaders broken in the streets.
Now, once again, enemies approached Hal. But this time, the foe was unlike any before—Gavin Ward's steel army, a force that wielded thunder and iron instead of axes and arrows.
And in the castle of Hal, the Emperor of the Orcs, Longdan Gol, sat upon his throne, his tusked mouth set in a grim frown as he heard the news.
"Humans… pushing this far?" he growled, his voice echoing in the chamber. His claws dug into the arms of his throne. "Very well. Let them come. We shall show them that Hal does not fall."
But in his heart, doubt stirred—for never before had humans come with such unstoppable strength.
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