The orcs were resting beneath the canopy of a large, crooked tree. Tall grasses had been trampled into makeshift bedding around a flickering campfire, its coals still red and smoldering. A crude pot simmered over the embers, filled with something grotesque—unrecognizable meat parts, bones, and a sour stench thick enough to make even a scavenger gag.
Just beyond their crude circle, a stream flowed softly down a slight slope, hidden behind overgrown grass. From the right elevation, it looked peaceful. Serene, even. But above it, chaos slept.
The worgs, tied together to the base of the tree, were curled like monstrous watchdogs. They were out cold, mouths twitching in sleep, thick bodies pressed together for warmth. It was the kind of sleep born of gluttony and false safety.
Aexl slid off Kentucky, his boots hitting the soil without a sound. The bird towered beside him, quiet and alert. He crouched low and looked the cuckoo in the eye.
"We're going to kill them," Aexl whispered.
Kentucky tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting.
"You scared?"
A pause. Then the bird shook its head, a slow, deliberate gesture.
Aexl smirked and pulled a chunk of bread from his satchel. "That's what I like about you."
He tossed the bread, and Kentucky snapped it up silently.
Suddenly, one of the worgs started to growl. Then another. Low, guttural snarls echoed in the clearing.
The largest orc stirred, rising groggily with a grunt. He smacked the nearest rider with the back of his meaty hand, barking guttural commands. The others grumbled awake, groaning and shoving each other, three of them still swaying from whatever crude liquor had knocked them out.
Aexl watched from the high grass.
"What a way to wake your squad up," he muttered.
He climbed back onto Kentucky. "Let's move. Quiet."
To his surprise, Kentucky's steps were nearly soundless, claws brushing through the grass like shadows. But the worgs weren't fooled. Their ears twitched. Their nostrils flared. Even tied up, they sensed something was off.
No wonder. Aexl observed them with sharp eyes. Oversized wolves fused with the muscular bulk of a hyena—those noses were nothing to underestimate.
The orcs started shouting, one motioning to the smallest riders to quiet the beasts. Another, the largest of the bunch, grabbed a half-gnawed limb—some unholy chunk of animal—and started walking toward the stream, muttering.
Aexl signaled Kentucky to follow, slow and steady.
He raised a javelin. The grip was tight. His breath measured.
his instinct kick in as his mind said, "Let it fly,"
He hurled it.
The javelin sliced through the air with a faint hiss, whistling its deadly song through the grass-split morning.
Thud. Straight through the orc's head.
Aexl tugged on the reins. Kentucky darted forward. As the orc fell, Aexl leapt off the saddle, catching the body before it could hit the ground.
Kentucky's claw dipped into the stream, making a splash. Aexl's eyes went wide, but no alarm came. The barking and howling of the restless worgs covered the sound.
He drew his M9 bayonet.
Thunk.
He stabbed the orc in the heart, just to be sure. Then he searched the body, stripping any weapons. All he found was a crude blade made from a beast's tooth.
He dropped low, crawling like a soldier, body flat against the earth. The other four orc riders were still clueless, squabbling and barking orders at the worgs.
Another orc approached, footsteps heavy.
Aexl slid into the thick grass, camouflaging himself under the overgrowth. The orc pushed through the grass, eyes scanning lazily.
He saw his dead comrade.
Kentucky stood still, glaring.
Before the orc could shout—
Thunk.
Aexl struck. The blade pierced the soft flesh beneath the chin, angled upward to sever the tongue and pierce the brain. But it wasn't enough. The orc staggered, growling, and threw a wild punch.
Aexl moved like a snake, ducking left, dragging the blade downward. He stabbed again, deflecting the arm, then slashed the orc's throat. Another twist. Another cut.
The orc's head came free with a final, brutal pull. The body slumped.
Aexl was already moving.
He checked the remaining orcs—still distracted. The worgs, now enraged, barked louder. One rider threw a punch at one worg in frustration.
Aexl hurled the severed orc head through the air blood still dripping, mouth slack in a twisted expression of death.
It bounced once, then rolled into the camp's ground landing right beside the orc rider who was fixated on collecting their things.
The rider flinched. Eyes widened.
"What the?" rage struck in
But just as he turned just in time the direction it came from
He see death descending.
Aexl. Mounted on Kentucky.
Spear raised high, silhouette cut by morninglight.
Airborne. Falling fast.
"Thunk—!"
The spear drove straight through the rider's skull, punching into the dirt beneath.
