---A mountainous region in the East---
By midday, crude, menacing black tents had been pitched across a barren, mountainous, and foul-smelling rocky expanse. The terrain surrounding these tents was littered with scattered bones, skulls, and piles of pure filth. The inhabitants of this ruin-like settlement, which reeked heavily of rotten eggs, were the hideous and twisted orcs of Middle-earth. Most wore tattered, rusted armor; their weapons and gear bore the malicious, crude craftsmanship characteristic of Mordor. A profoundly grim atmosphere dominated the center of the camp around the largest tent, its entrance adorned with macabre bone totems. Wounded orcs groaned in agony around it, some licking their wounds while others desperately tried to bandage them; the uninjured merely cast them gazes of utter disdain. Inside the tent, the air was as frigid and tense as an ice cellar.
"So, you failed."
Inside the tent, a massive, black-skinned Uruk-hai seated upon a throne forged of bone glared coldly at his trembling subordinates. Of the hundred-strong raiding party he had dispatched to pillage the human camp spotted by his scouts, barely forty had returned. The leaders he had tasked with this endeavor now stood quivering right before him. The orc chieftain rose, stalking toward them with heavy, authoritarian strides. Even the guards stationed outside grew restless from the suffocating tension. The chieftain stepped up to the leaders who had returned empty-handed and wounded, scrutinizing them one by one, before locking his predatory gaze onto a cornered, violently trembling orc.
"Howka! You told me these humans were incompetent!"
Howka flinched in terror, swallowing hard as he replied in a quivering, high-pitched squeak.
"I-I-I don't know, s-s-sir... I-I-It looked l-l-like a training camp."
The chieftain began a slow, deliberate approach toward the speaker. As he drew closer, Howka's panic skyrocketed.
"I-I-Its members w-w-were v-very y-y-young, they d-d-didn't have p-proper a-a-armor or w-weapons."
When the chieftain stood directly over the ugly, stubby Howka, the lesser orc cowered into the dirt, begging for his life.
"P-p-please f-forgive m-!?"
But before he could even finish his plea, the orc chieftain drew the blade at his waist and severed the stubby orc's arm with a single, clean strike. Black blood sprayed across the surroundings, splattering the faces of both the chieftain and Howka. For a split second, Howka froze, unable to comprehend what had just happened, but immediately after, he tore the heavens apart with a scream born of the excruciating agony of his severed limb.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!"
The agonizing shriek of the maimed orc echoed violently against the tent walls. Some of the orcs inside stiffened in absolute terror, while others watched without moving a single muscle. Howka collapsed to the ground, clutching his bleeding stump, tears streaming down his grotesque face as he wailed. But the orc chieftain harbored no mercy; his sword rose into the air once more and came down flawlessly upon Howka's neck. As black blood geysered, the orc's severed head, frozen in a mask of shock, rolled across the floor until it stopped right before the other wounded leaders. Witnessing this brutal spectacle, several orcs began to shake uncontrollably.
The orc chieftain calmly turned and drove his sword into the severed arm lying in the dirt. Lifting the blade, he grabbed the impaled limb with his free hand, brought it to his mouth, and tore off a massive chunk of raw flesh, chewing it vigorously. Drops of black blood oozed from his twisted maw, dripping onto the tent floor. As he chewed the meat, he grunted in frustration.
"Tastes just as useless as he was!"
Even so, he took another vicious bite from the bloody arm and swept his gaze over the orcs lined up before him. Some cowered in fear, while others stood expressionless. The chieftain's eyes stopped on another orc who was wounded in the shoulder.
"Tollo! Not only did you get yourself wounded, but you also got your Warg killed! Speak, before you become my dinner!"
Tollo took a bold step forward, glaring fearlessly and with burning fury into his chieftain's eyes with his own yellow irises. He retorted in a harsh, muffled tone in the Black Speech.
"You told us this would be a simple raid!"
The orc chieftain narrowed his eyes, deeply displeased by this rebellious tone as he continued to chew his meat. Though the surrounding orcs grunted softly in agreement with Tollo, a single vicious glare from the chieftain silenced them instantly. Refusing to back down, Tollo continued.
