The north wind, which had howled all winter, finally reined in its ferocity, and a warm spring breeze swept through the Forest of Gloom.
Accumulated snow slid off branches, forming winding streams on the ground.
Tender green shoots emerged from under the dry grass in the woods, squirrels leapt between branches clutching pinecones, and even the squig, dormant all winter, crawled out of its burrow, dragging its plump body to forage in the grass—spring had truly arrived.
Outside the abandoned dwarf mine in Stonewatch, it was as bustling as a boiling pot.
Over thirty Orc Boyz, bare-chested, their green skin covered in sweat, gleamed with an oily sheen in the sun.
They surrounded three Blacksmith Shops built from stone and clay, wielding iron hammers larger than their heads.
The 'ding-dong' of hammering iron vibrated the ground, even drowning out the distant birdsong.
This Blacksmith Shop was personally built by Bone Tree and the Orc Boyz—the furnace walls were constructed from refractory stones dug from deep within the mine, and the chimney led directly to the ventilation shaft at the top of the mine.
The bellows were made of beast hide and hardwood, with two hobgoblin laborers stomping on the pedals, 'whooshing' air into the furnace.
The furnace fire was blazing, orange-red flames licking the bottom, heating the iron ore within to a glowing red.
The scene looked chaotic: some Orc Boyz swung their hammers but missed the red-hot iron billet, smashing the anvil instead, sending a shower of Mars flying.
Others, finding the bellows too slow, kicked a goblin aside and squatted down to pump the pedals themselves, resulting in the hammer being left unattended and the red-hot iron billet cooling on the anvil.
Still others, after finishing a piece of iron, would hold it up to show off to their companions, only to get their arm scalded by a nearby Mars, making them yelp in pain.
But looking closely, there was a strange sense of order—who was responsible for the fire, who for hammering, and who for transporting the iron billets was clearly divided.
No one was giving orders, yet it was as if they had agreed upon it long ago, each performing their duty.
Even when mistakes were made, they would just curse at each other a bit and then go back to hammering.
CLANG! CLANG! Anvil takes da smash!
Gork is good, and Mork is fast!
Red-hot steel, it screams and bends, Make a weapon for me friends!
It ain't soft, it ain't no mud, Gotta beat it, spill da blood!
One good swing, and sparks will fly, For da Waaagh! that's standin' by!
CLANG! CLANG! Oil and sweat and fire!
Gork and Mork! They watch from higher!
If ya slack, ya little grot, Yer backside burns 'til it's hot!
SMASH HARD!
Don't ya stop yer hand!
Forge da Choppa in da land! IRON IS KOURAGE! BLOOD IS FIRE!
Make da Loot and take it higher!
Hammer, hammer, hit da plate!
'Til da iron seals yer fate!
CLANG! CLANG! WAAAGH!
CLANG! CLANG!
Rivets flyin' free!
My 'Ard Armour guards all ov me!
Thick as stone, hard as rock,
Can take an arrow and a shock!
Boyz around da fire glow,
Watch da meltin' metal flow!
Soot and sweat, a stinkin' mess,
It's da best! Can't do no less!
CLANG! CLANG!
Big klub, sharp knife!
Wanna take a humie life!
Tomorrow comes da kickin' door,
We'll steal their ale and want some more!
SMASH HARD!
Don't ya stop yer hand! Forge da Choppa in da land! IRON IS KOURAGE! BLOOD IS FIRE! Make da Loot and take it higher! Hammer, hammer, hit da plate! 'Til da iron seals yer fate! CLANG! CLANG! WAAAGH!
CLANG! CLANG!
Last big smashin' sound!
Now da bestest Choppa's found!
Grab yer gear! Da time is now!
We don't know 'ow to take a bow!
We nevah lose, we only fight,
We're da biggest, and da might!
Gurgle ale, and win da scrap!
If ya don't like it, you're a sap!
CLANG!! WAAAGH!! WAAAGH!
The Orc Boyz hammered iron while belting out off-key war chants.
The rhythm of the falling hammers slowly synchronized with the singing, and the 'ding-dong' of the hammering became the beat of the war chant.
To be honest, orcs are not naturally suited for blacksmithing.
dwarf Blacksmiths pay attention to heat, forging force, and quenching timing, with every step needing precision.
human Blacksmiths also emphasize force and coordination.
But orcs rely entirely on 'feel'—when the iron ore is red-hot, they throw it onto the anvil, swing a hammer to smash it, and when they think it's 'good enough,' they throw it into cold water.
With a 'sizzle,' a puff of white smoke rises, and a piece of 'iron' is considered done.
But orcs have a unique skill—'Da Orky Way.' If you think this iron can be made into an axe, it will slowly take the shape of an axe.
If you think this hammer is hard enough, it truly won't break.
When they first started blacksmithing, the Orc Boyz only produced twisted lumps of iron, not even a decent iron plate.
But with the belief of 'I reckon this iron can be made good,' they broke dozens of stone hammers and wasted hundreds of pounds of iron ore, slowly figuring out a unique orc way of blacksmithing.
The iron they produce now, though still rough around the edges, pitted on the surface, and not sharp enough, is loved immensely by the Orc Boyz.
From one iron billet, they can forge a half-man-high iron axe.
Though the axe blade isn't sharp, it's heavy enough to split a tree trunk in two with one blow.
Or they can forge a thick iron shield, with iron plates riveted to the edges.
Though clumsy, it can block stone arrows and iron daggers.
"Bigger is WAAAGH! Heavier is better!" This is the creed of the Orc Boyz.
Since the quality of the iron isn't high, they make it big and heavy enough; after all, orcs have plenty of strength, and a heavier tool feels more fitting in their hands.
