Deep within the Blackrock Spire caves, the air in the "Boss' House" was thick with the smell of sweat.
On the second-floor clearing, Kurzadh was bare-chested, his green muscles gleaming with oil under the torchlight. Each push-up caused the ground to tremble slightly.
He had been at it for nearly an hour, veins bulging on his arms, sweat dripping down his cheeks onto the stone floor, forming a small puddle. Yet, he maintained a steady rhythm—1000 push-ups, 1000 sit-ups, and 1000 squats and a 10 kilometer run. This had been his unwavering exercise routine since he transmigrated, and it was also the foundation of his ability to stand firm among the greenskins .
"Hoo..." Completing the last push-up, Kurzadh pushed himself up abruptly, breathing heavily.
He picked up a nearby animal hide towel, wiped the sweat from his body, his eyes showing no fatigue, but rather a hint of excitement.
Skarsnik had just relayed the news of the skirmish between the dwarves and the skaven—five hundred High Mountain dwarves had launched a surprise attack, only to be trapped in deep pits by the skaven's tunnel traps. In the end, Glen had to bring Orc Boyz to rescue them.
"Gezhik's dwarves..." Kurzadh leaned against the stone wall, a cold smirk playing on his lips.
He could guess with his toes that the purpose of these dwarves coming here was definitely to contend for control of the Khyprian road.
After all, the Blackrock Clan had monopolized the trade route, cutting off the dwarves' financial path; they couldn't just sit by and do nothing.
But what he found amusing was that the dwarves had only sent five hundred men, and they still wanted to storm Stonewatch's walls—this was simply underestimating the Blackrock Clan's strength, and underestimating that twenty-five-meter-high city wall.
"However, the large pit left by the skaven is a hidden danger," Kurzadh stroked his chin, pondering.
That deep pit was tens of meters in diameter and hundreds of meters deep. If there were any remaining skaven inside, or if it were exploited by other forces, it would bring trouble to the tribe.
"It seems I'll have to send the hobgoblin Sappers to fill it, and while they're at it, investigate the skaven tunnels to prevent future problems."
What excited him even more was that this unexpected skirmish just gave the tribe's Boyz a reason to "fight."
The orcs and hobgoblins had been cooped up for too long, and now they could use the pretext of clearing out the skaven and guarding against the dwarves to get some good exercise—the nature of greenskins was to fight, and only through blood and fire could the tribe grow stronger.
"Thump, thump, thump!" There was a knock on the door downstairs, followed by Gazlowe's voice: "Boss, are you done exercising? I have something to tell you."
"Come up!" Kurzadh shouted, picking up his coarse cloth clothes and putting them on.
Gazlowe pushed open the door, holding an animal hide ledger, and walked in quickly.
He was still the same, wearing a linen robe, leaning on a wooden staff inlaid with copper pieces, his small eyes full of shrewdness.
Seeing Kurzadh, he quickly stopped and respectfully bowed: "Boss, this is this month's mushroom field harvest and the caravan's transaction records. Please take a look."
Kurzadh took the ledger and casually flipped through it—it recorded in crooked greenskin writing-if you can call it that : mushroom production increased by 30% compared to last month, two hundred gold coins were earned from selling black mushroom spirits to Katushir, and fifty iron axes were traded for iron ore sold to Gezhik's dwarves... The accounts were clear and easy to understand.
"Well done." Kurzadh nodded in satisfaction, placing the ledger on the stone table. "Sit down; don't just stand there. I also have something I want to talk to you about."
Gazlowe paused, then quickly sat on a nearby Kurzadh stool.
He had been with Kurzadh for so long, and this was the first time he had seen the chieftain actively want to "Chat" with him, making him a little nervous.
"How long have you been with me?" Kurzadh suddenly asked, his tone casual, like he was making small talk.
"Replying, boss, almost two years," Gazlowe thought for a moment and replied, "I joined you when you first unified the Forest of Gloom, after you finished fighting in Katushir."
"Two years, huh..." Kurzadh sighed with emotion, "These two years, you've worked hard. The tribe's accounts, material allocation, and personnel arrangements have all been handled by you. Without you, the tribe wouldn't be where it is today."
Gazlowe quickly waved his hand, a flattered expression on his face: "Boss, you're too kind! This is all what I should do! It's my good fortune to be able to follow you!"
Kurzadh smiled, then changed the subject: "To be honest, I've always been curious about your past. You're not like an ordinary hobgoblin Shaman; you understand accounts, know how to manage, and know a lot about the outside world. You must have followed a very powerful figure before, right?"
Gazlowe's body stiffened slightly, the wooden staff in his hand trembled a little, and a complex emotion flashed in his eyes—nostalgia, sadness, and a hint of unwillingness.
