The battlefield had finally quieted. Smoke still lingered in the air, drifting in thin grey sheets above the scorched earth. Craters dotted the ground like gaping wounds, broken weapons and shattered armor littered the soil, and the groans of the wounded echoed faintly across the field. Yet, amidst this ruin, Gavin Ward stood tall, surveying the aftermath with a sharp, calculating gaze.
His eyes fell on a peculiar pile of debris. A few moments earlier, this strange object had fallen from the skies like a meteor. It struck the ground with a thunderous crash before bursting apart into dozens of jagged fragments. The sudden descent had startled even him, and for an instant his soldiers thought it might be some secret weapon.
Now, as Gavin crouched beside the wreckage, his sharp eyes caught the faint glow of golden runes etched onto the fragments. He reached out, brushing the pieces aside with his gauntlet, and confirmed his suspicion. This had once been a crystal surveillance orb—a rare device used for long-range observation and reconnaissance.
The problem was, the Orc Empire was never known for its magical expertise. Their people prided themselves on brute strength and the roar of steel, not the delicate craft of runes. The sheer sophistication of these carvings was beyond what their scholars could achieve. This made Gavin instantly cautious.
If the Orcs had such tools, then someone else must be backing them, Gavin thought grimly.
Before he could ponder further, the heavy boots of a man approached. It was Rotis, his loyal commander. The general bowed and saluted with crisp precision.
"Your Majesty, we have captured the Emperor of the Orc Empire."
The words made Gavin raise a brow in interest.
"Oh? Their emperor himself?" Gavin's lips curled into a cold smile. "So he led this disastrous charge… Bold, but foolish. If he is their leader, then negotiations just became much simpler."
His mind worked quickly. If the Orc emperor was in their hands, there was no need to waste time drafting treaties under duress. He could simply march into their capital of Halma and install a puppet ruler. That way, the Orc Empire—home to nearly eighty million souls—would bend under his authority without endless war.
It was almost laughable. Originally, Gavin planned only to crush the Orc army, then force their emperor into signing treaties of cession and heavy compensation. But the man had foolishly led the charge himself, and now he was a prisoner.
"Take me to him," Gavin ordered, his voice steady yet laced with amusement.
Rotis bowed deeply and led him across the camp.
They hadn't even arrived when the sharp bellow of rage split the air.
"Bastards! You damn humans, release me!"
The roar was guttural, savage—enough to make some soldiers flinch. Gavin, however, walked calmly forward until he reached the source.
There, bound to a T-34 tank by thick iron chains, was the captured emperor. The Orc stood over three meters tall, his body hulking with muscle, his head crowned with the snarling features of a tiger. Blood streaked his fur-covered limbs, bullet wounds riddled his arms and legs, leaving him unable to move beyond thrashing impotently. Even so, his eyes burned with unyielding fury.
The soldiers gathered in a ring around him, whispering and pointing at the sight of such a beast. Yet when they saw Gavin approach, the murmurs stopped instantly.
"His Majesty is here!"
At once, every soldier straightened, heels clacking, saluting in perfect unison.
"Your Majesty, long live!" they shouted.
The chorus echoed like thunder. Even the orc emperor—Longdan Geer—fell silent at the sight of this young human king. Gavin's every step radiated quiet dominance, his handsome face set in calm authority. In contrast, Longdan Geer looked nothing like an emperor—he resembled more a rabid general, chained and defeated.
"You… are the emperor of these humans?" the Orc asked, voice hoarse but steady.
"Emperor? No, not yet," Gavin replied with a slight smile. "I am merely the king of a mortal realm."
Longdan Geer sneered, though the pride in Gavin's words unsettled him.
One officer quickly stepped forward in concern. "Your Majesty, don't get too close. He's dangerous—"
But Gavin waved the man off. "No. If I, as king, cannot face a defeated beast chained like this, then what courage do I truly possess?"
The remark silenced everyone. Even Longdan Geer let out a bitter laugh.
"Very well. At least you are not like the other cowards of your race," he said, showing sharp teeth. "Then let us speak."
"And what shall we discuss?" Gavin asked.
"If you cede to me the four provinces of Salander, Sultan, Chi Noel, and Longerland, and pay compensation of one hundred million gold coins, I may let you humans live in peace. The Orc Empire will not raise arms again."
At that, Gavin chuckled. The very provinces Longdan Geer named were precisely those rich in oil fields his survey teams had already identified. The sheer arrogance of the demand only amused him further.
"On the contrary, it is you who shall cede these provinces to me," Gavin declared calmly. "Along with one hundred million gold in reparations. Only then may your empire continue to exist."
The words struck Longdan Geer like a hammer blow. His eyes bulged in rage.
"What!? You dare demand the lands of the Orc Empire?" he roared. Since its founding, his empire had never surrendered territory, never paid tribute. If he yielded, he would go down in history as the most disgraced ruler his people had ever known.
His whole body shook, chains rattling as his fury boiled over. "You—you are nothing but the king of a lesser race! A defeated upstart! How dare you bark before me!"
But Gavin's eyes suddenly blazed with a sharp, oppressive light. His presence alone surged like a tidal wave, crashing down upon the chained emperor. For a moment, the human standing only 1.8 meters tall seemed like a towering giant, while the orc emperor shrank before him.
One was calm, confident, unbroken—the admired king of the Kiswell Kingdom. The other was chained, bloodied, his aura shattered—the failed emperor of the Orc Empire.
The contrast was undeniable.
Longdan Geer's eyes flickered with despair. "No… I cannot be the emperor remembered only for humiliation," he muttered, voice faltering.
Gavin pressed forward mercilessly. "If you refuse, I march on Halma tomorrow. You left the city stripped of troops when you rode out for conquest. Your so-called 'elite' forces are now broken, their bones scattered across this field."
Longdan Geer's face went pale.
"You still cling to the illusion that your retreating army may regroup and defend Halma. But…" Gavin paused, letting the silence bite.
Rotis stepped forward and announced loudly, "Your Majesty, the final count is in. More than 200,000 of the enemy slain, and over 180,000 taken prisoner."
"Impossible!" Longdan Geer's voice cracked. His jaw trembled, disbelief etched across his face.
His 500,000 elite soldiers—the pride of his empire—were gone. Obliterated. Captured. Routed.
The realization crushed him like a boulder. He was not merely defeated. His empire had been broken, his legacy destroyed, and he himself reduced to a chained beast before a human king.
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