The marshes of Jura were heavy with mist, the air damp and buzzing with insects. Beneath the murky waters, fish scattered whenever a ripple broke across the surface. Yet tonight, the natural sounds of the swamp were drowned out by a thunder that rolled like storm clouds—the marching of countless feet.
Far ahead of this chaos stood Gabil, the arrogant son of the Lizardman Chieftain. His tall frame gleamed in the torchlight, azure scales glistening like polished armor. In his hand he carried a long spear, spinning it idly as if the world already belonged to him.
"Look at them, brothers!" Gabil shouted, his golden eyes alight with pride. He raised his spear toward the horizon, where the mist churned unnaturally. "The Orc Army marches, yes—but what are they? Pigs. Filthy pigs that dare to challenge warriors of the marsh! Under my command, we will strike them down before they set foot in our lands!"
The younger Lizardmen roared in agreement, their tails slapping the swamp waters like war drums. The sound echoed with feverish excitement.
"Once we win," Gabil continued, puffing out his chest, "the people will see the truth! The future of the marsh does not lie with an old lizard clinging to tradition. It lies with me!"
Behind him, whispers of doubt stirred. A few warriors remembered the Chieftain's warnings: the Orc Army was too large, too disciplined. But none dared speak up against the son of the Chieftain, not while his charisma burned so brightly.
---
The march began. Through mud and reeds, Gabil's company advanced, torches flickering in the damp air. But the deeper they pressed, the thicker the mist became, suffocating and heavy. Then, without warning, the ground itself trembled.
A low rumble spread through the swamp.
And then—they appeared.
From the fog poured an endless tide of green-skinned bodies. Orcs. Their crude weapons glinted, their tusked mouths drooled with hunger, and their rancid stench hit like a wall.
The Lizardmen froze for half a heartbeat. Even Gabil's grin faltered.
So many… he thought, but pride forced the fear away.
"Do not falter!" he barked, twirling his spear, summoning water to spiral around its tip. With a shout, he unleashed a geyser of watery energy into the sky. "They are nothing but pigs! Warriors of the marsh—charge!"
The Lizardmen roared, leaping into the swampy battlefield. The marsh was their home. Here, their movements were swift, spears slicing like silver lightning. The first wave of Orcs fell easily—skewered, dragged into the water, crushed under reptilian strength.
For a moment, it felt like victory.
"See!" Gabil shouted, piercing three Orcs at once. "This is the power of the marsh! This is the power of Gabil!"
His warriors cheered.
But then the tide shifted.
No matter how many Orcs fell, more surged forward. For every corpse, ten more bodies replaced it. The swamp churned under the sheer weight of their numbers.
And worse—these Orcs were not fighting like rabble.
They moved in unison. Shields locked together, spears thrusting forward in rhythm. Their formation rolled forward like a wall of iron and flesh.
"What?!" Gabil's eyes widened. His spear clashed against a shield wall, only to be hammered back by a dozen strikes in perfect sync.
A young Lizardman beside him cried out as he was pulled under, his screams cut short by gnashing jaws. Another fell as a crude axe split through his scales, his body swallowed by the swarm.
The confident charge broke. Panic set in.
"R-Retreat!" Gabil shouted, his voice cracking for the first time. "Fall back! Regroup!"
But the Orcs pressed harder, their endless tide overwhelming the swamp. Only through sheer desperation did Gabil and a battered remnant of his warriors manage to break away, fleeing into the deeper marsh.
---
When they finally staggered back into familiar territory, less than half of them remained. Their bodies dripped with blood and mud, their eyes hollow with fear.
The admiration once shining in their gazes was gone, replaced with doubt.
Still, Gabil refused to yield his pride. He raised his spear high, trembling though he was.
"T-This was only the beginning!" he shouted, forcing confidence into his words. "Next time, we will crush them for sure! You'll see!"
But deep in his heart, shame gnawed at him. He knew the truth. The Orcs were not the same beasts of old. They were united, disciplined, unstoppable. And somewhere within that endless horde… lurked the shadow of something far greater.
The Orc Lord.
---
A sudden rustle echoed through the trees surrounding the village. Goblins and wolves froze, ears twitching, claws scratching the earth. Even the Kijin paused mid-task, sensing an unfamiliar presence approaching.
Atem stepped onto the raised platform outside the central hall, his cloak settling around him, his dark eyes scanning the forest line.
<< Master… arrogance approaches. His pride blinds him, yet it will reveal his true strength. >>
"Let him come," Atem said calmly. "We will see whether his confidence matches his skill."
