Back within the Huena convoy, the carriage bounced slightly as it rode through the bioluminescent forest of the Foxkin territory, heading back the way they came.

Lord An'lil turned to Johan, his massive form filling the ornate seat. "I never took you for a spending man, Johan. Six hundred weapons is a vast commitment for a family that claims political neutrality."

Johan shrugged, adjusting his red-striped uniform. "Ehh… they're just for emergencies, especially when war is truly inevitable. Besides, I may have just spent my entire personal savings. Not that I won't be able to sell them at triple the price within the month," he chuckled. "But I admit, I was quite surprised at the Foxes and their 'new' weapon. Usually, they are ridiculously secretive about their magic developments."

An'lil scoffed, leaning back and resting a clawed hand on the pommel of his sword. "Hmpphh. I never trusted the Foxes from the beginning. Right now, what they are trying to do is seal their position as a valuable, indispensable asset among our kind. They want to be the new center of the arms trade, making us all dependent on them for supply and ammo crystals."

An'lil paused, conceding a point reluctantly. "I am, however, quite surprised by the devastating effects of the weapon they demonstrated. It's something I've never seen before, and I certainly didn't expect it from their mages."

Johan leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. "Hmmm… I may have heard of something similar."

An'lil turned, genuinely confused. "What do you mean?"

"I came across this weird piece of unverified intelligence from one of my merchant contacts," Johan explained. "He was buying that black liquid—I think—from one of the Orc Tribes in the East. His escorts heard a thunderous sound in the forest. When they investigated, they found the Orc holding a long stick, similar in shape to the Foxkin's weapon, but… it emitted a loud bang and, in an instant, killed the animal they were hunting. Cleanly."

An'lil scoffed, chuckling dismissively. "Are you certain your informants weren't drunk when they wrote the report? A 'loud bang' that kills instantly? Sounds like a hallucination."

"I would have dismissed it as hallucination myself, as most of the intelligence I come across is unverified nonsense," Johan admitted. "But the entire escort saw it. Multiple witnesses. And since then, that loud bang has become a common occurrence in the Eastern forest near those Orc territories."

An'lil settled back, the gears turning in his brain. "But how is that possible? And Orcs? I thought they were all penned up on the other side of the valley."

"Oh, you haven't heard," Johan said. "There are Orc tribes on the far eastern side of the region, near the Kobold territory. They are mostly peaceful, unlike their counterpart, the Bloodtusk Orcs, whose existence justifies our ancestors' duty to man the Wall. They've been there since the Wall was built, keeping to themselves."

"I never heard of them until now," An'lil admitted, surprised by the blind spot in Lupen regional awareness.

"It's understandable," Johan reasoned. "Since they're next to the Kobold territory, only the Kobolds know of their true existence. They've been trying to reach out for trade, but since we are racially violent towards all Orcs, to most beastkin population, they are no different from the barbaric ones. In short: they are the civilized Orcs. I wouldn't be surprised if they actually created a weapon that is on par with, if not better than, the Foxkin' trinkets."

An'lil stroked his chin, his red eyes growing distant. "Hmm… do you think they also sell that stuff?"

Johan blinked, genuinely taken aback. "I thought you were a man of pride and honor. Like what you said earlier: sticking to the values of the sword."

An'lil exhaled sharply, a sound like steam escaping a pressure valve. "I am not dumb enough to let my pride force me to be cornered by the Foxes, Johan. More than anything, I hate involving myself with their kind. The only reason I attended that gathering was to find out what those conniving Foxes were up to."

Johan threw his head back and laughed, a deep, booming sound that shook the carriage. "Hohoho! Wow! Our entire kind admires you because you're all about honor and glory and true combat, and all that stuff. Turns out, you're just the same as everyone else! Hahahaha!"

"Ah, shut up," An'lil grumbled, but his lips curled into a slight smirk. "At least the Orcs won't stab you in the back. They trade their goods and are done with it."

Johan wiped a tear of laughter from his eye. "I'll see what my informants can do. If they are selling that stuff, then we might have a real technological war on our hands. The Foxes are going to be furious when they find out. They'll try to influence everyone that the civilized Orc tribes are secretly demonic agents."

An'lil's smirk widened. "I would love it when the Foxes go crazy because things don't go their way. They won't be able to smear them if I, Lord An'lil of the Huena Family, officially recognize the Orc tribes as an independent, sovereign faction eligible for trade."

Johan shook his head, a genuine smile forming. "You know, the Foxkins could learn a thing or two from you, you know. You're much more devious than they are."

An'lil merely waved a dismissive hand, allowing the compliment to settle.

---------------------------------

One month later.

A heavy, low mist hung over the dense Eastern forest near the Grayhorn Orc Village. A majestic Buck, unaware of the industrial change happening nearby, munched peacefully on damp grass. The serene quiet of the morning, broken only by the chirping of unseen birds, was abruptly shattered by a tearing, thunderous BANG!

The Buck dropped, shot through the chest, its front leg collapsing first.

An Orc, grinning widely, stood up from the dense cover of a bush and cheered. He held a flintlock rifle—a "boomstick"—that was still smoking faintly. Schalezuskappeared with a length of rope and nodded in approval. They were flanked by several other Orcs armed with traditional bows, arrows, and spears.

