With his mother absent, Gorgin was spared the chore of cooking for her.

  Outside, the dwarves were hard at work, seizing every moment to repair and enhance their camp.

  Knowing they'd likely be based here from now on, they were meticulous in their efforts.

  This activity didn't go unnoticed by Karlov.

  The dwarves' houses, though distinct in style, were no less impressive than his own constructions. This realization sent a wave of unease through Karlov.

  The thought of becoming obsolete filled him with dread.

  Even if the ogre chief refrained from devouring him, the prospect of being cast out was unthinkable.

  Here, he had a comfortable life, with ample food and drink, and two burly orcs at his beck and call. The idea of venturing out into the wilderness...

  It was simply not a life he could fathom.

  Spurred on by this newfound anxiety, Karlov and his team redoubled their efforts.

  He was currently engaged in building a house for Horne, identical in specification to the chief's abode.

  The project had now reached the crucial roofing stage.

  In the days to come, his plan was to renovate all the ogres' shelters in the tribe. Naturally, there would be variations in the level of grandeur.

  Nu, being the most formidable fighter and the chief's favorite, would have a house of a higher standard than the other ogres, yet still beneath the chief's in opulence.

  As for the rest of the ogres, they would be treated equitably.

  The chief had no intention of creating a hierarchy among the remaining twenty tribesmen.

  After all, they all occupied the uppermost echelon of the tribe's social structure.

  Karlov had sought Gorgin's guidance on this matter.

  True to form, Gorgin was only concerned with the end result.

  “My only demand is this: neatness, goddamn neatness! Above all else, it has to be neat.”

  “As for the rest, you figure it out.”

  Karlov left with a spring in his step. Initially, he'd been grumbling about the lack of pay and his desire to visit the Pleasure House.

  But with the arrival of the dwarves, such thoughts were quickly forgotten.

  The competitive spirit had well and truly taken hold.

  The dwarves, in turn, regarded Karlov with a mixture of confusion and mild annoyance.

  “What's his problem? Why's he constantly eyeing us like that?”

  one dwarf muttered.

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  “Look, he doesn't have a brand on his arm. He's not from the second tier,” another observed.

  “But he moves around freely, and those orcs listen to him. He's definitely not in the fourth tier like us. Best to steer clear,” a third chimed in.

  “No, he's probably building houses for the top - tier ogres. We're just doing our own thing. We're all ogre slaves. Why's he got it in for us?”

  “Who knows? He's nuts. Let's just focus on our work.”

  And so, the dwarves went about their business, ignoring Karlov's presence.

  For a couple of days, a sense of calm prevailed. T

  he dwarves began to relax, and some of the bolder young ones even started playing within the camp.

  Karlov, observing the dwarves' industriousness, mistook it for a show of prowess.

  Determined not to be outdone, he further accelerated his own work.

  Gorgin, ensconced in his house, was oblivious to these developments.

  However, Captain Dog kept him informed. Thus, the moniker “flunky” was born.

  Gorgin adopted a wait - and - see approach.

  “It's not a bad thing to rattle that kid's cage a bit. He's been slacking off lately.”

  Gorgin lounged against his pillow, a strip of jerky in his mouth. Beside him, a water tank stood ready.

  Whenever thirst struck, he took a sip. His only gripe was the lack of flavor in the jerky.

  He mused that it would be wonderful to find someone from Blue Star who knew how to make cured or dried meat.

  “Fetch Kolber for me. And head over to the goblins. Tell them to pick their most skilled craftsman and bring him along.”

  “Yes, Chief.”

  Captain Dog bowed deferentially and exited the chief's hut. He then strutted towards the foreign camp.

  Moments later, Captain Dog returned with Kolber in tow.

  “Chief, Kolber's here.”

  “Good. Send them in.”

  Captain Dog hesitated. “Chief, only Kolber's here...”

  “What?”

  Gorgin's voice betrayed his confusion.

  Were the goblins daring to defy him?

  If so, he'd have to admire their audacity before dealing with them appropriately.

  “Chief, they couldn't agree on who was the best. They all think they're top dog, so...”

  “They started brawling...”

  Captain Dog's tone was tinged with incredulity.

  Gorgin:...

  A moment later, the sound of Gorgin rising from his slumber filled the room.

  This was the first time since his return that Gorgin had emerged from his abode for something other than a trip to the latrine.

  The tribe was small enough that he could see the entrance from his doorstep.

  “Well, would you look at that? They're really going at it.”

  This unexpected turn of events piqued Gorgin's curiosity.

  “Let's go check it out.”

  Gorgin chewed on his jerky as he made his way towards the entrance.

  Captain Dog and Kolber exchanged glances and hastened to follow.

  In the goblin camp, over a hundred of the diminutive creatures were engaged in a wild melee.

  They leaped and tumbled, their shouts and scuffles kicking up a thick cloud of dust.

  The ruckus was so loud that it attracted the attention of the other ogres in the tribe.

  The universal human (and in this case, ogre) penchant for watching a good fight came into play.

  The dwarves, from the safety of their rooftops, peeked out to observe the spectacle.

  But the moment they caught sight of Gorgin, they hastily ducked out of sight.

  The memory of his ruthless conquest of their city was still fresh in their minds.

  Captain Dog, ever eager to assert his authority, made a move to reprimand the goblins.

  But Gorgin's swift kick sent him sprawling.

  “Hey, what are you doing? I'm enjoying the show!”

  Gorgin rolled his eyes and settled in to watch the goblins' amateurish brawl. The goblins, though lacking in weapons, had their tools at hand.

  Yet, despite the intensity of the fight, not one of them resorted to using these implements. This was due to Captain Dog's earlier admonition:

  “Listen up! You're all the chief's property now. Everything you own, everything you make, even your lives, belong to him.”

  So, they fought tooth and nail, vying for the coveted title of the most skilled craftsman.

  Their shrill voices filled the air as they hurled insults at one another, each more colorful than the last.

  “Tsk, tsk. They've got quite the potty mouths.”

  Gorgin watched with unabashed glee.

  Suddenly, a goblin was flung out of the fray, landing face - first in the dirt.

  He scrambled to his feet, spitting out sand.

  Just as he was about to charge back into the fight, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. Slowly, he tilted his head up to find Gorgin towering over him.

  Captain Dog, who usually lorded over the goblins, now stood at Gorgin's feet, regarding the hapless goblin with a curious expression.

  Thud!

  The goblin's knees buckled, and he hit the ground with a resounding thump.

  “Stop! Stop fighting, you idiots!!!”

  The goblin's panicked scream pierced the air.