Dust flew on the parade ground in the center of Blackrock Spire.
Over three hundred orcs formed three crooked lines—the front row consisted of hobgoblin spearmen, their iron spears barely held at shoulder height; in the middle were hobgoblin archers, their bows askew, some even having strung the bowstring backward; the back row was made up of Orc Boyz, each burly and strong, but impatiently picking at their nails, their iron axes casually discarded at their feet.
Kurzadh, clad in black leather armor and holding a smoothly polished Bone Tree staff, stood on a high platform at the front of the formation.
Behind him, Furball lay on the ground, his green fur, now half a person's height, dotted with grass clippings, listlessly gnawing on poisonous mushrooms, occasionally glancing up at the orcs on the parade ground and letting out disapproving "wooing" sounds.
"All of you, stand properly!" Kurzadh's voice boomed like thunder, his Bone Tree staff striking the stone slab of the platform, "Left foot! Step with your left foot! If anyone steps with their right foot again, I'll have Furball bite their butt!"
The orcs on the parade ground immediately shivered, hastily adjusting their steps.
But less than three seconds later, a hobgoblin archer still mistakenly stepped with his right foot. Furball sprang up with a "whoosh," baring his teeth and about to charge, scaring the hobgoblin into frantically hopping to change feet, nearly dropping his bow, which drew laughter from the surrounding orcs.
"What are you laughing at?!" Kurzadh glared, and the parade ground instantly fell silent.
These orcs had become seasoned veterans after the battle with the cloth Brotherhood and several small skirmishes to clear out bandits—Orc Boyz could cleave wooden shields with a single axe, hobgoblin spearmen could accurately pierce pottery jars, and night hobgoblins' poisoned arrows could hit a squirrel a hundred meters away. But the innate sloppiness of orcs was ingrained in their bones, making it difficult even to get them to form neat lines, let alone obey complex commands.
Kurzadh could only resort to the "Basic subjects" he learned in the army in his previous life—attention, stand at ease, and marching. To make these orcs obedient, he also implemented a "Carrot and stick" approach: those who marched well received an extra bowl of mushroom wine at noon; those who marched poorly were punished by weeding the mushroom field and given no food .
"Forward—march!"
At Kurzadh's command, the orcs marched forward with chaotic steps.
Some were out of sync, some marched too fast, and some even spun in place.
A hobgoblin spearman in the front row had his foot stepped on by an orc Boy behind him, turned around to curse, and nearly threw his iron spear; a hobgoblin archer in the middle had his bowstring loosen, fumbling frantically and almost injuring a companion nearby.
"Stop!" Kurzadh's head ached with anger, his Bone Tree staff pointing at the out-of-sync orc Boy, "Glen! If you go out of sync again, you'll be Dragu's helper, moving stones for three days!"
The orc Boy named Glen immediately stopped, his face flushed red—being Dragu's helper was even worse than weeding; that hobgoblin Tinkerers would constantly watch him move stones, and if he was too slow, he would hit him on the head with a wrench.
He quickly adjusted his steps, muttering "left, right, left," and finally took one correct step.
"Right! Just like that!" Kurzadh's tone softened, "Whoever takes ten correct steps gets half a piece of roast meat at noon!"
The orcs immediately perked up.
The Orc Boyz gritted their teeth and counted their steps, the hobgoblins reminded each other to "Step with the left foot," and even the most undisciplined ones straightened their backs.
Furball lay on the platform, watching the clumsy orcs, and couldn't help but let out a "Giggle," which earned him a glare from Kurzadh, prompting him to quickly bury his head in his green fur and pretend to sleep.
On the dirt road next to the parade ground, several pump pump carts slowly drove past, loaded with damp soil—it was being transported to expand the mushroom field.
Kurzadh glanced at them, a smile unconsciously curving his lips—the expansion of Blackrock Spire and Stonewatch was progressing faster than he had anticipated.