From the misty treeline, a figure emerged. Broad and muscular, covered in deep blue scales that shimmered in the morning sun—Gabil strode forward with golden eyes burning with pride.
Behind him, a small contingent of young Lizardmen followed, faces mixed with awe and fear.
Atem's gaze remained steady.
"So… you are the one making all the noise in the marshlands."
Gabil puffed out his chest.
"Indeed! I am Gabil, future commander of the Lizardmen army! From now on, your village, your warriors, and your creatures will serve under me!"
The villagers froze. Goblins whispered nervously, wolves growled low, and the Kijin exchanged wary glances.
Shion's fists clenched.
"Serve him? Who does he think he is?!"
Gabil ignored her and stepped closer with a swagger.
"You heard me. My army, my command. Obey, or be crushed when the Orcs march. Only under my leadership will your village survive!"
Atem's expression was calm, his voice quiet but sharp with authority.
"Bold claim. You expect my village and my warriors to obey you just because you say so." He stepped closer, eyes steady. "Tell me, Gabil… do you really believe leadership is commanded through pride alone? Or have you confused arrogance with strength?"
Gabil's claws tightened around his spear.
"Arrogance? No. My power is unmatched. My army is disciplined. You would be foolish to refuse!"
Atem shook his head slightly, a calm, commanding smile crossing his face.
"Strength and discipline matter. But leadership is more than having soldiers follow you blindly. It is earning trust, protecting lives, and thinking ahead. Threats alone do not inspire loyalty."
The young Lizardmen behind Gabil shifted nervously. Even the minister's whispers from earlier faded under Atem's unwavering presence.
Gabil's pride faltered, though he masked it with a glare.
"You… lecture me?! I am heir to the Chieftain! I will lead, and I will prevail!"
Atem's gaze softened slightly, but his words carried unshakable weight.
"Then prove it. Lead wisely, not recklessly. But do not expect my village or my warriors to serve you without reason. If you want our aid, earn it."
Shuna stepped forward, gentle but firm.
"Gabil… strength without wisdom is meaningless. Think carefully. The Orcs are not only many—they are cunning. You cannot fight this alone."
Atem raised a hand and called Gobta forward.
"Gobta," he said, voice calm but commanding, " and he continued: 'Gabil, if you can defeat Gobta in combat right now, my village and warriors will serve you. Fail, and your pride will cost you everything.'"
Gabil's golden eyes flickered with arrogance and amusement.
"Hah! You send a tiny goblin? This should be easy!"
His followers cheered, their voices filled with excitement.
"Kakkoii! Gabil-sama, sasuga desu!"
"Gabil-sama, omigoto! Sugoi zo, Gabil-sama!"
With a roar, Gabil lunged at Gobta—but before he could strike, Gobta vanished into his shadow. In a blink, he reappeared behind Gabil, delivering a precise and powerful kick that sent the Lizardman commander crashing to the ground, unconscious.
Gabil's followers froze in shock, fear replacing their earlier excitement. They quickly scooped up their leader and turned sharply, retreating to the marshlands with their contingent.
The villagers whispered in awe and relief, while Atem calmly observed, assessing the aftermath.
Atem, his gaze steady across the misty trees.
"So… Gabil, huh? This could get interesting."
Meanwhile, back in the growing forest village, Atem walked through the streets of goblins, dwarves, and wolves preparing for daily training. The Oracle's voice whispered in his mind, heavy with warning.
<
Atem's eyes narrowed. His hand clenched into a fist.
"Then we'll be ready," he said quietly. "Whatever comes, we'll be ready."
The shadows of the Orc Lord stretched closer, threatening to swallow the forest whole.
Atem sat back in his chair inside the newly built meeting hall, the hum of voices filling the room. On the table lay maps, hastily drawn by Kaijin and Gobta, showing the swamps, the Orc movements, and their own village's location.
His sharp eyes scanned the lines. He tapped the map with one finger.
"...So the Orc Army is pushing from here. If we let this go on, the marshlands will be swallowed whole."
Benimaru's crimson eyes gleamed with fire.
"Then we strike first. The longer we wait, the stronger they become. If the Orc Lord evolves further, even we may not stand against him."
Shuna shook her head, her voice steady but soft.
"Brother, charging in blindly will only lead to disaster. The Orcs are endless. Even our strength can't stop a tide like that alone."
Kaijin crossed his thick arms with a grunt.
"The lass speaks true. War isn't just about strength—it's numbers, supplies, ground. We'd be eaten alive unless we've got allies."