"They managed to keep us out before we even entered the woods, but we scared them! They fled into the forest, but they had prepared traps and laid ambushes inside! That place is now crawling with traps! We couldn't even make it halfway through the forest!"
As low growls of agreement rose once more from the surrounding orcs, Tollo angrily pointed an accusing finger at the chieftain.
"The reason we failed is that you gave us incomplete intelligence!"
The chieftain's eyes narrowed dangerously as the murmurs and various roars inside the tent grew louder. At that moment, the chieftain swallowed the meat in his mouth and unleashed a savage roar at his men, projecting a dark, suffocating aura of killing intent.
"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGG!"
As he roared, spit, black blood, and chunks of flesh sprayed from his maw. Crushed by the chieftain's sudden, oppressive presence, the orcs instantly cowered into silence; some trembled in terror, while others soiled themselves. Yet, Tollo remained unaffected, keeping his gaze locked on his leader. Infuriated by this blatant challenge to his authority, the chieftain marched right up to Tollo, looking down at him with an arrogant sneer. Then, he violently slammed the bloody, bite-marked arm into Tollo's chest. Acting on pure reflex, Tollo raised his hands and caught the falling limb mid-air. The chieftain spoke, his muffled, harsh voice delivering a clear, unmistakable threat.
"This failure was not my mistake."
He raised a hand, pointing at the headless corpse lying on the floor.
"It was his mistake, and as your chieftain, I have just executed the punishment for that mistake."
His voice then dropped to a lower, even more menacing whisper as he leaned in calmly, their faces merely inches apart.
"Do you have a problem or a complaint about this, Tollo?"
Tollo glanced briefly at the corpse on the ground, then at the severed arm in his hands, and finally back at his chieftain, who was standing on a very dangerous precipice. Weighing the situation quickly in his mind, he brought the severed limb to his mouth and took a savage bite, tearing off a mouthful of raw flesh. As he chewed, saliva mixed with black blood dripped onto the floor. Seeing this, the chieftain nodded in dark satisfaction; Tollo was not going to complain. Since warriors as skilled as Tollo were rare in the tribe, this was a wise compromise. As the lethal tension between the two orcs settled, a stubby, scrawny, and short orc from the back of the crowd timidly interjected.
"Chieftain... what do we do now... do we continue the raid?"
The orc chieftain turned toward the ugly subordinate. In truth, he knew this botched campaign would humiliate him before the neighboring tribes and make his own look weak; thus, backing down was a luxury he couldn't afford. After a brief moment of wicked calculation, a cunning plan formed in his mind, and he barked at another orc nearby.
"Shisg! Ride North immediately! Go to those giant, pale-blue-skinned bastards and tell them our tribe has found a human military camp preparing to attack them! Tell them our tribe offers an alliance to obliterate that human camp and sack the lake-town together!"
The orc named Shisg nodded frantically, darting out of the tent and sprinting toward the edge of the camp. Reaching a rocky outcrop slightly further away where several dozen Wargs were sleeping, he leaped onto the back of a massive black Warg and rode off swiftly, vanishing into the distance. Left alone with his thoughts, the orc chieftain flashed a grotesque, sinister grin and turned around, taking his seat back upon his bone throne. He had just secured a solid trump card to establish dominance over the other tribes, and he couldn't wait to play it. While the rest of the orcs stood around in bewildered silence, the chieftain's raspy bark echoed again.
"Get the hell out of my tent! I want to be alone!"
Upon receiving the command, Tollo and the others immediately began to file out; some scurried in haste, while others walked with a more measured pace. Just as Tollo was the last to exit, the chieftain's voice stopped him.
"Tollo!"
Tollo paused and looked back. The chieftain met his gaze and continued.
"Go choose one of the riderless Wargs for yourself. I wouldn't want to turn a fine rider like you into a foot soldier."
Tollo stared at his chieftain for a moment, then gave a curt nod and left the tent, leaving the leader to his dark machinations. After walking a short distance from the tent, his friend Korrs intercepted him. His voice was laced with deep concern.
"What did the chieftain say?"
Tollo shrugged, summarizing the events.
"He killed Howka. Gave me a new warg, and sent a messenger North, east of the Withered Heath."
Hearing this, Korrs was utterly dumbfounded.