He had divided Blackrock Spire into four districts: East, West, South, and North. The East District was the newly built workshop area, where bathhouses and breweries were being constructed; the West District was the residential area, where all the original tents had been replaced with Kurzadh-built shacks, their roofs covered with thick mushroom skins; the South District was the training area, which, in addition to the parade ground, had a mud pit specifically for training the strength of the Orc Boyz; the North District was the warehouse area, piled with iron ore and cloth "Collected" from merchant caravans.
Stonewatch was divided into an inner and outer district—the inner district housed the forging furnaces and armory, while the outer district contained the workshops of the hobgoblin Tinkerers, where Dragu, with a dozen hobgoblins, was forging new smithing hammers.
At this time, in Blackrock Spire's West District, dozens of orcs were busy building shacks. Orc Boyz grunted as they carried thick wooden beams onto stone walls; hobgoblins, with trowels, filled the gaps in the stones with mixed mud; the goblin were the busiest, some carrying stones, some handing tools, and some even lying on the ground, using small shovels to clear away gravel.
A goblin accidentally dropped a stone, hitting a nearby hobgoblin's foot. The hobgoblin raised his foot to kick, but was glared back by Bone Tree, who was supervising: "The boss said no bullying goblin! If you break your foot, who's going to hand you the trowel?"
The hobgoblin reluctantly pulled back his foot, and the goblin quickly picked up the stone, running off with his head down, his small face full of gratitude—ever since the boss came to the tribe, the goblin no longer had to be arbitrarily beaten or scolded by the Orc Boyz; as long as they worked hard, they would receive enough food .
The mushroom field in Blackrock Spire's South District was even livelier.
Three second-grade mushroom fields stretched out, with giant green mushrooms growing taller than a person, glistening with dew drops under their caps.
The goblin pushed small carts, carefully picking ripe mushrooms and delivering them to the nearby brewery; the hobgoblins, meanwhile, used hoes to loosen the soil in the mushroom field, occasionally plucking a small mushroom and secretly popping it into their mouths—this was allowed by Kurzadh; as long as it wasn't wasteful, picking a few small mushrooms to satisfy a craving was fine.
"Quick! Loosen it faster! When it upgrades to a third-grade mushroom field, we'll be able to grow Orc Boyz!" Zaggur, in charge of the mushroom field, shouted excitedly while instructing the hobgoblins to loosen the soil. orc mushroom fields had a unique characteristic: first-grade could only grow goblin, second-grade could grow hobgoblins and goblin, and third-grade could grow Orc Boyz. The faster they grew, the stronger the orcs born would be.
Currently, the tribe only had over two hundred Orc Boyz. If the mushroom field upgraded to third-grade, they could add another hundred Orc Boyz within half a year, and then they would have more confidence to start a WAAAGH!
To upgrade to a third-grade mushroom field, all that was needed was a decent battle—the system prompt stated, "Accumulate enough WAAAGH! energy, or win a medium-sized battle, to upgrade."
Kurzadh already had a target in mind, but the tribe was still expanding. He had to wait for the bathhouses and breweries to be completed before finding an opportunity to act.
In Blackrock Spire's East District, the newly completed orc brewery exuded a rich aroma of mushroom wine.
The brewery was stone-built, its roof covered with glazed tiles (defective ones sent by Antonio, cheap and durable), and a wooden sign hung at the entrance, with four crooked characters carved on it: "Blackrock Brewery."
A dozen hobgoblin Boyz, wearing matching animal-hide aprons, bustled about in the brewery—some cleaned and chopped the picked mushrooms into small pieces; some poured mushroom bits into large vats, adding swamp honey and clear water; others stirred the fermented wine with wooden ladles, their faces smudged with wine stains, but grinning from ear to ear.
There were also many goblin, dressed in comical animal-hide suits, bustling about.
"All of you, be careful! Don't drop mushrooms into the wine vats!" Zaggur stood in the center of the brewery, holding a wooden ladle, occasionally scooping up wine to taste.
A hobgoblin boy secretly picked up a chopped mushroom, just about to pop it into his mouth, when Zaggur caught sight of him: "Xiao San! You dare to steal food ? You're punished to wash ten extra wine vats today!"
