The majestic Westdark Castle stood proudly, with Duke Strider's inner fortress at its center. Walls of gray granite had withstood hundreds of years, with red banners fluttering in the wind above them.
The armor of guards patrolling the sturdy outer walls gleamed in the sunlight.
Inside the castle, the residences of citizens, markets, blacksmiths, and warehouses were bustling with activity. The scent of spices from the market and the aroma of baking bread filled the narrow alleyways.
Yet behind the visible vitality lay an invisible tension. People laughed louder and worked harder, suppressing their anxiety.
The sound of armor clashing was heard more frequently than usual, and weapons were gripped tightly in their hands.
The reason was the bad news that had traveled from the west.
Rumors spread quickly on the wind.
"They say orcs have appeared in Plestoria Village."
"It's the end of days. The end of days."
The faces of citizens gathered in small groups were pale. Hands holding cups trembled, and voices were lower than usual. The mere word 'orc' struck fear in their hearts.
That fear originated from the memory of twenty years ago when the orc legion led by the Dominator nearly destroyed Westdark.
People on the streets quickened their pace when they reached the blacksmith's shop. Their gazes turned toward the interior, then quickly looked away. Their expressions mixed curiosity and fear.
CLANG... CLANG...
A sword just taken from the hot forge was placed on the anvil. Heat radiated like waves from the glowing red metal.
Each time the heavy hammer came down, sparks flew in all directions, and the space was filled with the smell of iron filings and sweat.
The muscles of the massive man wielding the hammer at the anvil moved powerfully.
From a distance, he might have appeared simply as a large human, but the shadow cast by the flames clearly revealed he was not human.
Standing over two meters tall, he had pale green skin with two round horns adorning his head. Protruding tusks added an intense, wild feeling to his appearance.
An orc.
However, he was different from ordinary orcs. His appearance was neat, and his eyes were kind. His hand movements were precise, and his focused gaze was that of a craftsman.
"Titan, don't mind what people say."
Beside him as he hammered, a man quietly spoke. He was Blade, the blacksmith. His beard streaked with white hair and deep wrinkles showed the passage of time. The back of Blade's hands bore burn marks and faint scars, wounds received while defending the castle during the Dominator's invasion.
"You're just our son. Don't think beyond that."
The orc called Titan turned his head slightly without stopping his hammer. Sadness flashed across his eyes but quickly disappeared. The muscles in his jaw subtly tensed as he averted his gaze.
"Yes, Father. I'm fine."
His father noticed the pain hidden behind that smile. Titan's voice carried both strength and deep loneliness.
"You're the one who shouldn't worry, Father."
He immersed himself again in refining the sword. More force went into his hammer strikes, making the sparks fly higher.
As Titan hammered the metal, he thought about his fate. He was born an orc but raised as a human. He felt true peace only when creating something with his hands.
His father Blade, watching Titan, recalled the memory of that day twenty years ago. A small orc child found in a village reduced to ruins by the orc raid. He had no regrets about the decision he had made then.
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"The day we found Titan, this land was chaos itself..."
Blade muttered, unconsciously recalling the past.
Outside the smithy, anxious rumors still circulated, but inside this space, the solid trust between father and son overpowered everything. The sword Titan was crafting was no ordinary weapon.
It was Westdark's shield against the coming crisis, and Titan was imbuing it with his reason for existence and divided identity—a fusion of orc strength and human craftsmanship.
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Imperial Year 200 (New Imperial Year 1)
Westdark Castle nearly fell to the Dominator's invasion. The red banners on the castle walls burned black and fluttered in the wind, torn and damaged.
That night, the walls were engulfed in flames, and thick smoke covered the sky. The smell of burning wood and metal filled the air, with the taste of ash and blood in mouths.
Screams of people and the sound of weapons could be heard from all directions, echoing in ears. The most terrifying thing was hearing human screams gradually turning into orc sounds. Friends and family's voices changing into monster sounds was truly horrifying.
