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  The words that Fiery Hair had said about Mursha were still stantly resonating within the orc warrior's heart and mind.

  The ck of resolve, the ck of self-fidence, how she hesitated, how she could even be afraid deep down, doubting herself.

  And therefore, being weaker as a result.

  Her fight against Bing Xue and Fiery Hair showed her that she wasn’t truly as strong as she believed and that, deep down, she was filled with many insecurities.

  It also filled her with the sehat she hadn’t been herself for a long while, even as she polished her skills and tinuously leveled up with each War Game and Hunt Game.

  Even as she tried to find a way to break out of her terrible prison, the curse of being fined in this camp was to see her tribe die oer another.

  Yes, she could still remember it; the Blood Fang Tribe was one of the stroribes iire world of Elios.

  Strong orcs with the most refined swordsmanship teiques possess the power of their Blood Fang Stigma, the ability to bee strohe more they bleed and are hurt.

  This made their tribe incredibly tenacious, being almost invincible, and a great headache to the ever-growing Cult of the Barbarian God.

  The War Games were never as widespread as they are now; the entire popution wasn’t pletely forced to do them like before.

  No, back then, when she was much younger.

  When the wind was calm and soothing, and when she ran barefoot around the grassnds with an i, childish smile.

  Those moments when the world hadn’t bee an endless blood fest to please a mad god...

  She still could remember them—these memories that wouldn’t go away no matter how much she tried tet them.

  No matter how much she tried to move on and accept her reality,.

  Thirty years ago, when she was a young orc warriirl in her early teens, she was still too inexperienced and still looking forward to the future and the beautiful world she was born in.

  Back then, she would spend the whole m practig her sword teiques, swinging her bde vertically and horizontally, imitating her parents and the other warriors’ abilities.

  “Phew… And one hundred!”

  After doing a hundred swings, she sighed in relief, sitting over the soft and cold grass. The m sun was already rising, and its warmth washed over her body.

  “Murshaaa! e bae! Breakfast is ready, honey!”

  And then a voice, her mother calling her, like every day, like every m.

  “Oh! Breakfast!”

  Little Mursha ran across the grassnds, sprinting rapidly as she greeted the other members of the tribe that she saw.

  “Hello everyo’s a good day today too!”

  “Ah, little Mursha!”

  “Aren’t you eic today too?”

  “I wish my son would be half as disciplined as you are! Hahah!”

  “There she goes again, that girl…”

  As she reached her family’s rge tent, she greeted a pack of enormous fluffy creatures, resembling a bination of sheep and cows; these were the normal cattle of the orc tribes, named Waltrogs.

  They were resilient, strong, and capable of sustaining themselves with just grass. And they fed the orcs with delieat and milk, and they were also capable of produg soft wool and a stro; they were stros too, so most predators would not get close to their offspring.

  “Hello everyone! How are you doing?”

  Mursha petted them as she went to her tent. A little Waltrog ran towards her, hitting her with a pyful headbutt.

  “Ouch! Haha! How are you today, little one?”

  “Meehee!”

  “y ter? I gotta go eat breakfast!”

  She petted the creature’s head.

  She could still remember, to this day, how soft and warm its little head was.

  “Mursha! e eat already!”

  Her father called her; he seemed a bit upset that she was taking a while to e to eat with the family. She quickly ran without saying another word.

  “I’m here, haahh... Sorry, I took a while!” giggled Mursha, sitting over the grass and seeing a huge wooden table covered with delicious food.

  Milk, cheese, bread, some dried meat, wild berries, and boiled potatoes—most Orc tribes used to be nomaditer-gatherers, only having oype of cattle, the Waltrogs, the only creatures capable of keeping up with them and being from their prote and care.

  “Well, finally back, my girl. Did you do your daily hundred swings?” wondered her father.

  A huge or, almost as tall as three meters, with huge muscles and a manly, slightly ugly face, which was decorated with a gentle, fatherly smile, his sharp tusks were longer and rger than the rest of the orcs, showg his title as the Chief.

  His muscur body was covered with several blood-colored tattoos; the more warriors iribe, the strohey were, as their Blood Fang Stigma expanded over the years. The only thing he wore were some pants made of animal pelt and sandals, exposing his big upper half to the world.

  "Yeah, I did my best!” said Mursha. “I did a hundred before breakfast!”

  “You’re not lying, right?” wondered his mother.

  She was much smaller than her husband, but still clearly strong. Tall, muscur, and around two meters and a half i. Her mother had long red hair, while her father was pletely bald. Decorating her silky red hair, there were several bony ors, all gifts from her husband.

  “Woah, mom, you got red berries today?!”

  Mursha looked at the pile of huge, avocado-sized berries.

  “Yeah! I was able to exge some for meat with a passing mert,” said her mother. “They’re fresh and ripe, so make sure to eat a lot! Anythiover will be made into jelly.”

  “Yaaay! I want jelly too!” Mursha said. “I wooo many then!”

  The girl still took one of the wild berries and gave it a big bite. The sweetness and juiess it had were otherworldly for such youth, who loved sweet things but found them so rarely in these nds.

  “Hmmm! So good!”

  “Hahah, they’re quite good, ain’t they?" Her father ughed, grabbing one of the berries aing it whole. “Hm! Reminds me of my childhood, haha!”

  “What?! Dad, you had childhood?” wondered Mursha. “I thought you were born old!”

