Rotis stepped forward and spoke in a low voice to Gavin Ward. "Your Majesty, we also captured an orc who appears to be a high-ranking general. What should we do with him?"
Gavin loosened his collar and glanced up from his chair. He folded the book he had been reading—A General History of the Loriland Continental War—and set it aside. "Bring him here. I want to see him," he said.
About ten minutes later the doors opened and they brought the prisoner in. Heavy chains clanked as they trod across the floor. The orc wore silver plate armor with gold filigree and a red plume topping his helmet. Several of Gavin's royal guards, each armed with P40 submachine guns, shadowed him closely. The man who had been called a general was bound by thick black iron chains and walked with a careful, measured gait. He did not struggle. When he reached the center of the room he bowed his head and knelt before Gavin.
"You are sensible," Gavin said, watching him carefully. He had his boots up on the table for a moment, then took them down and stood. The orc's voice came muffled from under his helmet.
"Your Majesty," he said. "I am Garen Vahl. I am your servant."
Gavin looked at him with mild curiosity. Compared with the fallen emperor Lordan Gore, Garen Vahl carried himself honestly. He bowed again and then said, with fierce sincerity, "I will serve you with my life. I will not hesitate to die for Your Majesty."
There was something in the orc's tone that was not mere fear. It held a kind of raw pride softened by defeat. Gavin smiled, not cruel but sharply amused. He stepped over to the kneeling general and placed a hand on his armored shoulder.
"Do you hate me for killing Lordan Gore?" Gavin asked.
Garen's eyes tightened and he swallowed. "No," he answered plainly. "Before the battle, several of us urged Lordan to withdraw. He refused. He was angry and reckless. He killed without reason. He killed my brother that day. For that, I do not love him." His voice broke a little when he said it. The pain of loss was plain in him.
Gavin took a moment to study the orc's face when his helmet was removed. The skin was brown, the features broad and solid, with two short tusks rising at the corners of his mouth. Gavin's mind flashed back to stories from another life—images of earthy orcs who looked more like hardened humans than green monsters. Garen Vahl's kind looked like that: more grounded, more pragmatic, closer to humans in their thinking than the savage beast-orcs who prowled on raw instinct.
"I plan to split the Orc Empire," Gavin said plainly. He watched Garen's face for a sign of reaction.
Garen Vahl did not hesitate. He told Gavin what he had to say with the directness of someone whose people had been pushed aside for generations. "Your Majesty, I lead the earth-orcs. We are native to this continent. The other orcs—the tiger orcs, the fox orcs, the wolf clans—those groups joined us about five thousand years ago. They are the ones with savage features and brutal tempers. The earth-orcs lived among humans and traded with them. We kept our homes and our customs. We are more like your people in many ways."
He paused, taking a breath. "If Your Majesty will allow it, I will lead the earth-orcs away from the Orc Empire and form an independent kingdom. I will take our people and pledge to be your loyal ally. We will not seek war with humans, and we will accept your protection and your terms."
Gavin listened, then asked the practical question: "How many earth-orcs are there?"
"About twenty million," Garen answered. "Nearly a quarter of the Empire's population."
Gavin did the arithmetic in his head. It fit his plan. He had already seen how a single power, concentrated and ruthless, could sweep the continent: the Orc Empire under Lordan had been strong because it was whole. If he broke it apart into smaller pieces, it would lose that strength. The orc sons who would inherit after Lordan were already bitter with one another. Splitting the Empire would make them rivals rather than an organized force.
"Lordan has seven sons," Gavin said. "I will divide the Orc Empire into eight kingdoms. You will be one of the eight kings. You will rule the land-orcs, and your seat will be recognized. You will owe your crown to me."
The general's eyes shone at the offer. It was a dangerous chance—power in exchange for loyalty—but it was exactly what he needed. He bowed deeply, then looked up.
"Your Majesty," he said. "I will never betray you. If you do not trust me, let me make the Oath of Origin Blood. In our tribe, it is the most solemn vow. It binds my life to the truth of my words."
Gavin raised an eyebrow. "The Oath of Origin Blood?"
Garen's face grew grave. "Yes. We scar our hearts. We draw blood. Once sworn, my life is in your hands. Even Lordan never forced me to this oath. I will do it now to prove my loyalty."
He reached slowly toward his chest. Soldiers tensed; the submachine guns wavered. Rotis stepped closer, eyes fixed on the ritual. Garen removed several plates of his armor and exposed his bare chest. His nails were long and hard; they were like talons. He dug them into his skin until the blood welled up in a bright drop and ran down. He held his hand, dripping with red, and let the drop fall into his cupped palm like an offering.
He spoke the oath aloud, voice steady and fierce. "By my blood, I bind myself to Gavin Ward. With this blood, I give you my life and my word. If I break it, let this world take me."
The oath reverberated in the hall. For a moment, there was a hush so deep every footfall seemed loud. The earth-orc's vow was not a mere promise; it was a sacred, ancient bond meant to hold a life in the balance. Garen's face was pale now, but his eyes burned with resolve.
Gavin watched him with a cool face, weighing the ritual and the politics at the same time. He had no taste for showy pacts, but he understood symbols: power could be sealed with blood just as easily as with ink. This oath gave Gavin a public guarantee that a large and useful portion of the Orc Empire would not immediately turn against him. It also provided a problem solver: an allied orc kingdom under his influence would be a buffer and a bridge to the rest of the orc people.
"Very well," Gavin said at last. He put his hand on Garen's head in a gesture that was neither tender nor cruel, but binding. "Rise, King Garen Vahl of the Land-Orcs. Keep your oath."
Garen scrambled to his feet and bowed low. He had given his blood and his word; now he had a crown offered by a conqueror. Around them, the guards relaxed very slightly. The chains that had bound Garen were removed, and for the first time since capture he stood free, at least by the law Gavin now imposed. He would still answer to the new terms: taxes, trade concessions, and the continued presence of Gavin's forces in key passes and towns. But he would rule his people and enjoy a measure of authority he had never had under Lordan.
Gavan addressed his officers. "We will split the Orc Empire into eight parts. Each will be led by a different son of Lordan or a leader we appoint. Garen will lead the land-orcs. We will install kings who owe us crowns, not tyrants who hate us in secret."
This was a turning point. The plan was not merely to defeat the Orc Empire; it was to reshape its future so that the risk it posed would be lessened for a generation. Trades would open in orc markets, factories would be permitted under strict rights, and pathways for the Kingdom of Ross and the Kingdom of Los to move troops and goods would be guaranteed. Each new kingdom would be weaker alone than the empire had been whole. Division would be safety.
Garen Vahl knelt again and swore one more time, softer, for his people. Then he rose, and where there had once been a prisoner there was now a king whose realm lay confused and dangerous, but recognized. Gavin felt the balance of power shift. He had lost an enemy and converted him into a dependent ally.
As the room emptied and Rotis prepared announcements, Gavin folded the Oath into his collection of small victories. He had turned chains into crowns, wound loss into leverage, and used blood to make an alliance that would hold for the short term at least. The Orc Empire was no longer a single threat; it would become many smaller ones, all easier to manage. The Oath of Origin Blood would carry weight among the earth-orcs for generations, binding King Garen Vahl to the new order Gavin planned to build.
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