Midnight hung heavy over the field.
The storm had passed, but the ground was still drowning in it—mud thick with blood, steam rising from torn armor, and the smell of iron clinging to every breath. Broken helms, snapped spears, and orc carcasses sprawled like discarded dolls beneath the pale moonlight.
"Return to the village," I ordered. My voice carried no room for doubt.
The villagers obeyed, weary but triumphant.
Lyssa approached through the mist, her blade still slick with rain. "I left three carts along the path for Armenia's men to ride back to the village," she said. "And one prepared for us as well"
She taught ahead as I nodded, a small grin tugging at my lips. "Good call. Thank you."
Selene tugged her reins, eyes narrowing. "I should stay. This isn't over."
I gave her a grin, half tired, half teasing. "Don't worry. I'll catch up. Besides…" My gaze lingered on her a moment longer. Then I whispered "…I look forward to something better later."
Her cheeks reddened, but before she could answer, Lyssa stepped closer, cutting us direct as always. "And you? Where will you go?"
I turned, staring at the battlefield one last time. At the broken armor. The cooling corpses. The faint hiss of steam rising from blood-soaked earth.
"I need some cleaning to do," I said, grin sharpening. My eyes flicked back to Selene. "And then… I'll celebrate with you guys"
But first…
I pulled out my phone, its glow cutting through the mist.
[War Dominion Interface – Command Summary]
Gained: 6,750 Command Coins
[ Mission Update – Bloodline of the Wolf ]
Condition of Completion:
✓ Kill the Worg Rider Scouts (5/5) – Completed
✓ Break the incoming expeditionary Orc Force (500/500) – Completed
✖ 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
The battle was over.
The last orc twitched its final breath beneath my boot. The ground—blood, rain, and silence—was mine.
By the time the villagers vanished down the path with their carts and cuckoos, I mounted Kentucky once more. Alone, we climbed the ridge of the Cliff of Echo. From there, I could see the road where the orcs had once marched—arrogant, armored, certain they'd raze a village before sundown. Now it was nothing but corpses and carrion steam.
I tapped my phone again.
[Unit List]:
– Berserker Unit — Led by Armenia, the Wolf of the Teutoburg Pass (12/12)
Valkyrie Unit: 17/17
A new pop-up blinked into existence.
[Message Function Unlocked]
I blinked, staring. "So you can send text messages to them…" I muttered.
My grin widened. "Let's try."
The message was short, sharp, and cold.
"Armenia. Cut off the heads of all the orcs. Spike them along the cliff wall.
The bodies—pile them up, burn them. Remove their armor and weapons, load them onto the carts left behind by the villagers, and bring them to Eldenthyr."
I typed it all out on the glowing screen of my Ephone.
Send.
For a moment, silence.
Then—three dots appeared. Like a chatroom. And a circular icon: Armenia's face, lit up like it was a damn social media profile.
Reply:
Commander, well understood, General. I'll send updates. Why not rest and proceed first with the villagers?
I blinked. My mouth went dry.
"This—what the fuck—this is real?" I muttered.
No hesitation, no confusion. They treated this like normal.
I typed back, fingers stiff.
I'll proceed. Take care.
Seconds later—Armenia sent back a thumbs up emoji.
"…The fuck…"
I shoved the Ephone back into my pocket and rode Kentucky toward the village.
But along the way I saw them—Armenia's berserkers.
One caught my eye first. A beauty with sweat-slick skin and dauntless eyes, her cleavage exposed beneath warpaint. For a second the world slowed.
Then—CRACK!
Her axe came down, splitting an orc's head clean off, tossing it casually into a growing pile.
I gulped. Hard.
If this unit wasn't a bombshell parade of thighs, cleavage, and blood-smeared skin… they'd be nightmares straight out of hell.
The berserkers moved like vultures dressed as goddesses. Warpaint smeared across curves and muscle, hair flying as they hacked, dragged, and strung up corpses like butchers on festival day.
Steel flashed. Blood misted. Heads rolled.
"Hang them high," Armenia commanded, voice ringing with cruel pride. "Let every pair of eyes that walks this road remember today."
Her warriors obeyed.
Bodies were dragged, stripped, tied to trees, some stacked naked into grotesque piles.
Two hours later—the work was done.
A hundred corpses turned into a macabre gallery:
– Orc heads spiked along the cliff wall of Echoi.
– Headless bodies tied to the trees like grotesque guardians.
– The rest heaped into pyres, flames eating flesh until only ash remained.
