Sunset's embers splashed across The Orlandian Mountains' jagged spine, painting an ominous, nearly congealed crimson. Beast roars shattered the layered peaks' silence, rough echoes rolling through gathering dusk. This thousand-mile natural barrier coldly severed the human Kingdom of Isaac from the vast, desolate orc wastelands.
At the mountains' human-facing edge, in a tree-shrouded valley, mud flew as two struggling figures churned the stagnant air.
One was the lion-kin youth Leon. Simple leather armor strained across his developing frame, muscles covered in pale golden fur swelling with each pounce. Beneath his signature mane-like golden hair, his broad-nosed, wide-mouthed face tensed with concentration. His fists whistled through air, pale golden light rippling across his knuckles—just shy of the final condensation that would mark his ascension to first-tier Orc Brave. Each heavy blow that struck earth gouged half-foot craters, spraying dirt.
His opponent, the human youth Arthur, appeared pitifully slight—a full size smaller. Barefoot, wrapped in mud-stained, ill-fitting rough leather, disheveled black hair obscured half his face, revealing only a tense jawline. He floundered desperately beneath Leon's hurricane assault, mostly dodging, rolling, even scrambling embarrassingly between his opponent's legs. His rare counterattacks lacked all technique. Yet he moved like a forest shadow, always slipping away at crucial moments from bone-breaking impacts. When escape proved impossible, he absorbed punishment with sturdy arms or back. The instant he fell, he sprang up immediately, never allowing consecutive heavy strikes.
The dozen watching orc youths—green-faced, tusked wolfkin, short-horned, stocky minotaurs, massive bearkin—clenched fists and rumbled low growls, cheering Leon onward. Their camp sprawled nearby—hide tents scattered across a crude wooden palisade's enclosed ground. Campfires crackled while several adult orc guards leaned against the fence, occasionally glancing at this youthful contest.
Unable to land decisive blows, his comrades' shouts seared Leon's nerves. A low growl rolled from his throat as he threw his body at Arthur!
At impact's instant, Arthur deliberately fell backward, body pressed to earth, then rolled away like a loosed arrow, barely escaping.
Leon's power-laden strike missed completely, his body stumbling. Rage exploded instantly: "Arthur! You cunning groundhog! Face my fist properly!" He roared, golden hair nearly standing erect.
Arthur had already rolled upright, mouth seeming to twitch beneath his black hair: "Sure, definitely next time." His voice carried strange calm.
"I'll break every bone in your body!" Pale golden light suddenly blazed around Leon's fists. He launched himself airborne, fist wreathed in fierce wind crashing toward Arthur's skull!
At that critical moment, Arthur suddenly raised his head. Disheveled hair parted, revealing abnormally bright eyes with desperate cunning dancing in their depths. His hidden hand flashed up—a handful of wet mud mixed with sharp pebbles, hurled viciously at Leon's face!
Leon instinctively closed his eyes and raised his arms to block.
Now!
Arthur exploded forward like a compressed spring, skull ramming Leon's unprotected soft abdomen!
"Urgh!" Leon cried out, knocked backward. Arthur pressed his advantage, body following through to straddle Leon, fists raining down on that lion-kin face twisted with pain and shock!
"Despicable!"
"Shameless human!"
"Kill him!"
The watching orc youths erupted in thunderous roars and curses, teeth grinding audibly, yet none charged into the circle. Ancient orc tradition stood like invisible bars—one-on-one duels brooked no interference. A coward's name weighed heavier than death.
Pinned beneath, Leon released an injured beast's shriek, pale golden light exploding around him! Tremendous force hurled Arthur away, sending him crashing several feet distant into mud.
Leon swayed upright, armor askew, nose swollen, a bright red trickle from his mouth corner. His chest heaved violently, golden fur seeming to bristle, eyes rolling with molten blood-red fury, sharp claws extending from fingertips—an aura of savage, murderous intent climbed steadily. Berserker's Fury!
"Leon! Stop!" An icy, imperious shout rang out like an invisible hammer blow.
Leon's climbing momentum instantly wilted, blood-tide receding from his eyes, leaving only humiliation and rage. He whipped around.
From the camp's depths, a robed female lion-kin emerged with measured steps. Her features were far gentler than male lion-kin, golden fur arranged like carefully groomed tassels, her gait carrying unquestionable nobility and authority. Lady Cecilia herself. Two guards followed closely: the tower-like minotaur Hessen with massive horns, and the sleek panther-kin female warrior Shara, her gaze sharp and cold as ice. They were true Orc Braves, their oppressive presence making the youths hold their breath.
"Mistress!" The youths bowed respectfully, lowering their heads.
"Mother!" Leon rushed forward like any child suffering great injustice, grasping Cecilia's arm with tearful voice: "He cheated! Used dirty mud!"
Cecilia shook off her son's hand expressionlessly, her gaze stern as ice picks: "Leon," her voice wasn't loud yet clearly cut through the camp's din, "battlefields recognize no methods, only life and death. Victors write everything, the defeated become dust. Remember this!"
Leon stiffened his neck, golden mane still trembling: "But... true orc heroes..."
"True heroes," Cecilia interrupted, voice suddenly rising with barely detectable anguish, "survive first! At any cost! Don't learn your father's foolishness!"
Leon's entire body shook, defiance instantly extinguished. He bowed deeply, voice muffled: "Yes, Mother."
Only then did Cecilia turn toward the silent, head-bowed Arthur. The harsh lines of her face miraculously softened as she reached out to ruffle the youth's mud-covered black hair: "Well done, Arthur." She turned back: "Shara, from dawn tomorrow, you'll teach him basic combat techniques."
"As you command, Mistress." Shara's voice was low and clear.
"Thank you, Mistress." Arthur raised his head, face blooming with an utterly cloudless, brilliant smile as he respectfully bowed to both Cecilia and Shara. Then, under the surrounding orc youths' nearly flame-breathing furious gazes, he turned and ran toward the camp's campfire.
Cecilia's gaze swept the other orc youths. "Go on," her voice returned to calm, "eat well to grow into true warriors. Hessen, from tomorrow they're yours to drill."
"Yes, Mistress." The minotaur Hessen inclined slightly, his voice deep as muffled thunder.
"Roar!" The youths erupted in excited cheers, recent unpleasantness instantly forgotten. Led by Leon, they rushed eagerly toward the campfire wafting roasted meat aromas.
Clamor receded. Cecilia stood alone in deepening dusk, her gaze crossing the camp's crude wooden palisade toward The Orlandian Mountains' distant silhouette—jagged ridges rising and falling in blood-red sunset, silent and menacing. A thread of deep worry crept up her golden brow like mountain mist, settling there and refusing to lift.