He was silent for a moment before speaking slowly, his voice a little hoarse: "Boss, since you asked, I won't hide it from you. I used to follow a very powerful greenskin Warlord named 'Gorbad Ironclaw,' who was one of the strongest greenskin chieftains to ever rise from the Badlands."
"Gorbad Ironclaw?" Kurzadh's heart stirred.
He had seen that name in the system's database—this greenskin Warlord had once commanded a massive WAAAGH! of countless greenskins, sweeping north from the Badlands through the Border Princes and into the Empire itself.
He'd crushed armies, killed an Elector Count in single combat, and broken the back of Emperor Sigismund's own griffon. However, he ultimately fell in battle with the Imperial army at Grunberg, and his WAAAGH! subsequently disintegrated.
"That's right, it was Warboss Gorbad Ironclaw." Gazlowe's eyes became distant, as if recalling the past. "I was one of his Shamans at the time, responsible for keeping da boyz in line with Gork and Mork's will.
Gorbad Ironclaw was da biggest and da strongest—even had himself a massive wyvern he rode into battle. Back then, our WAAAGH! was so glorious—tens of thousands of greenskins followed Gorbad Ironclaw, and wherever he went, that was our territory. Humans, dwarfs, and even elves were no match for us!"
He paused, his voice lowering: "But then we reached Solland, and Gorbad got into a right scrap with their Elector Count—killed 'im good, even took his Runefang. We smashed through Wissenland and Averland, but when we got to Altdorf itself, the fight got brutal.
The Emperor himself came out to face us at Grunberg. The umies had their Steam Tanks, their war priests, their wizards—and Gorbad... he got wounded bad in the fighting."
At this point, Gazlowe's eyes reddened slightly: "After Gorbad fell, the WAAAGH! died with him. Some greenskins tried to take over, but without Gorbad's strength, it all fell apart. Some boyz followed other Warlords, some got stomped by the umies during the retreat, and others just wandered off.
I became disheartened and began to travel, wanting to see what else was out there, and also to find a chieftain who could inherit Gorbad Ironclaw's legacy."
He looked up at Kurzadh, his eyes full of determination: "Until I met you, boss. In you, I saw the blessings of both Gork and Mork—you're not like other greenskin chieftains who only know how to fight and loot.
You build, you plan, you make da boyz work together to make the greenskins stronger. I knew you were the one I was looking for, so I decided to follow you!"
Kurzadh listened quietly, his heart filled with emotion.
He hadn't expected Gazlowe to have such a past, nor had he expected himself to hold such a high position in Gazlowe's heart.
He looked at this unassuming hobgoblin Shaman and suddenly felt that the responsibility on his shoulders was even heavier—he not only had to make the Blackrock Clan stronger but also had to lead these greenskins who followed him to carve out their own place in this cruel world.
"Gazlowe, thank you." Kurzadh stood up, walked over to Gazlowe, and solemnly patted his shoulder, "Thank you for being willing to follow me, and thank you for telling me all this."
Gazlowe quickly stood up, too excited to speak.
Kurzadh looked at him, his eyes full of ambition: "Don't worry, what Gorbad Ironclaw couldn't accomplish, I will accomplish! I will unleash the biggest WAAAGH! in this world, plant the Blackrock Clan's banner in every corner of the Old World, and make the name 'greenskin Warchief Kurzadh' resound across every land! By then, all greenskins will know that by following me, Kurzadh, not only will there be fights and drinks, but they will also become the strongest beings!"
"WAAAGH!!" Gazlowe trembled with excitement, raising the wooden staff in his hand and shouting loudly. His voice was full of fanaticism, and his eyes were full of anticipation—he had been waiting for this day for too long.
Kurzadh also smiled; he knew this was not an empty promise.
With capable assistants like Gazlowe, loyal subordinates like Glen, Bone Tree, Skarsnik, and Scarface, an increasingly powerful greenskin army, and that indestructible blue brick city wall, he had the confidence and ability to fulfill his oath.
The night outside grew darker, but the Blackrock Spire caves remained lively—the Orc Boyz were practicing with axes in the training ground, the hobgoblins were patrolling the mushroom field, and the hobgoblin Sappers were preparing tools for filling the pit tomorrow.
Kurzadh looked at it all, his heart filled with a sense of security.
This unexpected skirmish, instigated by the dwarves and disrupted by the skaven, was just a small interlude on the Blackrock Clan's path to rise. In the future, more challenges awaited them—the human alliance, the dwarves' revenge, the skaven's covetousness, the threat of Chaos... But Kurzadh was not afraid, nor were the greenskins .
Because for greenskins , fighting is life, and WAAAGH! is faith.