24. Jurto

24

JURTO

" K eep up the fucking pace, Krodash!" I roar, nearly tearing one of the training dummies apart as I see Krodash fumble another possession. "If I see you do that again, you're running forty laps around the field!"

"What the fuck, Jurto?" Hrogun remarks, picking at his tusks as he observes from the sidelines. "You're going to kill the damn kid."

"He's become a different beast," Varg says, plopping down on the bench beside him. Rogar drinks from his water skin beside them. "Did you see the way he spoke to poor Borka earlier? I thought he was going to kill him right then and there."

"Are you gossiping about me right now?" I snarl, shooting glares in their general direction. "This next match is important to me. I won't tolerate failure in any shape or form. If we fail, I want a new damn team behind me."

"Calm it, Jurto," Hrogun says, sending me a warning look. "You don't mean that shit, so don't say it."

The anger permates me completely. I'm quick to anger, quick to criticize, and it's all because of fucking Gargash.

The sun barely peeks over the horizon, but we're already on the field, sweat mingling with the morning dew. "Again!" I bark at Krodash, who's panting like a cornered beast. His last run was sloppy, unworthy of the Bloodcrushers. Beside him, Kraag and Kyleb reset their stances, bracing for another grueling drill.

Varg and Rogar, after enjoying a brief break, haul the heavy training shields and position themselves as opposing players. I watch, unsatisfied, as Karg attempts to maneuver past them, his steps lacking the sharpness I demand. "Faster, Karg! Move like the damn wind or don't move at all!" My voice slices through the morning air, a whip that drives them harder.

Hrogun, ever the voice of reason, tries to interject. "Jurto, they're breaking?—"

"They'll learn to break the Stonebreakers. And if they don't, they'll have to crawl off the damn field with broken limbs!" I snap, cutting him off. The name Gargash seethes in my mind, fueling my fury. It's not just another match—it's the match. The one where Emilia could be taken from me. I won't show up with anything less than a legion ready to dominate.

We push through the drills, each repetition more intense than the last. I spot Borka faltering, his large frame shuddering with exhaustion. "On your feet, Borka! Show me you deserve to stay on the team!" His response is a gritty, determined nod, and he surges forward, tackling Rogar with renewed vigor.

The hours bleed into each other, the sun climbing high as we grind through each play. By midday, the field is a battlefield, each corner of the practice field trampled under relentless orcish feet. Krodash drops to one knee, gasping, and I'm on him like a shadow. "You think Gargash's Stonebreakers will give you a moment to rest? This is nothing compared to what's coming!"

I pull him up, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder, my grip as hard as my expectations. "We are the Bloodcrushers, and we do not yield!" This rallying cry pulls a chorus of grunts and nods from the team, their fatigue momentarily forgotten in the surge of shared resolve.

Krodash crumples again, his broad shoulders sagging, knees hitting the dirt with a dull thud. I'm on him in an instant, my boot connecting with his side in a sharp, unforgiving kick. "Get up!" My voice booms across the field, a harsh echo against the quieting dusk. "Weakness on this field is a blade at our throats in the arena!"

The others freeze, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief. Never before have I pushed them this hard, never have I let the leash slip this tight. Rogar's eyes narrow, a spark of defiance flickers, but he holds his tongue, his jaw clenched tight.

Varg steps forward slightly, his usual grin wiped clean off his rugged face, replaced by concern. "Jurto, this is not?—"

"Silence!" I snap, turning my glare on him. The word slices through the air, cutting off any further objections. My gaze sweeps over them all—Kraag, Borka, Kyleb, Karg—each one of them showing signs of strain beneath the weight of my expectations.

Hrogun finally strides over, his larger frame casting a long shadow as he blocks the setting sun. "Jurto, you're crossing a line. We're your team, not your enemy. Push us to break, and we'll have nothing left for the Stonebreakers."

I breathe heavily, my chest heaving with the fire of a thousand battles. "And if we don't push now, Gargash will destroy us. You think I'm harsh? His methods are crueler, his players ruthless. I do this to prepare, not to punish."

Krodash slowly rises, supported by Kyleb, his face a mask of pain and determination. "I can take it, Captain. If it means we win, I'll stand again."