"What! He did what?!"
---Temporary Camp Area---
Around the exact same time, a completely different atmosphere reigned in the wooded grove housing the temporary camp led by Leon. The warm, sweet light of the midday sun filtered through the canopy, illuminating the campsite. Animals wandered silently through the woods, and the gentle babble of a nearby stream bestowed a deep sense of peace upon the surroundings. Things were quite serene at the camp; a portion of the militia stood guard while the rest had retired to rest. The night had passed uneventfully for them. In one of the tents, Axel was calmly tending to the wounded, brewing remedies. A few militiamen assisted him, while two Vaegir warriors were busy caring for their own injured comrades.
Maximus and Jerus sat by a map spread out in the center of the camp, chatting while eating stew from their wooden bowls. They were conducting a situational assessment to ensure the camp's security. At the ambush and observation points ringing the perimeter, the units that had served the night shift had pulled back a few meters to rest, replaced by fresh scouts positioned to keep a watchful eye over the trails. This way, they would be immediately alerted in the event of an attack or an unauthorized intrusion.
Leon and his squad had similarly withdrawn behind their ambush zones to recuperate, leaving only two sentries on the frontline. Sitting on the ground, chewing on a piece of dried meat, Leon looked at the two young men beside him and spoke.
"You two did a fine job! If you hadn't killed that beast, we could have run into serious trouble."
Hearing the praise, Kevin and Tommy grinned sheepishly, scratching their heads in embarrassment. Truth be told, they didn't consider their feat to be that massive of an achievement, especially given the sheer, monstrous size of the creature they had targeted. Kevin muttered modestly.
"It wasn't a major achievement, sir."
Tommy nodded with the same bashful expression, agreeing with him. But seeing this, Leon let out a deep sigh, deciding to remind them of the harsh reality.
"You're both still green. You only managed to kill that monster because you caught it off guard. If you had hesitated for even a second or two, and that beast had slipped into the woods and moved through the trees, the odds are very high that some of your comrades would have lost their lives tonight."
Hearing this, the two youths fell silent for a moment, exchanging a sobering glance. In truth, they had considered that very possibility, and it was a scenario they absolutely never wanted to see unfold. Fortunately, the danger had been averted. Leon paused, tearing off another piece of dried meat. He chewed slowly, washed it down with a swig from his waterskin, and swallowed before turning back to the boys.
"Once we skin that Warg, I'll have Apollo sell the pelt the next time he goes to the lake-town for supplies. The coin we get for it rightfully belongs to you."
Leon was not a greedy man; he knew perfectly well how crucial fair treatment of soldiers was to good leadership. Though surprised by the offer, the two young men nodded silently and expressed their gratitude. The trio focused on their food for a while longer, listening to the serene whispers of the forest. This tranquility was broken by Tommy's sudden question.
"Commander... do you think the orcs will come back?"
Leon thought for a moment, casting a sweeping glance over his resting men before answering Tommy.
"I'm not sure. They might, or they might not. We'll spend two more nights here, and then we'll see."
Receiving his answer, Tommy nodded and returned to his meal. They ate in silence for a while longer, absorbing the sounds of nature. However, the hurried sound of footsteps crunching through the forest suddenly sliced through the peace like a blade. The militiamen sleeping or eating nearby flinched, sitting up straight to look in the direction of the noise. It was one of the sentries they had posted at the ambush site. Leon furrowed his brows, looking up at the bright sky.
'Are the orcs attacking at this hour? Or is it something else?'
Setting his food aside, he calmly stood up and walked toward the sprinting scout. Astonished, Kevin and Tommy hastily scrambled to their feet and tailed their commander. Leon addressed the breathless messenger.
"Has the enemy returned?"
The scout halted before Leon, panting heavily. Shaking his head, he explained the situation.
"No, sir. But a situation has arisen that requires your attention!" Leon raised an eyebrow in curiosity.
"Report. What's going on?"
The young militiaman straightened his posture and recounted what he had seen.
"Sir, there's a large group of humans approaching the ambush point. Their clothing is of a style I've never seen before, but the design motifs resemble Khergit craftsmanship. Furthermore, they have a herd of goats with them."
