The news spread across the Southern Continent like wildfire… one of the Five Supreme Chieftains of the Orcish Empire had fallen.
Not to age, not to sickness.
But slain, cut down in his prime.
You would have expected certain reactions out of an Empire right after losing what was akin to one of their Vice Presidents?
Reactions like outrage, a cry for revenge, morning, but none of that happened across the territories of the Orcish Empire.
Across the Orcish domain, the drums of war thundered not in mourning but in celebration. Fires blazed in the night skies as clans feasted on blood and marrow, each tribe howling its own claim to the fallen's lands.
Humans expected a rallying cry, the lesser Demons expected outrage when they heard of the exploits of their army, but those who knew the Orcs best knew the truth… among Orcs, weakness is unforgivable.
That was the Orcish way.