  “W-What?! How dare my daughter say such a thing about her respected father? e here, you rascal!”

  Her father grabbed her and started tig her belly, making the little girl giggle.

  “Hahaha! No, daddy, stop! Hahaha! W-Wait!”

  “There’s no mercy for those who disrespect the chief!”

  Her father then kissed her forehead a her go.

  “I hope you learned your lesson, little brat!”

  “Hmph! One day I’ll grab you and tickle you once you bee an old gramps!”

  “Haha! I want to see you try!”

  Mursha’s mgled as she ate a giant sandwid drank some milk with honey.

  “Fufu, e on, you two; the food is getting cold. Let’s eat already! We have to get moving in an hour from now.”

  “Ah, right, honey!”

  Her husband immediately started digging out, grabbing a big pieeat—the whole leg of a giant bird monster—and taking giant bites out of it.

  “Nom, nom, nom!”

  Mursha tinued eating berries, sometimes with milk and honey, bread with cheese, and then taking bites out of small nuts.

  Ohey fiheir meal, the eribe set everything up, made a huge caravan, and started moving out across the grassnds.

  The orcs followed summer a behind winter, moving to warmer nds across the sole ti of Elios.

  While they moved out, Mursha pyed with her pets and admired the beautiful view. Her mother brought her pany when her father was talking with the rest of the tribe or leading them.

  “Mommy… Why aren’t there any kids my age? Where are they?”

  “Oh…”

  And sometimes Mursha would wohis many times: Where were the other kids her age? No matter how much she looked around, there were only adults, and the you of them was already past their twenties.

  “Well, that’s…”

  Her mother hesitated to ahat question, but she thought it would be good to tell her.

  “It’s because of the curse of the mad god,” she said. “A god made by the barbarians... He cursed our people to not be able to give birth anymore.”

  “The mad god? That evil god that the evil people follow?” wondered Mursha. “He’s awful!”

  “He truly is...” her mhed, looking at the distant mountains. “Our tribe once used to be the rgest and stro of Elios. We followed the does of the Keutzalfrir, the Divi Spirit of Blood Fangs. But when those mad barbarians ceived their god, he syed and sealed our Divi Guardians, being the sole god of the world.”

  “uardian…” Mursha looked at the red tattoos on her skin. “So I’m the st...”

  “I… No, of course not,” smiled her mother. “You’re special, dear. You somehow have been spared from his curse. Perhaps, iure, you could tinue our tribe and legacy.”

  “Uh…” Mursha still felt sad; such responsibility felt too heavy on her shoulders, especially at her age. “Um, is there a way... to defeat that god?”

  “To defeat a god?” wondered her mother, smiling slightly. “There’s no such thing, dear. Nobody kill a god. They’re gods for a reason.”

  “But if we grow strong enough, we could try sying him food!” Mursha protested.

  “No matter how strong we grow, it will always be impossible; gods don’t even ma here; they live iheir own realms, far away from rasp,” her mhed. “Their orders are absolute, and their authority must be obeyed. We are being punished because our aors fought back against his cult; we didn’t want to participate in their wicked war games.”

  “The War Games the people from other worlds do?” Mursha asked.

  “Yes, that wicked game to eain that insane god...”

  Her mother held tremendous hatred against the Barbarian God, but even with all her hatred, she was a realistian. She khat it would always be impossible to fight, and even less defeat, a god.

  The only thing they could do was work hard and tinue living and surviving. She hoped that one day her daughter would have more children with another ore from aribe, and pass on their legacy to aneion.

  Perhaps the Blood Fang Tribe would have already died off by then, but she hoped... She hoped that at least her daughter would live a happy life.

  Away from the curses of her aors, as she had no bme for any of this.

  “Divi Spirits... Please, please protect my daughter.”

  Every night, Mursha would see her mother praying in her room, g as she prayed and as she implored their a guardians to protect the only child iribe.

  “Mom…”

  Mursha could still remember that night, when she looked at her hed-up hands, finding her own strength g.

  At this point, she wasn’t going to ever aplish a sihing.

  She o bee stronger, strohan everyone else.

  Every day sihen, she has tiraining even harder than befrowing slightly serious and often times colder.

  Learning the truth impacted her more than her mother would have hoped.

  “Mursha, dear…? we talk?”

  “…”

  Oe evening, her mother came to see her as she swung her bde for the fifth huh time that day.

  “Hahh… Hahh… I’m busy, Mom! I’m trying to... get stronger!”

  “But…”

  “But what?! What do you want?”

  “Mursha, how you talk to me in such a tone?!”

  “I-I just… I just want to bee stronger, so... So I… So I help... more.”

  Her mother looked into her daughter’s eyes, full of vi.

  bziermination to ge her fate, and perhaps the fate of her eribe.

  Yet, in the end, the ending of this story was already well known to Mursha.

  Fate is something nobody escape from; o is set in sto will happen, no matter what.

  The dark influence of the mad god slowly sought and chased the st remnants of the Blood Fang Tribe.

  “We’ve finally found them.”

  A tall man wearing a bck cloak and hood, covered with ors made of the bones of other orcs, especially their skulls, and carrying a staff decorated simirly, looked into the distance.

  Behind him were hundreds of other orcs like him, wearing these same clothes, although of lesser ranks, emanating a much weaker aura of magical power.

  “The st remnants of the Blood Fang Tribe...” he smiled. “At long st, we finally offer you all tod!”

  -----

  Pach