The twilight afterglow pierced through the crevices of Blackrock Spire, coating the fighting pit in a warm orange glow.
On the stone ground of the pit, broken wood chips, dried bloodstains, and a few flattened leather hats lay scattered. The melee of fifty fierce Orc Boyz had long ended, leaving only Iron Claw standing alone in the center of the circle.
He was covered in wounds—his left cheek was swollen high, blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, his left arm hung unnaturally, clearly dislocated, and the wound on his right leg was still seeping blood. Every step he took was a stumble, as if he could collapse at any moment.
But he didn't fall.
Iron Claw held his head high, his chest heaving violently, his green eyes still burning with unextinguished fervor. He tightly clutched a fragment of leather armor torn from an opponent, as if holding a trophy.
The surrounding hobgoblins fell silent, even the noisiest hobgoblins held their breath. All eyes focused on the swaying orc—he had won, won this most brutal and passionate grand melee.
"Iron Claw! Iron Claw!" Someone shouted first, and then, the entire fighting pit erupted in cheers.
The Orc Boyz roared, pounding their chests, the hobgoblins jumped on wooden crates, and the hobgoblin laborers also waved their small fists. Even Furball, crouching on the high platform, stood up, his tail swishing with a "whoosh" sound.
Kurzadh jumped down from the high platform and walked over to Iron Claw, treading on shattered stones.
He looked at the heavily wounded yet still upright orc before him. He remembered three months ago, Iron Claw was just a young orc who only followed behind Bone Tree. Now, he had become the Blackrock Clan's fiercest warrior, and a smile involuntarily appeared on Kurzadh's lips.
"Good boy, you didn't disgrace me!" Kurzadh patted Iron Claw's shoulder with considerable force, but precisely avoided his wounds.
Iron Claw grinned, revealing blood-stained teeth, his voice hoarse like sandpaper rubbing: "Boss... boss, I didn't lose!"
"I saw it!" Kurzadh raised Iron Claw's still-movable right arm high above his head and shouted to the surrounding hobgoblins, "The champion of this grand melee is Iron Claw! He is the fiercest and most reckless warrior of the Blackrock Clan!"
"WAAAGH!!" The cheers echoed through the sky, even more enthusiastic than before.
The Orc Boyz threw their weapons into the air, the hobgoblins splashed black mushroom spirits from their pottery jars onto the ground, and even the hobgoblin laborers dared to run to the edge of the pit, roaring at Iron Claw.
Iron Claw's back straightened even further, the pain from his wounds seemingly lessened. This was the glory he desired, the glory of being recognized by all hobgoblins.
Kurzadh took a cloth bag from his bosom and carefully opened it.
Inside lay a furry squig, fiery red all over, with fluffy mane like burning flames, and a hint of gold at the tip of its tail. It was more vibrant and flamboyant than the one on Kurzadh's head. This was specially reserved for the champion, and it was one of only three red furry goblins in the tribe.
"This is your reward," Kurzadh gently held up the little red furry squig and placed it on Iron Claw's head.
The little fellow seemed to know its new owner, obediently grooming Iron Claw's scalp with its claws, spreading out its fiery red mane like a majestic crown, and its tail wrapped around Iron Claw's forehead once to secure the style.
Iron Claw was stunned. He carefully raised his uninjured hand and touched the furry squig on his head.
The soft mane brushed against his fingertips, and the little fellow even gently nipped his fingernail, as if greeting him.
A warm current suddenly came from his scalp, flowing through his blood vessels and spreading throughout his body—his previously dislocated left arm felt a tingling sensation and could even move slightly, and the pain at the corner of his mouth also lessened considerably. He suddenly widened his eyes and looked at Kurzadh, his gaze filled with pleasant surprise.
"This thing is not only beautiful, but it can also help you heal," Kurzadh explained with a smile, "Wear it from now on, and all hobgoblins will know that you are more awesome than them—you will become even fiercer!"
Iron Claw nodded vigorously, his eyes slightly red.
He remembered Bone Tree patting his shoulder that morning before they set off, saying, "If you win, you can wear a furry squig." He remembered when he was being ganged up on by three Orc Boyz during the melee, he only had one thought: "I can't lose, I have to get the boss' reward." Now, he had finally achieved it.
He touched the little red furry squig on his head and felt that all the wounds and all the fatigue on his body were worth it.
The surrounding hobgoblins were still cheering, but Kurzadh raised his hand to signal for silence.
He walked to the center of the circle, standing beside Iron Claw, his gaze sweeping over every hobgoblin in the pit—there were old veterans who had fought alongside him, new orcs who had just joined the tribe, hobgoblin laborers responsible for burning bricks, and hobgoblin Tinkerers holding blueprints.
"I know many of you are still unconvinced," Kurzadh's voice was loud, piercing through the noise, "You think Iron Claw only won by luck; you think you are fiercer than Iron Claw, but just didn't get the chance."
The hobgoblins looked at each other. Some orcs scratched their heads, and some hobgoblins whispered—indeed, many of them harbored a suppressed desire, believing that if they had just held on a little longer, the championship would have been theirs.
