Terry Roosevelt was only sixteen, but he was already a capable sailor—and he considered himself quite lucky. When the storm struck, he'd managed to leap into a lifeboat just in time. The poor guy behind him had jumped a second too late, only to crash headfirst onto a floating rum barrel. Terry silently prayed to the Sea God that the man hadn't drowned.
Later, those who successfully landed found shelter from the rain in a cave deep within the forest. Their luck, however, quickly ran out—they stumbled straight into a patrol of green-skinned orcs. In the end, everyone except Terry, who had stayed behind to relieve himself, was captured. He could only pray that the Sea God had mercy on them—that they were at least dead before being eaten.
Meanwhile, One-Eye, a wolf rider of the Ironhand Tribe, was thinking that he was the lucky one. Ahead of him stood a scrawny human, small enough that the patrols hadn't spotted him. One-Eye licked his fangs with greedy satisfaction. That puny shrimp would be his alone—no need to share with the others or argue over who got the legs and who got the brains. All mine!
Because he'd lost one eye, One-Eye was often bullied by stronger orcs, who snatched away his share of meat. Drool dripped down his huge tusks as the warg beneath him snorted impatiently, its body writhing with excitement.
"Quiet, you idiot!" One-Eye hissed, smacking the beast's head. "Don't let the little shrimp hear us! Don't worry, you'll get your share. We just need to wait until the patrol's far enough away—then we'll strike. Don't make a sound!"
Crack!
The massive wolf stepped on a dry branch. Its innocent eyes looked up at One-Eye, as if to say it wasn't its fault. One-Eye froze, staring tensely at Terry. The boy, having heard the noise, turned around—only to lock eyes with the green-skinned brute and the hulking wolf hidden in the bushes.
At that moment, Terry felt like the unluckiest person alive. Not dying in the shipwreck was probably the biggest mistake of his life. Right now, he would've given anything to trade places with that poor bastard who'd fallen onto the rum barrel! Even being captured with the captain's group would've been better—at least he'd have company in the stew pot.
But no, fate had other plans. Behind him stood a green-skinned monster that clearly couldn't wait to eat him raw. And that wolf—judging by the look in its eyes—it didn't even want to wait a single second. Just great. Absolutely perfect.
One-Eye, meanwhile, was equally furious. "If it weren't for you, you stupid beast, we'd be eating by now! You useless mule! If we don't catch him, I swear I'll eat you instead tonight!"
The warg blinked, confused. …???
Fueled by sheer survival instinct, Terry ran for his life. For a while, he wasn't even slower than the orc riding the wolf. Darting between trees, he barely managed to stay ahead. But desperation could only push him so far. His stamina ran out quickly, and as the forest thinned ahead, the dreadful thought struck him—he was about to become dinner.
Terror gripped him. He cried out with the last of his strength, "He—help—!" only to trip over a protruding root. His plea ended in a scream as he crashed to the ground.
…
Aldric considered himself lucky. Following the sound of the scream, he soon found the source: a boy lying face-down on the ground, a long spear impaled through his thigh. The poor kid was trembling but still conscious—terrified, yet somehow alive.
"D-Don't eat me!" Terry begged, refusing to look at the spear sticking out of his leg. "I'll tell you where the ship is! There's food—tons of it! And rum! More rum than you can drink! I swear it's true! We came here on a sea vessel—it's not far from here! Please, I can take you there, just don't kill me!"
One-Eye grinned wickedly. The little shrimp was cooperating nicely, trembling and bleeding—his favorite kind. Blood that flowed fast like that meant tender, juicy meat. He licked his lips and patted the wolf's neck. "Keep scaring him, don't let him stop. When he's lost enough blood… we'll feast."
The warg took a few steps forward, baring its fangs and growling menacingly. Terry raised his arms to shield his face, trembling uncontrollably. He knew he was finished.
But just then—through the narrow gap between his elbows—he saw a human figure approaching from behind the orc. His heart leapt. Instinct told him to shout for help, but he immediately realized that doing so would expose the newcomer. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to keep screaming meaninglessly instead—to draw the orc's full attention.
His mind spun with panic and desperate thoughts, but his body no longer obeyed him. He could only continue shrieking incoherently.
Aldric crept silently from behind, moving through bushes and trees, the rain muffling his steps. Luck was on his side—the green-skinned brute and its mount hadn't noticed him. Up close, he realized just how massive the creature was—at least a head taller than himself, its body armored in a mismatched combination of animal hides, wood, and rusted bits of metal. A crude, heavy cleaver hung on its back; even unsharpened, that chunk of metal could crush bones easily.
Aldric had closed in enough. His curved saber was already drawn.
A flash of lightning tore through the sky. Now!
In Terry's wide-eyed gaze, a streak of steel swept past. A clean arc of blade light flashed across the orc's throat—purple blood spattered the ground.
One-Eye staggered, clutching his neck. He spun around, hatred and disbelief twisting his face. His mouth could only produce hoarse, rasping gasps as he reached back for his weapon. That despicable human worm—he would tear him apart!
Aldric hadn't expected the creature to be so tough. Even with two-thirds of its windpipe severed, it still tried to counterattack. With precision, he slashed again—his saber cutting under the orc's raised arm, slicing through the armpit tendons. The intense pain forced One-Eye's arm to collapse mid-reach.
You think I'll give you the chance to fight back?
Aldric's expression was cold. The orc's only remaining eye widened—and then, with another flash of motion, everything went black. Pain flooded from its eye to its gut to its groin. In the final seconds before death, One-Eye felt as though he'd been thrown into a goblin meat grinder.
The first strike hadn't finished the job, but Aldric didn't hesitate. In the span of two heartbeats, he attacked seven more times. He severed the creature's tendons, slashed across both flanks, spilling its organs, and finally brought his blade down through the neck wound—completely separating head from body.
The warg, still growling over its prey, suddenly sensed danger—but too late. It turned half a glance before a heavy cleaver, wielded by the human, came crashing down. The wolf's skull shattered instantly, its body collapsing beside its master.
Terry stared, mouth agape. His plea for mercy still hung half-formed on his lips as the entire situation flipped upside down before his eyes.
"Saved…?" he thought numbly. He tried to speak but could only make strangled noises, swallowing several times before finally stammering out words. When his vision cleared and he recognized Aldric's face, he managed a weak laugh.
"Th-the barrel… you're… that unlucky guy, aren't you?"
(End of Chapter)