Somewhere deeper within the snow-laden forest lay a temporary settlement carved out of the wilderness.
The clearing was rough and uneven, as though the forest itself had been forced to step aside. Dozens of tents formed a loose circle across the frozen ground, their thick hides weighed down by layers of snow. Wooden stakes and ropes creaked quietly as the cold morning wind drifted through the camp.
Torches stood planted throughout the clearing, their flames flickering weakly against the pale blue light of dawn. The smoke from their burning resin curled upward into the frosty air, mixing with the mist that clung to the ground.
As the sun slowly rose beyond the distant treeline, thin rays of golden light slipped between the branches and spilled across the camp.
Morning had arrived.
One by one, figures began emerging from the tents.
Some were hulking silhouettes that easily stood taller than any human. Others were small, hunched figures wrapped in ragged winter hides. Despite their differences, they all shared the same task.
Rebuilding the camp.
Several individuals grabbed wooden shovels and began clearing the snow that had accumulated overnight.
Massive orcs worked near the outer ring of tents. Their bulky bodies were a mixture of thick fat and dense muscle, their pig-like snouts exhaling clouds of steam into the cold air as they shoveled heavy piles of snow aside. Their strength alone allowed them to move entire drifts that would have taken several men to clear.
Not far from them, groups of goblins scurried across the camp like busy ants. Smaller and far more nimble, they scraped away ice from tent entrances and dug narrow pathways through the snow. Their green skin was barely visible beneath the heavy furs wrapped tightly around their thin bodies.
A group of kobolds worked near the edge of the clearing. The small reptilian creatures had dog-like snouts and scaled bodies, their clawed hands perfect for digging. Using crude bone tools, they carved drainage channels through the frozen ground so the melting snow wouldn't flood the camp.
Nearby, a handful of trollkin labored in silence. Their grayish skin looked like rough stone, and their long arms allowed them to lift heavy beams of wood used to reinforce the larger tents. Though not as intelligent as the other races, their strength made them invaluable for maintaining the settlement.
Scattered among them were several ratfolk, thin humanoids with long tails and twitching whiskers. They moved cautiously through the camp, hauling bundles of firewood and supplies salvaged from deeper within the forest.
Despite the diversity of monsters, the atmosphere of the camp carried a heavy sense of unease.
These were not warriors gathered for conquest.
They were refugees.
Creatures who had once lived freely within the forest but had been forced away from their territories. Many of them had not been accepted under the protection of the Forest Council, leaving them to fend for themselves in this frozen wilderness.
Then…
A tent near the center of the camp opened.
A single figure stepped outside.
His presence alone caused several nearby workers to pause.
The man wore a formal warrior's attire beneath a thick winter cloak. One hand rested casually on the hilt of a long, unsheathed katana hanging at his waist.
Long black hair flowed down his back.
But what drew the most attention were the two long black horns protruding from his head.
An unmistakable sign of both lineage and power.
He was an ogre.
Not merely any ogre.
He was Kuronai, the sole prince of the mighty Ogre Clan.
As he walked through the camp, conversations died instantly.
Some bowed their heads in respect.
Others simply stepped aside, unwilling to draw his attention.
Whether out of loyalty… or fear… no one could deny the authority he carried.
Kuronai continued forward with a calm, superior air until he reached the largest tent standing at the very center of the camp.
The command tent.
He pushed aside the heavy curtain and stepped inside.
Several figures were already gathered around a large round table placed in the middle of the tent.
They stood as soon as he entered.
Seated directly across from the entrance was a massive orc, easily the largest in the room. His thick arms rested calmly on the table while a brutal iron mace leaned against the chair beside him.
The high Orc leader.
His expression was calm, yet the quiet strength in his posture spoke volumes.
Beside him sat the Queen of the Insectoids, ruler of the Emperor Moon Bees.
Her body was covered in soft golden fur lined with jet-black stripes. Large compound eyes shimmered faintly in the torchlight as her delicate wings folded neatly behind her back.
Despite her regal appearance, she looked the most nervous among those present.
Next stood the Goblin Shaman, a female goblin known as Verona.
She leaned slightly on a wooden staff carved with primitive runes. A large black ceremonial mask covered most of her face, leaving only her glowing eyes visible.
Beside her stood another goblin representative.
A Hobgoblin war leader. Muck.
He casually rested a heavy spiked wooden club across his shoulder, wearing a cocky grin that suggested far more confidence than wisdom.
On the other side of the table sat a dwarf with a thick beard that reached his chest.
His name was Drago, a blacksmith from the neighboring kingdom of Feldray. Wrapped in a massive winter coat, he quietly observed the room while one of his apprentices stood behind him carrying a large tool satchel.
Next to him sat a tall woman with elegant features.
A High Elf.
Her name was Viola.
Wrapped in a fur-lined coat, she maintained a calm and composed posture as she observed the gathering. Behind her stood a silent subordinate, watching the room carefully.
Several other leaders also stood among them.
A Kobold pack leader named Grash, his scaled snout scarred from countless battles.
A thin Ratfolk strategist known as Silvertail among the forest, whose sharp yellow eyes constantly moved as if calculating every possible outcome.
