The night wind slipped through the cracks of the stone walls in Kenji's sleeping hall, carrying the scent of damp earth and faint wood smoke. Outside, the campfire still burned in the center of Grimfang's camp, guarded by loyal orc warriors. But the night was too quiet—like the surface of water before a stone is thrown.
Kenji couldn't sleep. Since the departure of the diplomat from Avanor, his mind had been clouded with suspicion. He kept the unsigned trade agreement scroll, refusing all pressure to approve it before investigating further. Yet he never expected the answer to come tonight—in the form of blood.
A faint rustle sounded. Light, like the footsteps of a rat. But for someone raised in a slave camp and survived deadly fights, it was enough to stiffen his body into alertness. He slowly sat up on his clay bed, fingers creeping toward the edge to grasp a small dagger he kept hidden beneath the mattress.
In an instant, a figure dressed in black dropped from the roof like a living shadow. A blade shot swiftly toward Kenji's neck—and he was nearly too late. He dodged, but the edge scraped his left shoulder. The wound burned fiercely. Poison.
Kenji staggered, but he was not a leader easily felled. With his right hand, he flipped a small table to block the attacker, then jumped back toward his weapon rack. Yet his body was already weakening. His vision blurred. His heartbeat raced, then slowed.
The assassin advanced, face hidden behind a black mask. Not a word was spoken. His second dagger was ready. In moments, the fight would be over.
Then…
From the shadows emerged another figure. A flash of silver pierced the air. Before the assassin realized what happened, a blade thrust into his chest. A hissing sound followed. His body stiffened, then collapsed, motionless.
Kenji dropped to his knees, breathing heavily. The poison was paralyzing parts of his body. But he remained conscious and alert enough to point his dagger toward the mysterious savior.
The figure was an orc—but not from Grimfang. His clothes were black, like a shadow. On his face was a long scar, seemingly deliberate, shaped like an inverted crescent moon. His eyes—dark, almost lifeless—looked at Kenji without emotion.
"I am not your enemy," he said, voice deep and sharp like stone scraping metal.
"Who are you…?" Kenji asked, struggling to stand though his knees felt weak.
The orc slowly walked to the assassin's body, which was already decomposing rapidly—the poison evidently consuming the corpse if the mission failed. With one motion, he wiped blood from his sword and said:
"I was sent by the Dark Master to protect you."
Kenji nearly laughed if his body weren't half paralyzed. "The Dark Master? You think I'll believe that so easily?"
"Believe it or not, that's not my concern." The orc reached into a small pouch at his waist and pulled out a vial filled with thick purple liquid. "Drink this. The poison in your body is no ordinary toxin. This… is the antidote."
Kenji hesitated for a moment. But seeing the veins in his arm darkening, he had little choice. He downed the liquid in one gulp. It burned like molten metal, but the effect was almost immediate. The poison stopped spreading, and his body began to recover.
He stood slowly. "If you could enter my room without a sound, you could have killed me… but you didn't."
The orc merely nodded. "Correct. My orders are not to kill you. But to keep you alive."
Kenji looked intently. "Who gave that order? Who is this 'Dark Master' you speak of?"
The orc hesitated briefly, then said softly, "The name… is not for you to know yet. But he watches. He has chosen you. And he believes your changes in Grimfang… are the key to the world's balance of power."
Kenji clenched his fists. "So I'm a pawn in someone else's game?"
"Not a pawn. But… a spark. You could be the flame that warms… or the fire that burns the world."
Kenji sat back down, his body still heavy. "Why would anyone want to kill me now? Didn't that diplomat return to the south?"
The orc shook his head. "That diplomat never returned. He was an assassin from the Seventh Order—a secret sect from the human kingdom that does not want orcs to rise. The trade agreement was just bait. If you reject it, they kill you. If you accept, they poison your crops and blame Grimfang."
Kenji exhaled deeply. His eyes fixed on the dying flames. "So, no true peace."
"Not for those who try to change the world," the orc said quietly. "But there is still a choice: surrender, or keep moving forward."
Kenji rose slowly and picked up his dagger from the floor. He stared at the assassin's body, now blackened like charcoal.
"Then my next steps must be more careful. Because my enemies… are not only haters. But those who disguise themselves as allies."
The mysterious orc turned toward the window, toward the moon hanging in the sky.
"Your next step… will determine the fate of the world," he whispered.
And that night, under the nearly starless sky, Kenji knew the game had only just begun. Grimfang was no longer just a clan. It was a threat, a hope, and a light in a world shrouded in shadows.
Meanwhile, far away in the eastern mountains, a hooded figure sat on a stone throne, surrounded by black torches. In their hand, a small trembling mirror reflected Kenji's shadow. Around them, empty spirits whispered:
"It has begun. The fangs are sharpened. The world will burn… or be saved."