Kurzadh stepped onto the soft earth and entered the Blacksmith Shop.
As he walked in, a wave of heat washed over him, mixed with the smell of molten iron and coal.
He circled the three Blacksmith Shops, his gaze falling on the finished products on the anvils—some iron axes had blades twisted to one side, some iron spears had unsharpened tips, and some iron shields had a dent in the middle, clearly due to improper force during forging.
"Boss! You're here!" Bone Tree, bare-chested, ran over, carrying a freshly forged iron axe, its blade still steaming.
"Look at the iron we made! Is it WAAAGH enough?"
Kurzadh took the iron axe; it was heavy in his hand, weighing over twenty pounds.
He weighed it, then looked at the axe blade—the rough edges hadn't been ground off, and there were several dents, clearly from improper handling during quenching.
He shook his head and said, "It's heavy enough, but not good enough.
Look at this axe blade, it's crooked.
And this iron shield, it dents with one hit.
How can it block enemy attacks?"
To be honest, this iron was more like pig iron! It wasn't even as good as copper.
Bone Tree scratched his head, somewhat embarrassed, and said, "We... we reckoned it just needed to be able to chop people... a bit heavier, it hurts more when you smash it."
Kurzadh didn't speak, but walked back to the furnace and picked up a red-hot iron billet.
The billet wasn't heated evenly; the edges were already blackened, clearly indicating poor temperature control.
He roughly counted, and nearly half of the finished products piled next to the anvil were duds—either misshapen, not hard enough, or had simply cracked in half during forging.
The failure rate was quite high, and most of the quality was questionable.
Although for orcs, 'good enough' was acceptable, Kurzadh knew that for the tribe to be strong, the quality of weapons and tools had to improve.
Later, facing the forces of Chaos and the elite troops of humans, such crudely made iron weapons would be utterly insufficient.
"I need to find a way to solve the quality problem," Kurzadh murmured to himself.
Perhaps he could raid some human Blacksmith Shops and bring back a few Blacksmiths? Or inquire with Antonio if Prince Patton's Fiefdom had any skilled artisans good at blacksmithing?
He temporarily put aside his thoughts and patted Bone Tree's shoulder: "Keep hammering for now, pay attention to the heat, don't burn the iron billets.
In a few days, I'll figure out some better methods."
To be honest, he didn't have any good methods either, but saying so made him appear more like a boss.
Bone Tree quickly nodded: "I understand, boss! I'll make sure the Orc Boyz are more careful!"
Leaving the Blacksmith Shop, Kurzadh headed towards the cavern deep within Stonewatch—the arachnari giant spider egg was kept there, personally looked after by Keziaz and several night hobgoblins skilled in spider rearing.
The light in the cavern was dim, with only phosphorescent moss emitting a faint green glow.
The air carried a hint of dampness, perfect for the giant spider egg to hatch.
Just as he reached the cavern entrance, he saw Keziaz squatting on a stone platform, carefully cleaning the giant spider egg with a soft brush.
Several night hobgoblins stood nearby, holding ceramic pots filled with a special nutrient solution, ready to 'feed' the giant spider egg—the nutrient solution was a mixture of poisonous mushrooms, spider venom, and the juice of phosphorescent moss, which promoted the giant spider egg's hatching.
"Boss! You're here!" Keziaz saw Kurzadh and quickly stood up, his voice tinged with excitement, "Come quick, the giant spider egg is stirring!"
Kurzadh walked to the stone platform, his gaze falling on the giant spider egg.
The dark purple giant spider egg was a size larger than a month ago, and the silver patterns on its shell were clearer, glowing faintly under the light of the phosphorescent moss.
What surprised him most was that some tiny cracks had appeared on the eggshell, like spiderwebs, spread across its surface.
"Is it about to hatch?" Kurzadh asked, a surge of anticipation in his heart.
Arachnari Giant Spiders are the sacred beasts of the night hobgoblins, possessing immense combat power.
If it could hatch and the night hobgoblins could train it into a Death Crawler, the tribe's fighting strength would increase significantly.
Keziaz nodded excitedly, his eyes full of fanaticism: "Yes! We night hobgoblins have raised spiders our whole lives, we know it when we see it!
These cracks are a sign that the little giant spider is about to emerge, in half a month at most, it will break out of its shell!"
He said, then carefully touched the eggshell with the soft brush, afraid of damaging it.
Kurzadh looked at Keziaz's careful demeanor, secretly relieved—it was fortunate he entrusted the giant spider egg to the night hobgoblins; they were indeed experts at raising spiders.
If it were orcs, they might have thrown the giant spider egg like a stone, or accidentally dropped it on the ground.
"Take good care of it, don't let anything go wrong," Kurzadh instructed.
"If you need any nutrient solution, or any special items, just tell me directly, and I'll have Blackrock Spire send them over."
"I know, boss!" Keziaz thumped his chest, assuring him, "Even if it costs me my life, I will absolutely not let anything happen to the giant spider egg!"
The surrounding night hobgoblins also nodded, their eyes filled with awe and anticipation—to personally care for the egg of a sacred beast and watch it hatch was the highest honor for a night hobgoblins.
Kurzadh stood before the stone platform, looking at the cracks on the eggshell, his heart full of yearning.
Outside the cavern, the spring breeze blew through the mine's ventilation shaft, bringing with it the 'ding-dong' of hammering from the Blacksmith Shop and the laughter of the Orc Boyz.
Kurzadh took a deep breath; the air was filled with the scent of iron fire, earth, and phosphorescent moss—this was the spring of Blackrock Province, and also the spring of the orcs' rise.