That Night
From the depths of the Misty Mountains, a sizable squad of orc cavalry thundered forth beneath the stars. They skirted around the Elven Valley, plunged through the forest of Ogre, and galloped straight toward the wilderness beyond.
Where they passed, birds burst from treetops in alarm and wild hares darted for cover.
At that moment, Eric was still in the hidden valley. The thick forest cover obscured all movement from afar, and even the sharp-eyed Elven sentries stationed at the border only noted that another small group of orcs had slipped out of the mountains. Hardly alarming. Orc scouting parties were routine—this one didn't even appear to be heading toward the valley, if anything, it looked like they were taking a detour.
So, no one paid them much attention.
But while the Elves dismissed them, other eyes did not.
In the wastelands, cloaked rangers watched from afar as shadowed figures moved across the plains. Something felt…off. Perhaps something worth investigating.
After several grueling days of nonstop marching, the orcs arrived at a lush region—forests, flatlands, and a lake shimmering in the moonlight.
That evening, the orc squad leader vaulted onto a massive boulder, gazing into the horizon.
Beyond a shallow rise stood a solitary stone-walled fortress.
"Target in sight," he growled. "Into the trees. Build the siege ladders. We strike tonight."
Within the fortress walls, birds chirped, horses whinnied, pigs snorted. Not a single creature sensed what loomed just beyond the woods.
Well—except for two horses in the stables. Brought in from the town of Bree, these native-bred steeds pawed anxiously at the ground, huffing and whining as if they knew something wicked was drawing near.
No one came to calm them.
No one was there.
The only company they had were rows of silent, iron-headed golems with expressionless eyes, staring blankly at the horses' restless dance.
One scratched its head.
That morning, Eric had set off from the hidden valley in high spirits, thrilled about unlocking a new module. With dreams of testing his latest upgrades, he galloped home with glee—completely unaware of what was unfolding.
That Night.
Boom!
The siege ladders slammed against the fortress walls with a dull crash and settled in place.
The orcs roared and scrambled upward with bloodlust in their eyes.
The first orc to reach the top peered around—no guards on the towers, no archers in sight. With a gleeful cackle, he rushed to the gate controls and yanked down a lever.
Ka-chunk!
A small iron gate groaned open, revealing a narrow but tall entrance.
One by one, the orcs poured in with their mounts. It was slow-going, but inevitable.
The livestock in the paddocks—cows, chickens, pigs—turned their heads and regarded the intruders with oddly intelligent calm.
Seeing the animals, the first few orc riders grinned. So much fresh meat, just waiting to be carved. They raised their blades and prepared to charge the pen, already drooling at the thought of sizzling meat over a campfire.
They never made it.
BOOM… BOOM…
A low, grinding growl echoed through the fortress.
Then—crack!
Pain split the lead Orc's side. He soared through the air, howling, along with his mount, before crashing outside the walls with a sickening crunch.
Dead.
From midair, he caught a glimpse of his mount—also airborne—before both of them slammed into the dirt outside the wall with a crunch. Neither moved again.
"If you feel unloved, try picking a fight with a golem. You'll feel something, I promise."
—Eric Starfell
The iron golem's sudden appearance paralyzed the nearby orcs. They watched, wide-eyed, as their comrade was launched into the sky like a toy.
"Fight back! There's only one!" the squad leader bellowed.
Spurred by fury, the orc riders surged forward, snarling, blades raised. They piled onto the lone golem.
To its credit, the golem fought back valiantly—each swing of its iron arm sent another orc and wolf flying. But there were too many. They swarmed it, clung to its limbs, jabbed into its joints. Soon, the first hairline crack appeared in its armor.
"It's not invincible!" the squad leader howled with triumph. "Keep going! We'll crack it open!"
Hope bloomed.
Until the earth shook again.
This time louder.
More rhythmic.
THOOM! THOOM! THOOM!
The fortress shook.
From every shadowed corner—behind the towers, beneath the keep, beside the stables—more giants emerged. Twenty in total.
All Iron Golems.
Marching in unison, iron arms raised, eyes flaring.
The slaughter began.
Orcs were hurled into the air like broken dolls. Blood painted the ground in arcs.
Within seconds, the hundred-strong company was shattered.
The narrow gate that once granted access now became a death trap.
Panic erupted.
"Out of the way!"
Two Orc riders scrambled for the exit, shoving, snarling, kicking.
One of the panicked orcs was trampled and collapsed in the doorway, blocking it completely.
Another, desperate to live, vaulted over the mess and fled into the night, never once looking back.
Behind him, the chaos only grew.
The orc squad leader stared at the madness with wide eyes. He shouted, trying to rally his men—but they were too far gone, scattered, broken, slaughtered.
Fear had taken hold.
These weren't enemies they could fight.
These were not men. Not Elves. Not beasts.
They were machines of war.
He spun his wolf mount and galloped toward the gate, shoving others aside.
"Move! MOVE!"
But the exit was jammed.
His heart pounded as he watched his warriors get flung skyward like ragdolls. With a curse, he kicked his mount forward, knocking over any orc in his way.
"Out of my way!"
He finally reached the gate—only to see why the others were stuck.
A dead orc lay twisted at the threshold, blocking passage.
"You useless oaf—get him out of there!"
No one listened.
The sound of another golem's approach was like a drumbeat of doom. With no time left, the commander leapt off his mount and squeezed through the gap, scraping armor and skin.
As he tumbled to the outside, the eyes of his dying wolf glared up at him in betrayal.
Then it was crushed beneath a golem's fist.
The commander would live to tell the tale—to bring word back to the Orc King.
And he would bring something else back with him.
Terror.
As he vanished into the darkness, only one thought burned behind his eyes:
This was no ordinary keep. This was a fortress of dread.
---
Meanwhile, Eric was still galloping home in high spirits, unaware of any of this.
Then, out of nowhere, a flurry of notifications popped up over his vision.
[Reputation with Dúnedain +50]
[Reputation with the Valley Folks +50]
[Reputation with Bree Region +30]
"Your name is spreading throughout the Free Realms."
"...Huh?"
Eric blinked, bewildered, reins slack in his hands.
"What the hell happened while I was gone?"