The sincerity in his voice stabs at me, a reminder of my responsibility. "This isn't about standing, Krodash," I say, softer now but still fierce. "It's about conquering. About bringing those bastards to their knees."

The air cools as night approaches, the earlier heat of the day and of our training fading into a tense calm. I look at each of them, my warriors, my responsibility.

"Get some rest," I command, my voice firm but no longer harsh. "Tomorrow, we train smarter. We are the Bloodcrushers. We don't falter; we adapt and overcome."

As the team disperses under the encroaching night, each figure retreating into the shadows cast by the setting sun, I stand alone in the center of the field. My eyes linger on their retreating backs, their exhaustion visible in every step. But beyond their fatigue, beyond the dusk that blankets us, my thoughts churn with the image of Emilia—her defiance, her courage, and the undeniable fact that she has burrowed deep into my mind, unsettling the soil of my convictions.

The stakes are high, higher than any of the team might fully understand. Failure is not merely a loss in the arena; it is leaving Emilia to the mercies of Gargash. That thought tightens my chest, clenching my heart with iron fingers. The idea of her suffering under his rule, subjected to his cruelty, propels my resolve to new heights. I cannot, I will not let that happen.

"Jurto, are you coming?" Hrogun's voice calls out from the edge of the field, pulling me from my thoughts.

"In a moment," I reply, my voice a low growl swallowed by the dusk.

Turning back, I stare out across the field, envisioning the battles to come. In my mind's eye, I see Rogar's determined charge, Varg's clever maneuvers, Krodash's resilience, and Kraag's brute strength. Borka, Kyleb, and Karg, each playing their part with a precision I will demand relentlessly. Because what is their pain, their exhaustion, compared to the horrors Emilia would face if we fail?

This is the conviction that hardens my resolve as the stars begin to prick the night sky. My leadership may be stern, my methods harsh, but they are necessary. Gargash is a foe who respects neither strength nor spirit; he only acknowledges victory and the total submission of his adversaries.

As I finally turn to leave the field, my thoughts are clear. Tomorrow, I will push them harder, refine their skills sharper. Each drop of sweat, each moment of pain they endure under my watch is a barrier I build around Emilia, a fortress of flesh and will.

"You've never trained us like that before," Hrogun says. "Not even when we had to face Aleryn and his dark elves."

I shake my head. "Things are different now."

"I can tell." Hrogun claps his hand on my shoulder as we leave the arena together. "And I'm not sure I like it."

For Emilia, I'm willing to train my orcs within an inch of their lives .

As Hrogun and I leave the training arena, the cold air slices through the evening's fatigue, setting my resolve even firmer into the stone of my intentions. The ground crunches under our heavy boots, a steady rhythm in the quiet of the twilight. I can feel Hrogun's eyes on me, measuring, perhaps questioning, but I am a wall of certainty.

"I know they're tired, Hrogun," I say, my voice steady, echoing slightly off the stone walls surrounding us. "But tired won't save us. Tired won't keep Emilia from Gargash's grasp."

Hrogun sighs, his breath misting in the air. "There's a line, Jurto. Push them past their breaking point and we risk everything. They need to be strong, not broken."

I stop walking, turning to face him. The fading light casts half his face in shadow, making him look like a statue carved from the very essence of caution. "We will not break," I assert with a quiet intensity. "We will forge. In the heat, in the strain, we sharpen. He won't ease up because we're tired."

He meets my gaze, the unspoken challenge hanging between us like a heavy cloak. After a moment, his features soften, the warrior giving way to the strategist. "Just remember, they're not just weapons, Jurto. They're our brothers. Your brothers."

His words linger in the cooling air as we resume walking. I know he's right; my warriors are not just tools to be wielded against our enemies. But the image of Emilia, her defiant spirit, her unwavering strength, fuels me. I cannot, will not, let her down.

"We'll rest tonight," I finally concede, though the plan forming in my mind is anything but gentle. "Tomorrow, we push harder. The Stonebreakers will expect tired foes. We'll show them a storm."

Hrogun nods, perhaps not entirely convinced, but trusting nonetheless. As we part ways, the weight of leadership settles deeper on my shoulders. Tomorrow's training will be crucial. I will drive my warriors, test their limits, and in doing so, protect what is precious.

Emilia will remain by my side. No matter the consequence.