Armenia raised a torch, then closed her eyes as though… composing a message in her mind.
My Ephone buzzed.
[You have received 16 images.]
"…no way," I muttered. Thumb hovering over the screen. "…Please tell me this isn't what I think it is."
I tapped.
Four images: a line of orc heads spiked along the cliff of Echoi. Their jaws slack, eyes staring at the sky like grotesque scarecrows.
Four images: more heads, neatly aligned like some demented gallery.
"…Why does this look like a Pinterest board titled 'Rustic Orc Décor'?"
Third and fourth images: naked, headless orc bodies tied to trees at the forest entrance. Arms spread, torsos gleaming in moonlight.
Two more: pyres roaring, orc bodies stacked high. Berserkers standing in front, flashing peace signs. One even stuck her tongue out, cleavage smeared with warpaint.
"…They're posing… like this is Coachella. Are you kidding me?"
Next set: two carts overflowing with stripped armor, spears, and shields.
"At least they got the loot. Practical. Okay, that part I understand."
The last four stopped my breath.
Selfies. Actual selfies.
Armenia and her berserkers shoulder-to-shoulder, cheeks pressed together, blood still dripping from their axes. One winked. Another flexed, abs shining in the firelight. In the background half-dead orc twitching while someone photobombed with a thumbs up.
I stared. Then whispered, "Wait… what camera are they even using? Where the hell did these pictures come from?"
I exhaled, a helpless grin tugging at my lips. "…Fine. I'll just ask Armenia later."
For now, I typed back one simple reply:
Thank you. Return to the village, wash up, and eat.
Armenia's reply came instantly.
Thank you, General.
By the time I reached the gates, the village was alive with warmth.Those villagers who had returned last night earlier had prepared food; laughter and song rose from the feasting crowd.
I sat back in my saddle, staring at them—mud, blood, and tears washed clean by firelight and broth.
"This… is victory," I muttered, as the first shed of sunlight broke through the horizon. The air had changed.
The acrid reek of blood and mud was gone—replaced by the warm smoke of food, the fragrance of herbs, and the ringing of laughter.
The village looked transformed.
Clean. Lively. Alive.
Lyssa and the women of Eldenthyr, their hair brushed and their robes fresh, greeted me at the gates with smiles and cheers. Hours ago, those same hands had been gripping spears and pitchforks—yet now they looked as though the battlefield had been nothing more than a bad dream.
They didn't know.
They didn't need to.
And they never would.
Aexl kept that truth buried with him—the truth of what had been done to the orcs.
Morning was for celebration. And I played my part.
I offered words of parting, scanning the crowd for Selene… but she was nowhere. With a quiet sigh, I surrendered the thought and decided my own body—drenched in blood, mud, and smoke—needed cleansing just as much as my mind.
I bid farewell to Lyssa and the others, loosening Kentucky's straps at the square. The faithful beast shook his mane as I unlatched his saddle, gave him a light slap on the neck, and watched him trot off for his own freedom stroll.
Helmet off, armor heavy in my arms, I stepped into the village hall bathhouse.
Mist greeted me first, clinging to the air in heavy swathes. The room was hot—like an indoor garden hotspring, bordered by sturdy wooden walls and crowned with a medieval roof. A great opening in the center revealed a pale sky where the first blush of sunrise peeked through, spilling faint gold into the haze.
I stripped down until nothing remained. Bare skin met the bite of morning air, but the warmth of the bath promised relief. Slowly, I dipped a toe into the water. The surface rippled, milky with minerals, and the heat licked my skin with sharp tenderness.
Hot enough.
Hot enough to melt the fatigue that clung to me like armor, to burn away the crawling aches of battle.
With a deep breath, I lowered myself in—inch by inch until the water swallowed me up to my shoulders, leaving only my neck and head exposed. A long sigh left my chest.
So this is why they looked so young… If every home had a bath like this, no wonder the villagers could march into hell one night and smile at sunrise.
The thought drifted with the mist.
Then—movement.
I opened my eyes.
There, barely outlined by the curling steam, was the silhouette of a womanly figure.
Curves blurred, hidden by the veil of heat and vapor, but undeniable.
My lips parted—instinct begged me to call out.
But hesitation cut me short.
Last time I opened my mouth, I was branded a pervert.
I swallowed, silent, and stepped forward instead. My pace slowed. The water swirled around me.
Then it hit—her scent.
Familiar.
A trace of wild stream, the same fragrance that clung to the night by the river.
My breath caught.
…Selene?