The former lands of the Main Orc Tribe were now the central location of the newly established tribe; hundreds of thousands of orcs were excitedly waiting for the return of the vehicles that had left early in the morning.
As darkness fell, this all-day event had slowly lost its initial enthusiasm, and many orcs had it in mind that the return time had been postponed to the next day. The departures, which started with the supply orcs leaving to carry out their natural workflows, would continue to increase as time progressed.
When the vehicle carrying Ölümün Rüzgârı, Kitapkurdu, and the Supreme Lord of the Orcs, Khan, entered the center's borders, only one-tenth of the original crowd remained.
"Welcome, Supreme Lord of the Orcs!"
Çekiçdöven was an old-fashioned man; although he had met his son whom he hadn't seen for two years, traditions came first for him. Just as he finished his words and was about to kneel on one knee, a hand grabbed him firmly.
"Stand up, Father! My blood will kneel before no one!"
As the words came out of his mouth distinctly, not only the members in his immediate vicinity but all the orcs currently in the center could hear them clearly.
Together with the family he took alongside him, he started moving toward the Lord's tent, into which no one had stepped since the day it was set up. It was impossible not to see this place; it was on top of a hill almost ten steps high, right in the middle of the settlement established on a wide plain.
Where Siyahayı's old tent used to be, a snow-white tent with a red orc fist symbol on it had been set up.
Before swinging the leather door and entering, Khan told those who came with him to wait outside until his second command. Alone, he was looking at the bear hides standing behind the throne made for him; there were four of them: Gray, Red, Black, and White, respectively.
His eyes shone upon seeing their existence; moving with rapid steps as if a heavy burden had been lifted from him, he sat on his throne made of iron and wood. This throne was special to him; one side was made of iron from the mines on the Orc Steppes, and the other side was made of wood from the Wild Swamp continent.
The orcs, who were not yet aware that their Lord had returned, would understand by this occasion that the expected day had come; when he sat on his throne, they felt the presence of a volcano ready to explode inside them.
First, the lord's lineage, and then the tribe's elders entered the tent and sat in the places prepared for them on both sides of the door. Without breaking order, the commanders would be positioned to the right of the throne and the ruling class to the left; only Ölümün Rüzgârı now stood at the very head of the military wing.
Right opposite her was her brother Kitapkurdu, standing silently inside his cloak darker than night. Although his presence caused the orcs in the same row to tremble in fear, none of them could open their mouths to say a single word.
Khan slowly scanned both rows with his piercing gaze; the orcs his eyes touched were filled with an indescribable enthusiasm, as if they felt that even their Lord's existence was a reason for living in itself.
"All living beings residing on the Orc Steppes, heed my voice!"
Khan had spoken in a normal tone; perhaps those sitting next to him were not aware, but their Lord's words were currently ringing in the brains of everything that breathed on the continent.
Orcs, humans, wild beasts, and whatever living forms existed were forced to hear him. Children had woken from their sleep, babies were crying, and people in shock were looking around in fear.
"I am the grandson of Alyon and Demirdöven, the son of Çekiçdöven and Ölümün Rüzgârı. I am Khan, the Supreme Lord of the Orcs and the sole ruler of all Orc Steppes!"
The second call was also inside the heads of the orcs in the tent; although they didn't understand what was happening, everyone except his family had prostrated before him.
"I give you three days' time to come to my marquee and declare your allegiance; the only end awaiting those who do not heed my call is death!"
All living beings on the continent had frozen due to the darkness descending upon them; an invisible force was oppressing them, and they couldn't even move their eyebrows.
"For three days, the Crazy Water will not flow, the Cursed Lake will harm no one; this is the last opportunity for salvation I give you!"
Khan was speaking by adding the arrogance born of his power into his words; indeed, after his last words, a great slaughter took place on the Orc Steppes.
Almost all of the bandits hiding in their lairs or the shelters they had built were destroyed by being torn apart; this included the men of large organizations, sects, and cults.
Only one person survived in each group; it was impossible for the wretches to understand that Khan had left them alive to report what had happened.
All three Trade Cities were on pins and needles; Parthenia, which had maintained its loyalty, was the most comfortable among them. They had believed in the revolutionary orcs and formed a bond of destiny; they had never withheld their support no matter what happened after the great war.
While Nikonya was shaken by the shock wave, Gulag, the city's number one name at the moment, was overjoyed. Under the conditions presented, it was impossible for Godfrey to live on the Orc Steppes any longer; the city he ruled from behind the shadows would finally come completely under his dominion.
Karsak was in the most miserable condition among the settlements on the continent; they were the first to turn up their noses, and they had to pay the price for it.
When Khan paused his speech, their situation was grave after what had happened. All three layers of walls surrounding the city like an insurmountable barrier had collapsed, and the bodies of the soldiers keeping watch on them were crushed under the rubble.
The Orc Lord had acted mercifully; he hadn't touched the buildings with people inside but had razed all remaining structures to the ground. In place of the workshops where inventions were made and the buildings housing the science councils, there were now bitter traces left by destruction.
"As of this moment, my ancestor Alyon and The Blood God Nafız are exiled from the Orc Steppes; whoever communicates with them, their entire lineage will be slaughtered!"
Having said his last word, Khan would lift all the pressure on the living beings residing on the continent. The Orc Lord had weighed the time carefully, for otherwise, many people who couldn't endure this were about to lose their lives.
After the effect that descended like a nightmare, a distress gnawing at their insides appeared in the orcs in the cities and those who had left the victors of the great war with the desire to establish a tribe on their own.
There were orcs among the formations that had separated from the herd who had witnessed Khan's Judgment with their own eyes and bodies; without waiting even for a breath, they started running toward the voice whose source they knew. Nothing mattered anymore; neither gold nor rank was more important than their lives, which they could live only once.
A flocking toward Khan's Marquee would begin from all four corners of the continent; although none of them saw the seal stamped on the large piece of land, the depth of the feeling it caused was enough to bring them to their senses.
While all these events were happening, a turtle shell had reached the Arid Region over the Cursed Lake, which scorched those who dared to cross it from the inside out.
When the two orcs inside stepped onto the ground, the shell carrying them disappeared, and a mechanical tool intended for transport appeared from nothingness in its place.
"Lift your head now, Alyon. We messed this up together!"
Nafız spoke while lightly tapping the shoulder of her friend, who hadn't said a single word throughout the entire journey.
"If you have already given up, stay here and end your pain after three days, or dedicate your life to accompanying me on the bloody path of revenge!"
"The choice is yours, old friend!"