"Ha ha! That's my twenty-third kill this month!" the successful Orc yelled, pumping a fist.

Schalezusk took the flintlock, his single hand moving with practiced ease to check the firing pan, and smiled. "You've become better, Balthor. Last month, you were the worst shot amongst all of us."

An Orc with a bow laughed, bantering easily. "You actually hit a target from ten steps away, Balthor! We might even promote you!"

"Just you wait," Balthor shot back, puffing his chest out. "I'll be better than all of you soon!"

Schalezusk lowered the flintlock, his tone turning serious. "Don't worry. When we finally go on our first caravan run to the Necro Market tomorrow, hopefully, we'll be able to buy each of you a boomstick of your own."

The Orcs cheered, excited by the promise of the new, loud weapons.

"Two months ago, we were still struggling," Schalezusk continued, looking around at the bounty of the forest. "Simon and I were just outsiders, but now, we've become brothers, and our village is flourishing. We're finally getting recognition. We've traded our black liquid with enough merchants to build that large boat—big enough to collect even more oil from the lake. That means more coins for our village."

He gripped the flintlock tight. "Now, it is time for us to arm ourselves. We must not wait for an enemy to attack and take all our hard-earned fortune. We also don't know when those Bloodtusk Orcs are going to return, but they will, and we will be ready."

The Orcs roared their agreement and renewed their resolve. One Orc approached Schalezusk. "We are thankful that you and Simon arrived. If not for you both, we might still be struggling."

Schalezusk shook his head. "No. We didn't do much of anything. All of us together made this progress happen. We see our village change from the fruits of our collective labor. We can actually see what fruit they bear."

The Orcs cheered loudly, dragging the deer and six other hunted wildlife from the forest. "For the Grayhorn Village!"

Later…

They returned to the village, which had become a hive of tireless activity. Orcs heaved massive tree logs cut from the nearby treeline, others chopped them into planks with axes. Their very own inn and tavern was starting to take shape as the main wooden frames stood tall. They had even hired an Ursarok carpenter to act as the main foreman for the construction, a sign of their sudden and unexpected wealth. If they were going to attract visitors from other villages and factions, they had to ensure their facilities were up to standard.

Simon and Elder Skrall sat on a large log in front of the largest hut, overseeing the commotion.

Skrall faced the young Orc, his eyes deep and reflective. "Dear Simon, I cannot thank you enough. If it weren't for you and your brother, we wouldn't have improved so rapidly."

Simon quickly scratched his head. "No, no, Elder, it's not just me, it's all of us. I merely gave the ideas, and everyone made it happen."

Skrall chuckled warmly. "Even if you don't have your father's charisma, you and your brother are very much alike when he worked with his people. You reach out to them and worked with them, no matter what position. When you and your brother first arrived, everyone mistrusted you because you carried Bloodtusk blood."

Skrall paused, his voice softening with reverence. "But people tend to misunderstand the real Bloodtusk blood that flows through you and your brother. A lineage that is born to lead. Now, just 2 moons later, the people look up to you both. No matter how much you refuse your responsibilities, that blood flowing through your veins will always follow. A bloodline that is cursed to lead."

Skrall patted Simon's shoulder, stood up with his stick, smiled gently, and walked away. Simon looked up at the sun setting, lost in thought about the heavy burden of his lineage.

A sharp, friendly slap to his back made Simon jump. He stood up, trying to rub the spot.

Schalezusk laughed, his single arm draped over Simon's shoulders. "Ha ha ha! Why do you look like you owe that Ursarok a massive debt, little brother?"

"Oh, brother it's you. Nothing, I just remembered Father," Simon mumbled.

"Ah, don't worry about that," Schalezusk said, moving on. "Did you make sure the barrels are ready for tomorrow?"

Simon immediately remembered the upcoming caravan run to the Necro Market, where Schalezusk and the others planned to sell their highest-quality oil and purchase more flintlocks from Karl.

"Yes, of course. The barrels inside the storage should be the ones we sell to Mr. Karl. Even if they look the same as the ones we normally sell, they're vastly different. Be careful not to mix it with the others."

"Are you sure Karl is going to buy that high-quality black liquid, though?" Schalezusk asked, skeptical.

"Well, I mean, hopefully," Simon said, shrugging. "It burns extremely well. He already has the fire stones to ignite it, but I'm guessing he can find other, more interesting uses for it."

Schalezusk exhaled, his excitement overriding his doubt. "Alright. If they're high quality, they should be expensive. The folks are already eager to have their own boomsticks! Also, I'm running out of ammo. The crate full of ammo Karl gave us is nearly out—those bastards kept using too much! And, he smirked, "Maybe we can buy that… that large gun that shoots loudly?"

"The cannon?" Simon asked flatly.

"Yeah, right, the cannon!"

"Don't even try, brother. I bet you'd need ten times the amount of coins just to buy one of those."

Schalezusk began walking toward the armory, already counting imaginary coins. "Who knows, maybe we can!"

Simon shook his head. "Please don't. We need salt and grains for the most part."

"Yeah, yeah," Schalezusk called back.

Simon smiled, watching his elder brother walk away. It was amazing how much Schalezusk had changed. He smiled more frequently now, and he was no longer bothered by his missing arm. It was like he never needed two arms in the first place.

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