Souei, kneeling quietly in the shadows, lifted his gaze.
"There is one choice. The Lizardmen of the marshlands. They are directly in the Orc Army's path. If we approach them, an alliance may be possible. Together, we could hold the line against the horde."
The room went still. Atem leaned back, his expression thoughtful. An alliance… it made sense. Survival was easier with numbers, and it would be the first real step toward building unity among the forest races.
Then, like a whisper carried on the wind, the Oracle of Eternity spoke in his mind.
<< Master… the time for isolation is over. Bonds forged now will decide the future. Approach the Lizardmen not with pride, but with vision. Offer them hope, not commands. If you do, their trust may yet be won. >>
Atem's eyes narrowed slightly, then softened as he gave a small nod.
"You're right," he murmured back to the Oracle in thought. Then aloud, to the room:
"Souei, you'll go to the Lizardmen. But you won't go alone. Dark Magician will accompany you. Deliver my words to their Chieftain: I want an alliance. If they accept, we'll fight as one. If they refuse… then we'll adapt."
Souei bowed deeply.
"As you command."
From the side of the hall, the Dark Magician stepped forward silently, his staff glowing faintly with purple light. His presence filled the room with quiet power, and then, together with Souei, they disappeared into the night—one fading into shadows, the other into shimmering magic.
The Lizardmen's great chamber was alive with tension. News of Gabil's reckless failures had already reached the elders, though warped by his pride. Warriors lined the walls, scales glinting under torchlight. On his throne, the Chieftain sat tall, his massive form commanding the room.
Then, the torches flickered strangely. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the walls, twisting like living things. A chill rippled through the chamber.
Souei appeared silently in their midst, kneeling low. At his side, the Dark Magician materialized in a swirl of violet energy, staff glowing with soft fire.
Souei's calm voice carried through the silence.
"Chieftain of the Lizardmen. I bring the words of my master, Atem of the village."
The warriors tensed. The name was unknown to many, but the messenger's presence held them frozen.
The Dark Magician raised his staff slightly, his voice deep and resonant.
"My master offers strength and alliance. Together, we can crush the Orc threat. Stand alone, and your people will fall."
A sharp hiss broke the silence. A tall Lizardman minister stepped forward, his armor polished, his eyes burning with disdain.
"The audacity!" he roared. "Who is this Atem? Why should the proud Lizardmen bow to a stranger? We are warriors of the marsh! We need no alliance with forest outsiders!"
Several younger warriors growled in agreement, stirred by his prideful words.
The Chieftain raised his claw, silencing them. His heavy eyes settled on Souei.
"Tell me, messenger. What proof has your master of strength? Why should I trust my people's survival to him?"
Souei's face was calm, his words steady.
"My master does not boast. But know this: he has united goblins, direwolves, dwarves, and ogres beneath his banner. His village thrives with prosperity and power. If you join him, your people will not only survive this war… you will rise beyond it."
The Chieftain's eyes flickered with thought. He had heard whispers of change, of a new force in the forest. Could this "Atem" be its source?
But the minister slammed his tail against the stone floor, hissing.
"Empty words! A trap meant to use us as fodder for his battles. The Lizardmen need no master but you, my Chieftain!"
The Chieftain closed his eyes. He knew the danger of the Orcs was real. But could he gamble his people's fate on an unproven power? Finally, his voice rumbled across the chamber.
"Messenger. Return to your master. I cannot yet decide. For now, the Lizardmen will face the Orcs with our own strength."
Souei bowed his head once, though his gaze flickered briefly toward the minister, sharp as a hidden blade. The Dark Magician lowered his staff. And then, as quickly as they had come, both vanished into the dark.
Back in the Village
Souei knelt before Atem once more, reporting everything. The Dark Magician stood behind him, silent, his staff dimmed.
"So basically…" Atem muttered, rubbing his chin. "The Chieftain is cautious, but his minister? That one's a snake."
Benimaru's crimson eyes flashed with disdain.
"Fools. They'll see soon enough. Alone, they'll fall to the Orcs."
Hakuro stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"Even so, their hesitation is not without reason. Trust is not given lightly in times like these."
Atem leaned back, letting out a quiet sigh.
"Politics… not my favorite game."
The Oracle's voice brushed against his mind once more.
<< Patience, Master. Pride often blinds the wise. But when despair strikes, their eyes will turn to you. Be ready. >>
Atem closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, sharp and steady. The Orc Army marched on, and in the marshlands, Gabil's arrogance was about to drag the Lizardmen into ruin.
The storm was closer than ever.