Kurzadh smiled and continued: "I tell you, there's nothing to be unconvinced about! The Blackrock Clan doesn't look at seniority, doesn't look at background, only looks at fists! You want to challenge Iron Claw, fine! You want to challenge Bone Tree, challenge Scarface, or even challenge me, it's all fine!"
This statement was like a thunderclap, making the entire fighting pit instantly boil over.
The Orc Boyz' eyes widened, the hobgoblins' small mouths formed an "O" shape, and even the hobgoblin laborers stopped waving their small fists.
Challenge the chiefs? Challenge the boss? This was something they wouldn't have dared to imagine before!
"As long as you can win," Kurzadh's voice grew more impassioned, pointing to the high platform where Bone Tree and the others were, "the 'Vanguard Captain' position under Bone Tree's butt, Scarface's 'Guard Captain' position, and even my position as leader, are all yours! My Blackrock Clan only recognizes the best fighter!"
"Rea... really can challenge the boss?" A young orc asked in a low voice, his voice full of disbelief.
"Of course!" Kurzadh patted his chest, "I, Kurzadh, keep my word! If you can defeat me, I will give you the leader's position, and I will also give you this furry squig on my head!"
"WAAAGH!!" The hobgoblins went completely mad. The Orc Boyz surrounded Kurzadh, shouting excitedly, "I want to challenge Bone Tree!"
"I want to spar with the boss!"
The hobgoblins also crowded around. Although they knew they couldn't beat the orcs, they still shouted, "I want to challenge Gazlowe!" Even the hobgoblin laborers joined in the uproar, shouting, "I want to challenge Skarsnik's butt!"
Iron Claw stood by, looking at the lively scene before him, his heart filled with excitement.
He used to think that the leader's position was unattainable, but now, the boss said that as long as you could fight, anyone could take that position—this was the Blackrock Clan, this was the tribe he was willing to fight to protect!
"Alright, alright, don't push!" Kurzadh smiled, pushing away the surrounding orcs, "If you want to challenge, you'll have to wait until your injuries are healed! No more fighting today, let's have a feast!"
As soon as he finished speaking, several hobgoblins pushed in a wooden cart, piled high with roasted whole lambs, smoked dried meat, and pottery jars of black mushroom spirits.
Chik also ran in, carrying a huge roasted wild boar. The pork skin was roasted golden and crispy, and oil dripped onto the stone ground, making a "Sizzling" sound. The aroma instantly filled the entire fighting pit.
"Eat up! Drink up!" Kurzadh was the first to grab a roasted lamb leg and took a big bite, the meat juice bursting in his mouth. Iron Claw also picked up a piece of roasted meat. Although his left arm still hurt, he ate ravenously. Bone Tree put his arm around Iron Claw, and the two shared a wine jar, drinking mouthful after mouthful. Keziaz, meanwhile, led several hobgoblins, gathered around the roasted wild boar, vying for the fattest piece.
The hobgoblins completely let loose.
The Orc Boyz ate meat and arm-wrestled, the loser having to drink an entire jar of spirits. The hobgoblins, holding wooden bowls, went around looking for people to challenge to drinking contests, and if they got drunk, they would roll on the ground. The hobgoblin laborers gathered around the roasted mushrooms, vying for them, occasionally fighting over a piece of mushroom, but then quickly getting back together to share. Skarsnik, meanwhile, squatted in a corner, distributing smoked meat to the Spider Riders, his small eyes full of contentment.
Kurzadh sat on a large rock, watching the revelry—Iron Claw, with the little red furry squig on his head, was arm-wrestling with an orc, his face flushed red; Bone Tree was drunk, holding his great axe and mimicking the movements of chopping beastmen, making the surrounding hobgoblins laugh heartily; Furball lay at his feet, gnawing on a roasted lamb chop, his tail wagging with delight.
The last ray of twilight disappeared, and the hobgoblins lit torches, the orange-red firelight illuminating the entire fighting pit as bright as day.
The aroma of roasted meat, the rich fragrance of spirits, the laughter of the hobgoblins, and the grunts of the goblins mingled together, becoming the warmest sounds of the Blackrock Clan.
Kurzadh picked up a jar of black mushroom spirits and raised it to the surrounding hobgoblins: "To Iron Claw! To the Blackrock Clan! To having fights and having drinks! Cheers!"
"Cheers!!" All the hobgoblins raised their wine jars and tilted their heads back to drink. The spirits slid down their throats, the burning sensation igniting the passion in everyone, and also igniting the future of the Blackrock Clan.
Iron Claw put down his wine jar, touched the little red furry squig on his head, and looked at his cheering companions around him, and at the boss with a hearty smile on the high platform. A strong sense of belonging suddenly surged in his heart—this was his home, these hobgoblins were his brothers. As long as he followed the boss, followed the Blackrock Clan, there would always be fights, always drinks, and always glory to strive for.
As night deepened, the revelry of Blackrock Spire continued.