20. Jurto

20

JURTO

E nergy thrums through my body as I stride through the base. I gave the team a week off from practice to rest before diving back in for our next big game – and I took advantage. I've fucked Emilia on every surface of my house by now.

Even though my mind should be focused on leading the drills at practice, I'm already thinking about her. I can still taste her on my tongue after having her for breakfast – and I'm ready for seconds. I have to will myself not to get hard behind the thin shorts as I approach my teammates.

"Jurto!" Borka shouts as I approach. "We haven't seen you all week."

I grunt as I walk past. "Why would I want to see your ugly mugs if I don't have to?"

The team howls with laughter at that, but I notice a few watching me a bit too closely. It's as if they can see what exactly has kept me away, and I'm not sure I like it.

"Alright!" I wave my hands. "Get over here."

As the team gathers, I notice sly glances and murmurs rippling through the group. It seems rumors of my relationship with Emilia have spread, at least in some way. I can feel their eyes on me, assessing, judging. Some smirk, others look almost envious.

I narrow my eyes, scanning the crowd until I catch sight of Varg and his closest friends exchanging knowing looks. Varg is the first to approach me, a mischievous grin on his face.

"So, Jurto," he begins, crossing his arms over his chest, "we've been hearing things. Interesting things."

I grunt, trying to keep my expression neutral. "Oh yeah? And what interesting things would those be?"

He chuckles, and a few of the others join in. "Word around the base is that you've been spending quite a bit of time with a certain human. Emilia, isn't it?"

I feel a surge of protectiveness at the mention of her name. "What of it?" I say, my tone sharper than I intended. "Last I checked, my personal life isn't up for discussion."

Varg raises his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, no need to get defensive. We're just curious, that's all. She must be something special to keep you away from us for a whole week."

The group laughs again, but there's an edge to it. I can tell some of them are genuinely curious, while others seem to be enjoying the idea of me being distracted. I take a deep breath, trying to keep my cool.

With a bellowing command, I silence the gossip. "Enough! Get to your positions and start the drills!" My voice echoes across the training ground, leaving no room for argument. The grumbling orcs comply, though their curious stares linger on me, their captain.

I stride towards the center of the field, my eyes scanning the team as they reluctantly fall into formation. The tension is palpable, but I refuse to let it distract me. "We've got a big game coming up," I remind them, voice firm. "I expect nothing but your best."

The drills begin, the rhythm of our practice routine a familiar comfort. Varg and his group are still casting sidelong glances my way, but they focus on their tasks when I catch their eyes. I push them harder than usual, channeling my frustration into the training. The sound of feet pounding the ground, the grunts of exertion, and the clash of practice weapons fill the air.

"Faster!" I shout as they run laps. "Stronger!" as they spar. I need them sharp, focused. And I need to remind them—and myself—of what's at stake.

As the practice continues, the initial murmurs and whispers die down, replaced by the disciplined shouts and responses of a well-trained unit. Sweat pours down their faces, muscles straining as they give it their all. I keep a close eye on each one, correcting stances, adjusting grips, demanding more.

Finally, when I'm satisfied they've pushed themselves to their limits, I call for a break. They collapse onto the ground, panting and gulping down water. I stand over them, arms crossed, waiting for the right moment.

"Listen up," I say, my voice cutting through the heavy breaths. "I don't care what you think you know or what you've heard. What matters is what happens here, on this field. We're a team, and we fight together. Understood?"

There's a murmur of assent, some nodding, others too exhausted to respond. But I see the message sinking in. "Good." Ignoring the lingering looks, I dive straight into the next phase of our training—brutal conditioning. "Now get up. We're not done yet." Their grumbling is like music to my ears.

"We're going to push it today," I announce. "No half-measures. I want to see what you're made of."

I start them on sprints, up and down the length of the field. "Faster!" I roar, eyes scanning for any sign of slackening. "Move it! You think the other team's going to take it easy on you? Think again!"

Sweat pours off them in rivers, their breathing turning ragged, but I don't let up. I can't afford to. Not with the game so close and the whispers of Emilia still hanging in the air. "Next, endurance drills. You stop when I say you stop!"

We transition into grueling sets of push-ups, sit-ups, and burpees. Every muscle in their bodies is pushed to the brink. My eyes are everywhere, catching even the slightest hint of fatigue or hesitation.

"Varg, pick up the pace!" I snarl, seeing him slow. "You think you're tired? Push harder! You want to win, don't you?"

He grunts in response, pushing himself harder, and I see the rest of the team following suit, driven by both the challenge and my relentless presence. I push them through circuit after circuit, their bodies screaming for rest, but I allow none.

"Keep going!" I shout, my voice a relentless hammer. "No one stops until I say so!"

Hours pass, the sun climbing high in the sky, beating down on us. Their movements become slower, more labored, but I keep pushing. "You think this is hard? This is nothing compared to what we'll face on the field! Show me your strength, your determination!"

Finally, when I see they've reached their absolute limits, I call for a halt. They collapse, gasping for breath, muscles trembling with exhaustion. I stand over them, chest heaving, but resolute.

"Remember this feeling," I tell them, my voice steady despite my own weariness. "This is what it takes to be the best. This is what it takes to win."

There's no mention of Emilia now. No sidelong glances or whispered comments. Just a team, bonded through shared hardship, ready to face whatever comes next. The orcish way.

As the team tries to shake off their exhaustion, I stand tall, having reasserted my dominance. The field is littered with my spent warriors, their heavy breaths punctuating the silence that falls over us.

But now, the thoughts of what waits for me at home filter in. And my thoughts of Emilia have turned sour. Having a week to feast on her made me blind to the reality of our situation.

I grit my teeth at the thought of appearing soft over a mere slave. Emilia, who has become so much more to me in private, must remain just another conquest in the eyes of my brutish kind.

I can't afford any hint of weakness. My mind races, and a cold resolve settles in. I vow to redouble my cruelty toward Emilia in public. No matter how much she means to me behind closed doors, outwardly, she must be treated as nothing more than a possession. The stakes are too high, and any sign of softness could undermine my authority.

"Get some rest," I bark at the team, my voice hard. "We're not done yet. Tomorrow, we'll push even harder."

They nod weakly, dragging themselves off the ground and towards the showers. As I watch them go, I feel a pang of guilt. The relentless conditioning, the harsh words – it's all necessary. But I can't shake the unease settling in my gut.

With this resolved, I turn and stalk off the pitch, the rumors quashed for now. But inwardly, doubts begin to gnaw at me. Can I truly keep up this fa?ade? Can I balance the brutal leader my team expects despite the thoughts I've been having over a mere human? I'm an orc – I can take what I want…

But the way that Emilia has twisted me is something else. I refuse to be seen as weak. I wanted to break this woman, but it seems I've lost sight of that.

I push the thoughts away as I head towards the showers, the cool water a brief respite from the turmoil within me. I know I'll see Emilia soon, and the thought both comforts and tortures me.

I've come to love her willingness to be with me. Yes, she still fights me, but she always bends, and I love watching it. It is a game we've come to play, but it also seems to be costing me my reputation.

As the water washes over me, I try to steel myself. The game is all that matters. My team needs me to be strong, unyielding. I can't have everyone thinking I am anything less. I am their captain – and an orc! I'm stronger than that, better.

I've let a little human get too far under my skin. She's been scrambling my mind since the day I met her, and I let her shake my resolve. I need to prove that she is nothing to me, even if inwardly I know that is no longer true. I have to make everyone else believe that she is just another conquest.

Which means I'm about to show Emilia what cruelty really looks like.