"Thud."
The orc's body crumpled like a sack of meat, heavy and limp. Blood sprayed upward in a brief, grotesque fountain.
Kentucky claws stump on the dead body. As aexl ripped a javelin from the side holster on Kentucky's saddle.
"Swooosh!"
The first throw sliced through the wind like a bullet.
The orc on the left grunted, caught it with one hand mid-spin—then snapped it with a growl of contempt.
The second came just behind—
"Swooosh!"
The right-side orc ducked too late. The javelin soared past him
but struck straight into the worg's throat behind him.
"KRUUHH!"
The beast shrieked and collapsed, legs twitching, blood flooding the grass.
The orc riders barked curses in broken tongues. Both dropped to their knees, sawing at leather bindings with bone knives, trying to release their mounts before more death came from the man standing in front of them.
But death was already moving.
Aexl yanked his spear from the first corpse—wet, sticky, steaming.
He charged.
Kentucky galloped, claws pounding.
The right-side orc didn't even look up in time.
"Ghhk—!"
Aexl's spear drove down with surgical precision, the tip punching through the orc's skull like butter.
No time to rest. The last orc was up. Mounted. A cleaver now in his hands, ripped from the weapon rack.
The worg snarled beneath him, muscle twitching with tension.
They charged.
Aexl stepped back, widening his stance.
The cleaver swung—
A brutal, wide arc meant to split him.
Aexl ducked low. So did Kentucky. A fluid motion, practiced—bodies moving in sync like a two-part machine.
The blade sang overhead.
Aexl pivoted.
Spear flashed.
It stabbed under the worg's jaw, just behind the right ear—deep and fast.
Impact made the beast bucked, shrieked, and lost its footing.
They crashed.
The orc was thrown from the saddle, body hitting dirt and rolling.
Kentucky didn't wait. The loyal beast pounced, claws pressing down on the wounded worg's skull.
Aexl stood over them all... calm, cold, silent.
Then, one final thrust
Right into the worg's chest.
Straight through the heart.
A mercy kill.
The orc rider didn't flinch.
As the others fell, he rushed the remaining worgs tied up, cleaver swinging.
CLANG. SNAP.
Chains shattered. Leather reins split in two.
Three more worgs freed
Snarling, pacing, eyes bloodshot.
Behind them, the orc rider charged, heavy cleaver dragging a scar in the dirt.
Aexl's eyes scanned the field.
"Two versus four…" he muttered, mouth dry.
His hand brushed the side of his mount.
"Three javelins left."
The three worgs burst into a sprint dirt kicking up behind their paws, coming fast.
Kentucky shifted.
Feathers bristled. Legs tensed.
Then
dash.
The giant cuckoo met them head-on like a predator.
Aexl adjusted.
Spear to his left hand.
Javelin to the right.
He didn't wait.
"Swooosh!"
First javelin flew
Straight into the lead worg's chest.
"GRUHHK!"
It tumbled, legs folding beneath it, sliding dead through the dust.
The other two came in hard. One lunged, fangs wide.
Kentucky veered.
A sharp jerk of the reins.
Aexl leaned left
Missed by inches.
Fangs snapped air.
The second worg went for the leg. Too slow.
Kentucky spun off, claws skidding. Aexl twisted in the saddle—right arm already cocked.
"Swooosh!"
The second javelin pierced straight through the beast's left eye.
THUD.
The worg dropped, skull-first into the dirt. Stone dead.
The last one lunged for Kentucky, jaws open.
But the bird wasn't done.
Side-step.
Legs like springs.
THWACK!
A beak thrust slammed into the worg's ribs
A burst of feathers and force, knocking it sideways, stunned but alive.
The orc rider roared and charged.
Aexl didn't hesitate.
He kicked off the saddle—
Using Kentucky's back like a springboard.
Airborne.
His silhouette cut against the morning sky
Spear in his left hand,
Last javelin in the right.
The orc saw him. Raised his cleaver defensively, bracing for the throw.
Aexl didn't blink.
The javelin flew.
CLANG!
It slammed into the cleaver. The orc staggered backward—reeling from the force.
But Aexl was already there.
He hit the ground in a crouch, rolled low, behind the orc's reach.
Dust kicked up around his boots. The orc turned too late.
The left knee—exposed.
Aexl surged forward.
"Sluck."
The spear pierced clean through.
The orc howled, leg buckling under him like a snapped beam.
The spear punched through flesh and bone.