As Leon's brows furrowed deeper, the surrounding militiamen who overheard the report exchanged bewildered looks and shrugged. Leon pressed for more details.
"Do they have any distinguishing features? Anything unusual? A symbol, banners, things like that?"
The scout thought for a second, then nodded.
"Yes, sir. There are four riders leading the group, and the helmets they wear are bizarre."
Leon kept listening.
"Describe them."
The militia gathered the image in his mind and spoke.
"The helmet completely covers the head, but the faceplate is forged to depict a human face, complete with a strange mustache motif."
Hearing this, Leon breathed a sigh of relief, even feeling a surge of gladness.
"The helmet you described is worn by the elite soldiers of the Khuzait. It seems Lord Igris has sent us reinforcements."
Hearing these words, the soldiers nearby visibly relaxed, immediately returning to their slumber or rest. The arrivals were not enemies; better yet, backup had arrived. Seeing his men instantly revert to their lazy mode to shake off the night's exhaustion, Leon chuckled softly and turned back to the scout.
"Go inform the next rotation for a guard change. You and your partner come back and get some rest. I'll go check out these new arrivals."
The militiaman nodded with profound gratitude. He hadn't rested for a single second since last night; the bags under his eyes were swollen, and all he craved was a bit of sleep. After dismissing him, Leon began walking toward the perimeter to greet the incoming group. Kevin and Tommy exchanged a glance and, burning with curiosity about the new troops, trailed right behind their commander. Leon glanced over his shoulder and saw them, but paid it no mind; he was starting to warm up to these two youngsters. After walking through the woods for a few minutes, bizarre sounds began to drift through the air.
MEEE!
MEEEEE!
MMMMMEEEEEEE!
Tommy and Kevin looked at each other in sheer bewilderment. Judging by the chorus of bleats, a herd of goats of considerable size was approaching the camp. To Leon, these bleats sounded like sweet music; goats meant fresh meat and milk. However, figuring out how to manage so many animals and where to pen them in the middle of a forest was a massive headache. Furthermore, another grim possibility dawned on him, annoying him greatly.
'...now it seems our camp is going to look even more appetizing to the orcs... how incredibly vexing...'
Drawing in a deep breath, he continued walking until he shortly intercepted the newly arrived contingent. At the very front rode four equestrians, and behind them marched men armed with spears and shields, arrayed in two orderly ranks with distinct spacing. Right in the center of this infantry formation, the herd of goats was being herded; men and women on the flanks of the group were actively working to keep the livestock together.
When the lead riders spotted Leon and his escorts, one of them dismounted, stroked their steed's neck, and strode calmly toward Leon. The individual gripped a long-shafted polearm with a machete-like curved blade (a glaive), and twin swords hung from either side of their waist. Standing somewhere between 1.78 and two meters tall, they were well-built but possessed a silhouette much leaner than an average brute warrior. With that terrifying, full-face helmet and high-quality armor, the warrior cut an incredibly imposing figure. Quivers bursting with arrows and a classic Khuzait bow slung on either side of the horse immediately caught the eye. As Leon and the armored stranger closed the distance, they stopped. Leon broke the ice with a calm but curious expression.
"Welcome. I assume you accepted Lord Igris's offer and crossed over into this bizarre world, correct?"
The warrior across from him nodded; though muffled by the heavy helm, the voice carried a distinct, elegant cadence.
"I did, but I didn't expect to encounter someone from the Empire. Are you the commander of the unit stationed here?"
Leon extended a hand in confirmation.
"Yes, I was elected as the temporary commander by a joint vote of the men. My name is Leon."
The warrior nodded, flipped the glaive downward, and drove its butt firmly into the dirt. Reaching up with both hands, the stranger grasped the sides of the helmet and pulled it off. The moment the helm was removed, Tommy and Kevin, standing in the rear, dropped their jaws in absolute shock. From within the heavy armor emerged an elegant woman with long black hair tied up in a topknot, striking chestnut eyes, a sharp jawline, and slightly full lips. The woman spoke.
"A pleasure to meet you. My name is Asena."
She then struck her right fist against her chest and gave a slight bow, a warrior's mark of respect to Leon. Leon returned the gesture in kind, though he couldn't hide the hint of embarrassment in his voice.