And finally, a towering Trollkin leader by the name of Bruk, whose stone-like skin and silent demeanor made him resemble a living statue more than a person.
When prince Kuronai entered, every single one of them stood from their seats.
He walked calmly toward the empty chair at the head of the table.
Once he sat down, the others slowly followed.
Silence filled the tent.
The tension in the air was thick enough to suffocate.
Kuronai rested his elbow on the table and glanced around at each of them.
Then he spoke.
His voice was calm.
Cold.
"So…"
"Shall we begin this meeting?"
...
As the morning sun finally rose above the frozen horizon, its pale golden light spilled across the white forest, illuminating the refugee camp in full.
Outside, the displaced inhabitants continued their work without rest.
Snow was shoveled aside. Pathways were cleared. Buried tents were freed from the weight of the storm.
Despite the fragile peace of the morning, no one relaxed.
Because everyone knew…
This calm wouldn't last.
---
Inside the central tent, the atmosphere was far heavier.
Leaders of various races sat around a long, curved table, their expressions tense, their patience thin.
At the center of the room, kneeling on the cold ground, was a figure cloaked in white feathers.
Her wings were folded neatly behind her, their soft plumage brushing against the floor. Snow-white feathers covered most of her body, blending seamlessly with her human-like face. Long, upward-curving feathery ears framed her head, giving her an almost ethereal presence.
She belonged to the Strigari.
A rare race of owl-like humanoids known for their silent flight and unmatched vision in the darkest corners of the forest.
With her head lowered, she bowed respectfully before the ogre prince.
"Tell us," Kuronai said, his voice calm but commanding.
"What did you find during your expedition?"
The Strigari slowly lifted her head, her sharp golden eyes locking onto him.
"Of course… Lord Kuro."
Her tone shifted, tightening.
"As you suspected… they have already conquered the labyrinth."
A ripple of tension spread across the table.
"They entered with a force of approximately fifty to seventy high-ranking units. The labyrinth was cleared in less than a day."
Even the Orc King's expression darkened slightly.
"And that's not all," she continued.
"They have already begun extracting magic beasts from within… and transporting them back to their colony."
A faint creak echoed from the table.
Kuronai's fist had clenched.
"So those bastards really used the blizzard to strike the Chaos Maw…" he muttered, his voice low with restrained anger.
"This is getting out of hand."
Before the silence could settle, Verona spoke.
"The situation is escalating beyond our control, Lord Kuro," the goblin shaman said calmly.
"At this rate… we may need to consider external assistance. Perhaps humans… or even a Demon Lord—"
"HUMANS?!"
The interruption thundered through the tent.
Bruk's massive frame shifted as he leaned forward, his stone-like skin tightening with irritation.
"A Demon Lord is one thing," he growled,
"but I will not stand here and listen to such nonsense. Seeking aid from humans? Unthinkable."
A scoff followed.
Muck, the hobgoblin, lazily pointed his club toward the trollkin.
"You might not like it," he said with a crooked grin,
"but at least the rest of us have enough sense to consider survival."
Bruk's eyes flared.
"You dare speak to me like that… filth?"
Muck didn't flinch.
If anything, his grin widened.
"No matter how strong you think you are… you lost," he said bluntly.
"You lost so badly you ended up here, begging for help like the rest of us."
Silence.
Sharp. Cutting.
"You think you still have the right to act superior?"
The tension snapped.
Across the table, Drago and Viola remained quiet, watching with detached, calculating eyes.
The others didn't interfere.
This kind of conflict…
Was nothing new.
But this time—
Kuronai had enough.
"That's enough."
His voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
A crushing force erupted from him in an instant.
The air itself grew heavy.
Breathing became difficult.
Bodies froze where they sat.
Fear crawled through the room like frost.
The overwhelming aura of the ogre prince pressed down on everyone present, forcing even the strongest among them into silence.
Muck's grin vanished.
Bruk's anger collapsed into stillness.
They didn't move.
They couldn't.
Only a few remained standing against the pressure.
Viola and her subordinate stood unaffected, their expressions calm.
Verona, too, endured it, her resistance to magic allowing her to remain composed… though not untouched.
Even so—
Everyone in the room understood.
This was the difference in power.
Kuronai slowly crossed his arms, his gaze returning to the Strigari.
"Answer me," he said coldly.
"Do you believe they've fully secured the labyrinth?"
She straightened slightly, steadying her breath.
"Not yet. They all left and haven't returned since. Though..."
A pause.
"I observed one of their generals entering the labyrinth after the main force had withdrawn… along with several captured beasts."
Kuronai's eyes narrowed.
"And?"
"…They never came back."
A subtle shift ran through the room.
Interest.
Concern.
Something sharper.
Kuronai leaned forward slightly.
"Oh?"
His voice carried a faint edge of curiosity.
"So something else happened."
The Strigari hesitated.
Just for a moment.
As if recalling what she saw unsettled even her.
Then she spoke.
"The general never returned…"
Her gaze hardened.
"But something else did."
A quiet breath left her lips.
"Three Majin."
The air grew still.
Her next words fell like stones.
"…And they were powerful."
...