4. Jurto

4

JURTO

W hen I ram my body into the training dummy, constructed of logs and thin sheets of plated armor, the flimsy thing explodes from the force of the impact. Splinters of wood and metal fly in all directions, while I emerge unscathed with the ball still tucked under my arm.

Aleryn won't stand a fucking chance against me.

With a proud smirk on my face, I continue the play. I dash forward, imagining opposing defenders on the other team trying to claw at my skin and wrestle me to the ground.

Like muscle memory, my body moves naturally to avoid these invisible foes until I find myself in front of the moving goalpost. It moves from side to side at a gradual pace, so I time my shot nicely and launch the ball directly into the goal.

Turning around to face the rest of my teammates, my chest heaves with satisfaction. Hrogun stares at me with a blank expression, even as I make the move to approach him.

As I close the distance to Hrogun, my nostrils flare with each heavy breath. Casting a quick, questioning glance with a slight tilt of my head, I demand answers from his unusually somber expression.

Hrogun meets my gaze squarely, his voice a low rumble, barely audible against the rustling of the passing breeze. "Aleryn's raised the stakes for the match," he informs me, his eyes narrowing slightly. "He's wagering a human slave this time."

A flicker of irritation sparks within me. Aleryn's ploy is clear as day—it's not about the human; it's about him flaunting his confidence, insinuating that his dark elf team will trample us without effort. The thought tightens my jaw. He's using this bet to get in our heads, to rattle us.

"Why up the ante with a human?" I grunt, more to myself than to Hrogun, the disdain clear in my tone. "Does he think we'll be distracted? Does he assume we'll falter, knowing the price?"

Hrogun shrugs, his thick arms crossing over his chest. "Perhaps he believes it'll unsettle us, make us lose focus. Aleryn likes to play mind games, you know that. He wants to believe he's already won."

The idea stokes the fire of competition within me. It's not about the slave—humans are traded often in these games, a fact of life here on Tlouz—but the presumption of victory that Aleryn dares to flaunt. It grates on me, this arrogance.

I turn back to the field, my eyes tracing the outline of the goalposts. The calm before the storm of our next match seems almost eerie now, charged with this new tension.

"We'll show him," I declare, my voice a low growl, turning back to face Hrogun with a fierce glare. "We'll smash his team into the ground. We'll take that human and everything else he holds dear. Not because we care for the prize, but to crush his pride."

As Hrogun nods his head in agreement, I clap him on the shoulder, a silent acknowledgment of our shared resolve. The rest of the team pauses their drills and gather around, their practice halting as the news spreads like a low, ominous thunder through the ranks. Their faces are masks of concentration, the air thick with brewing storms.

Krodash, the largest of my warriors, approaches, his heavy footsteps thudding against the soft earth. His tusks gleam slightly in the dimming light, his eyes narrowed into slits. He's always had a keen sense for when the tension rises amongst the team, crippled by uncertainty and unanswered questions.

"Captain," he rumbles, his deep voice resonating with the gravity of the moment. "If we claim victory, the human is yours, right?" His question isn't about greed—it's about order, about knowing who leads and who follows.

I nod firmly, meeting his gaze. "Yes, the prize will fall to me. But it's not about owning a slave—it's about proving a point." I let my gaze sweep over the circle of my team, ensuring each of them understands the stakes beyond the physical. "We're not just fighting for victory in the arena; we're fighting against Aleryn's arrogance, his disrespect."

Murmurs of agreement ripple through the group, their usual rowdy energy turning into a focused, fiery determination. They understand what I am driving at—not just a win, but a win that humiliates our rivals and throws their plan back in their faces.

"We use what he thinks is a weakness as our strength," I continue, my voice rising with my building passion. "We show him that we're not distracted by the stakes; we're empowered by them. We fight harder because he thinks he can manipulate us with them."

Grunts and nods of approval answer me, the orcs clenching their fists and banging their chest plates—a heartening display of unity and readiness.

I snort, the sound rough and dismissive. The very idea of owning such a creature as a human slave holds no appeal. What use would I have for one? Feeble, frail, always requiring protection rather than providing any strength or resolve. The notion itself is almost laughable, if not for the irritation bubbling within me.