The hobgoblin boy scratched his head, quickly put the mushroom back on the plate, and turned to wash the wine vats.
The other hobgoblins laughed heartily, but no one dared to steal food again—although Zaggur was short, he was the brewery supervisor personally appointed by the boss. Anyone who dared to disobey him would not only go without wine but also have to weed the mushroom field.
Next to the brewery was the bathhouse currently under construction.
The foundation had been laid, and a dozen thick wooden pillars stood on the ground. Several hobgoblin Tinkerers were measuring the height of the pillars with rulers.
Dragu stood nearby, holding a blueprint, his brows tightly furrowed—the blueprint was drawn by Kurzadh, showing a large rectangular box with several small pools beside it, with the requirement that it "must allow one hundred and fifty orcs to bathe together, and the water must be hot."
"The boss said to build the pools with stones, but we don't have enough stones!" Dragu complained to the hobgoblin Tinkerers beside him, "The stones Antonio sent were all used to build the brewery and shacks; what's left is only enough for half a pool!"
"How about... using mud?" a hobgoblin Tinkerers suggested softly.
"Nonsense! Mud melts in water; do you want the boss to fall into the mud when he bathes?" Dragu kicked him, and the hobgoblin Tinkerers quickly dodged, not daring to speak further.
Dragu squatted on the ground, sighing as he looked at the blueprint.
He was the only hobgoblin Tinkerers in the tribe with a bit of aesthetic sense. When building the brewery, he deliberately added a few glazed tiles to the roof, making it look better than other houses. Now that he was in charge of building the bathhouse, the boss wanted him to make it even grander, but with insufficient materials, he could only temporarily build the edges of the pool and continue construction when Antonio sent more stone bricks next time.
"First, secure the wooden pillars! Then go to Stonewatch to get some iron sheets and cover the roof!" Dragu stood up and shouted to the hobgoblin Tinkerers, "Don't let the boss see us idle!"
The hobgoblin Tinkerers quickly responded, carrying hammers, and began to secure the wooden pillars.
Sunlight spilled onto the bathhouse foundation, casting long shadows of the wooden pillars, like growing orcs, silently witnessing the tribe's changes.
On the parade ground, Kurzadh finally made the orcs stop.
Although the formation was still a bit crooked, they could at least walk fifty steps in unison, and their discipline was much better than before.
He nodded in satisfaction and shouted to the orcs: "Good job today! Everyone gets an extra bowl of mushroom wine and half a piece of roast meat for lunch!"
The orcs immediately cheered, the Orc Boyz yelling "WAAAGH!" with their iron axes raised, the hobgoblins jumping and high-fiving each other, and even Furball lifted his head, wagging his 'tail' at Kurzadh, as if asking for roast meat.
Kurzadh walked down the platform and patted Glen on the shoulder: "You marched well just now. From now on, you'll be my personal guard!"
Glen was stunned for a moment, then his face flushed with excitement, and he nodded vigorously: "I'll listen to the boss! I'll practice hard!"
Kurzadh smiled, looking towards Blackrock Spire—the aroma of wine from the brewery, the laughter from the mushroom field, and the clang of the Blacksmith Shop intertwined, like a vibrant song.
He knew that the tribe's expansion still needed time, the orcs' discipline still needed refinement, and the mushroom field's upgrade still required a battle, but as long as these orcs followed him, and as long as Blackrock Spire and Stonewatch grew stronger day by day, the Blackrock Clan would sooner or later become the most dazzling presence in the Forest of Gloom.
"Let's go! Let's go see the brewery!" Kurzadh turned and walked towards the East District, and Furball quickly followed, bounding ahead, his green figure particularly conspicuous in the sunlight.
The orcs on the parade ground also packed up their weapons and walked in twos and threes towards the residential area, discussing their roast meat and mushroom wine for lunch, their faces filled with anticipation for the future.
The wind of Blackrock Spire, carrying the scent of mushroom wine, blew through every corner.
the stone-built shacks, the expanded mushroom fields, the bathhouse under construction, the bustling brewery, and those vibrant orcs together formed the most vivid picture of the Blackrock Clan.