Meanwhile, the Bloodtusk Fortress was alive with a brutal, single-minded energy. The arena was the heart of this fervor, its air thick with the scent of fear, stale blood, and the raw excitement of the punishment duel. Orcs who had failed their clan or shown cowardice in battle were stripped of their armor and forced to fight each other, with the victor earning a chance at redemption.
These duels were not about honor; they were about survival.
The first match was quick and merciless: a lowly, trembling orc was instantly beheaded by a larger opponent, a veteran of a hundred small skirmishes. The crowd roared in a unified, guttural cheer, their chants of "Kore! Kore! Kore!" echoing through the stone arches as the victor raised his axe in triumph, the fresh gore dripping from its blade.