"My apologies... I couldn't tell you were a woman."
Asena chuckled softly. Her voice was as smooth as velvet, yet harbored a hidden, authoritative steel.
"It's no problem."
She swept her gaze over Leon and continued in a steady tone.
"My men and I wish to proceed to your encampment. Igris Khan willed it so."
Leon nodded, his eyes drifting to the host waiting behind Asena.
"How many men did you bring? And how many goats are there?"
Asena cast a brief glance over her shoulder and outlined their numbers.
"Alongside myself, there are 4 Khan's Guards and 15 Khuzait spearmen. Marching at the rear of the column are soldiers from a different era. One group claims to hail from a place called the Sarranid Sultanate. They consist of 18 infantrymen and 4 archers. The others, who resemble us somewhat and hold the very rear, call themselves cavalry of the Khergit Khanate. There are 10 of them."
Hearing these names, Kevin and Tommy were briefly at a loss for words. These kingdoms were notoriously active in their respective eras. Exchanging glances, they wondered if anyone from the Khergit borders was present in the group. The Khuzait tribes possessed relatively diverse internal beliefs, and their raiding culture varied significantly; while some clans would only seize goods and leave the peasantry unharmed, others were bound by no such merciful rules. Leon, having primarily encountered the moderate Khuzait clans and retreated into seclusion within their settlements, tended to assume they were all merciful—which was partially true. However, the tribes active in the deep southern interior of Khuzait territory were far more savage and focused purely on annihilation. The Khergit Khanate, existing 500 years in the future, was a state formed from the amalgamation of these very tribes—a nation that thrived on raiding and executed it with far greater ruthlessness. Leon was keenly aware of this historical tension. Rubbing his forehead as a headache began to form, he worried whether these reinforcements might spark a bloody internal conflict among his own men. Yet, ensuring this anxiety didn't show on his face, he quickly changed the subject.
"And how many goats do you have?"
Asena crossed her arms over her chest and answered.
"These goats are not ours. Lord Igris requested that I entrust them to you."
She then reached behind her waist, produced a rolled parchment tucked into her belt, and handed it to Leon. Leon curiously accepted the scroll, read its contents, rolled it back up, and nodded.
"I understand. Come, let me escort you to our temporary camp; we'll talk more there."
Leon turned to the two young men waiting behind him.
"I'll send Lucon to take my place. Until he arrives, you two are in command here. I don't anticipate an attack at midday, but don't let your guard down."
As the two youths silently nodded in acknowledgment of the order, Asena noticed the underlying tension and asked with a hint of curiosity.
"It seems there is a problem."
Leon sighed, nodded, and gave a brief recount of their recent bloody skirmish with the orcs. Listening to Leon in stoic silence, Asena grasped the gravity of the situation and nodded in return.
"The situation is clear now..."
While the three men struggled to fully understand what the woman meant, Asena raised her hand, giving a highly elegant signal to the men behind her. The two Khan's Guards waiting in the back reached for round objects tied to their saddles and casually tossed them to the ground right in front of Leon. Bouncing and rolling through the dirt, the objects came to a halt at Asena's feet, though she didn't even bother to look down at them.
"We spotted a few ugly rats spying on the forest on our way here. So, we killed them."
When Leon looked closely at the objects in the dirt, he realized they were the grotesque, twisted severed heads of orcs; black blood was still oozing freshly from the jaggedly cut necks. As the two militiamen stared at the macabre sight with sheer shock, Leon assessed the overall picture in his mind and nodded internally.
''Finally, we have a proper, formidable force... I just pray an internal conflict doesn't erupt. At the very least, with cavalry and infantry support, we are a balanced army now... besides...'
His gaze drifted to the imposing Khan's Guards, his thoughts continuing.
'...we have four elite combatants on our side.'
Knowing full well that these reinforcements would provide massive relief to the camp, Leon shifted his gaze back to Asena.
"Your support will give us much-needed breathing room. Let me show you the way. Follow me."
Asena nodded in agreement and turned back, shouting a loud command to her unit.
"BRING FORWARD ONE OF THE SPARE HORSES! KEEP THE GOATS IN LINE, WE ARE MOVING OUT!"