Humans are only good at housekeeping and quick fucks. That's it.

And I have many orc women desperately waiting for a chance to slip into my bedroom these days. How can a human woman compare with them?

Aleryn's audacity to use this as a tactic gnaws at my insides. It's a mockery, a slap to our faces—thinking he can unnerve us with such a paltry offering. He underestimates us, thinks us simple, easily swayed by the prospect of owning another life. But we are orcs, not collectors of weak trophies.

With a guttural growl that rumbles from deep within my chest, I clap my hands sharply, the sound echoing like a war drum across the training field. "Back to work!" I bellow, my voice carrying the command of a leader unswayed by petty games. "Give everything you have into this training. Work as if your lives depended on it!"

The Bloodcrushers fall into line with a renewed intensity that even the ground beneath our feet seems to feel. We attack the training equipment with a ferocity that would make the mountains tremble. Each hit against the padded dummies is a promise, each dodge a rehearsal for the upcoming battle.

I watch as Krodash slams into his target, the dummy barely withstanding the force of his wrath. His movements are a dance of destruction, each step, each swing, each grunt infused with the raw determination to crush our adversaries.

"Think of each strike as a blow to Aleryn's arrogance!" I shout, moving among my warriors, pushing them to exert every ounce of their strength. "Let the dark elves feel the quake of our resolve!"

The air fills with the sounds of grunts and the thud of impacts, the scent of sweat and dirt mingling with the crisp evening air. My heart pounds in rhythm with their efforts, my own blood heating with the visions of victory, of seeing the shock on Aleryn's face when he realizes his gamble has failed.

Our victory over the dark elves will be euphoric.

The evening deepens as we, the Bloodcrushers, gather in a tight-knit circle under the fading light. Exhausted yet exhilarated, each breath is a testament to the day's hard work and a pledge for the upcoming match. Around me, my brothers stand tall, their eyes alight with the fire of warriors ready to demolish any opponent.

Hrogun, ever the stalwart, claps a hand onto my shoulder—a solid, reassuring weight. "Solid work today, Jurto," he rasps, his voice a hoarse echo of our day's efforts. His grin splits his face, not disguising his scars but highlighting them—a warrior's proud badges.

Krodash, a tower of strength among us, nods with a satisfaction that rumbles deep within his chest. "Aleryn won't see us coming," he booms, a chuckle threading through his words, the sound like rolling thunder promising a storm.

Beside him, Borka matches his ferocity with a growl of his own. He flicks his braided hair back, his eyes sharp and ferocious. "Let's shock them. I want to see their faces when they realize they've misjudged us," he growls, the thrill of the challenge vibrant in his voice. And the desire to win is ever present in his eyes.

Kraag, fierce as any seasoned zyrphix player, clenches his fists, his features set in a determined scowl. "They'll remember this game for ages," he declares, his energy infectious, sparking a round of approving nods and grunts from the group.

I survey my brothers, feeling the unbreakable bond that has been forged through countless battles and shared victories. "We are more than a team," I declare, my voice slicing through the evening chill. "We are brothers. When we face Aleryn's team, we fight not just for victory, but to uphold the honor of the Bloodcrushers."

A roar of approval erupts from the group, a primal sound that would send chills down the spine of any who hear it.

As they begin to disperse out of the practice arena for some well-deserved rest, I remain behind, my gaze fixed on the horizon where the last light of day gives way to the night. Thoughts of Aleryn, with his cunning and contempt, flicker through my mind like sparks from a fire.

Silently, I make a vow, my resolve hardening like forged metal. I will be the one to face him on the field. My eyes will meet him as I deliver the decisive blow, a blow that will crush his arrogance. For every slight, every disdainful look he has dared to cast our way, I will repay him tenfold.

Tonight, I will rest, and my dreams will be of the game. But on the morrow, Aleryn will come to know the true cost of underestimating the Bloodcrushers. And I will ensure his pride is thoroughly shattered beneath the might of our brotherhood.