The orc buckled with a thunderous grunt, his left knee blown apart.
Pain twisted his face, tusks flaring with spit and fury.
Still, he roared.
Despite the ruined leg, the orc swung downward
A wild, sloping arc aimed at where Aexl had just landed.
But Aexl was already gone.
He rolled back clean, sharp dodging the attack with practiced grace.
Dust scattered beneath him as he rose to his feet.
The orc turned toward him, dragging the cleaver behind, growling through clenched fangs.
Aexl stood still.
He didn't move. Didn't blink.
If he moved, he'd die.
If the orc moves, it dies.
The orc didn't know that yet.
He stepped forward, ready to lunge
But his weight betrayed him.
The knee collapsed.
Bone cracked.
The joint, already torn by Aexl's spear, gave out completely.
The massive beast dropped to a single knee.
Aexl's eyes narrowed.
Chance.
His mind lit up.
He dashed forward.
The spear in his hand was thrown not to kill, but to mislead.
The orc raised the cleaver in reflex, trying to block.
Too slow.
THUD!
The spear drove into the orc's left arm pinning it down like a stake in meat.
The cleaver missed its chance to shield.
Aexl slid.
Low. Fast.
His knife gleamed a blur of steel.
A quick slash tore across the exposed gut, cutting deep, before he pivoted behind the beast's broad back.
The orc snarled, twisted trying to rise.
Too late.
Aexl's blade plunged into the nape, slicing down into the throat clean, cold, and cruel.
The orc froze.
Muscles locked. Breath stopped.
But the eyes remained wide… still staring forward, frozen in disbelief.
Aexl stepped around, coming face-to-face with him.
He reached up one clean pull plucking the embedded spear from the orc's pinned arm.
The orc didn't even flinch.
His body was still upright, still breathing, just barely.
Aexl raised the spear one last time.
"…Mercy."
Stab.
The spear punched into the heart.
The orc stumbled, body jerking once
Then crumpled forward with a heavy crash.
Across the field, Kentucky perched triumphantly on top of the last worg's skull feathers ruffled, blood slicked on its beak.
It gave a victorious squawk, head tilted as if to say:
"I killed mine faster."
Aexl just smirked and gave him a thumbs up.
"Show off."
They went to work.
With the help of Kentucky despite flightless but absurdly strong, they dragged the five orc corpses across the gravel.
Chains and ropes scavenged from the camp tightened around the bodies.
One by one, the orcs were hauled to the road side before the slope, bones cracking under their own weight.
Aexl drove a javelin into the ground.
Then stabbed one orc corpse through the back, propping it up like a grotesque scarecrow.
He pulled the cleavers from their sheaths.
One after the other hacked off their heads.
Blood pooled beneath the staked torso. Heads were skewered on cleavers arranged in a line beside the road.
A grim warning.
Aexl stared at them, eyes cold.
"Dead men talk louder when they're on stakes."
He glanced at the side of the road where the worgs were piled, limbs tangled, tongues hanging limp.
Flies were already starting to gather.
"I'll ask the three guards to pick them up later."
He turned away, hand gripping a cloth bundle inside, the first orc's head he'd taken in the ambush.
A crude souvenir.
"You'll do for now," he muttered.
BZZZZT.
His Ephone vibrated inside his pocket.
He pulled it free with a blood-stained hand, cloth still in the other.
The screen blinked alive.
[ Mission Update – Bloodline of the Wolf ]
Condition of Completion:
✓ Kill the Worg Rider Scouts (5/5) – Completed
✖ Break the incoming expeditionary Orc Force (0/500)
✖ Capture Orc Fortress – (Brokeshield)
✖ Escort Selene and Mereia to Lunavark to reclaim the buried bloodline
Reward on Completion:
– Gain Territory: Lunavark
– Gain 5 Ability Points
– Gain Ability: Commodore of the Sea
[ Tactical Overview ]
Accessing Map…
[ Enemy Scouts Detected ]
– Count: 0
– Status: Neutralized
[ Update: Main Host Detected ]
– Route: Marching via Cliff of Echo
– Estimated Arrival: 2 Days, 13 Hours
Aexl stared at the numbers—then at the heads.
Five gone.
Five hundred to go.
He pocketed the Ephone, eyes narrowing toward the distant ridgeline where the Cliff of Echo lay hidden beneath the haze of forest and rock.
His voice was quiet, almost a whisper—meant only for the head in the cloth.
"Let's go check on our friends by the Echo…"
To be continued…