Fortunately, Duke Kesillius Strider and the Holy Knight Commander Lord Petriert from Karanos defeated the dark mage Faust and defended the castle. Their armor was dirty with blood and soot, but their eyes shone with the will to victory.
That day, the dark mage Faust led numerous orcs in an attack. His black cloak was indistinguishable from the night sky, and red flames that froze souls arose from his staff.
Orcs wielding massive hammers and axes smashed the gates and leaped over burning debris, slaughtering human soldiers. Their roars echoed like thunder, and the sound of their hooves shook the earth. The smell of blood spread on the wind.
Their numbers were overwhelming.
Like a green wave, they covered the castle walls, and the endless flow of orcs tightened the grip of fear around hearts. How could so many orcs have been gathered in such a short time? People of later generations couldn't help but wonder.
Later, after the collapse of Hell Fortress, the terrible truth was revealed through surviving records and witness testimonies. Torn documents and blood-stained diaries showed the cruel history.
According to the records, the dark mage Faust and his disciple Tila abducted humans and mutated their genetic makeup through dark sorcery. Spells written in ancient language shook the earth each time they were performed under moonlight, and yellow powder in the air entered lungs, starting painful mutations.
That's how humans turned into orcs.
The horde grew endlessly.
The process of mutation was painful, and victims' screams continued for days. As skin turned green and bones grew through flesh, the blood shed rose to heels.
Women who were pregnant before mutation still gave birth after changing, and the children born were in orc form. These children were born without human memories, but human blood still flowed in their veins.
This was the most cruel tragedy. Tears flowed at the sight of children instinctively understanding their mothers' cries.
When Westdark Castle was invaded, many orcs died, and some fled with Faust. Only corpses and broken weapons remained on the battlefield, with ravens flying in to peck flesh from the dead.
After the war, peace returned to Westdark. In streets reduced to ashes, the sound of hammers for reconstruction echoed like sounds of hope. The will of survivors firmly laid the foundations for new buildings.
That night, blacksmith Blade and his wife Helena walked the ash-covered streets. With only moonlight illuminating the path, the sound of glass breaking underfoot broke the silence.
"...a baby?"
Blade listened to the faint crying coming from the debris. His heart began to beat rapidly, and when the moonlight illuminated a small moving figure in the darkness, he held his breath.
It was definitely crying, but unlike a human baby's cry. Deeper, rougher in tone. His hand unconsciously moved toward his sword.
His wife instinctively ran toward the sound.
"Helena, wait!"
Blade shouted, but his wife was already moving away. In her eyes was firm determination. They had lost their child not long ago. Their son had died young from illness. That sense of loss made Helena braver.
What they found when they returned to the smithy was a newborn orc child crying. Larger than a human child but still fragile, with pale green skin and traces of small horns on its head.
Blade and his wife couldn't understand how this child came to be here.
The child's parents most likely no longer existed. Blade's hands trembled. He was accustomed to killing orcs, but harming a child was unthinkable.
"Darling... this child might be a gift from Helios to us."
His wife firmly held his hand. Her warm hand melted Blade's heart. Her eyes already showed her decision. That gaze shone clearly even in the darkness.
She embraced the child, and surprisingly, it stopped crying. The moment its small hand grabbed her clothes, they felt a special connection.
The child peacefully fell asleep in Helena's arms. It was as if it had found a long-awaited home. In that moment, Blade realized. This small life was precious to them, someone they needed to protect.
"Others might harm this child if they knew. Keep it secret until it grows up."
Blade exhaled deeply. Seeing his wife's eyes, he turned his internal conflict into resolve.
A protective feeling warmly bloomed in his chest, and he firmly embraced his wife's shoulder.
"Yes, this child is our son. I'll protect him no matter what."
The Blade couple named the orc child 'Titan.' They created a small room behind the smithy to raise Titan secretly. The child's laughter brought new joy to their lives.
Titan grew at an astonishing rate. Larger and stronger than an ordinary human child, but pure at heart. His eyes sparkled watching Blade handle the hammer, and he slept peacefully to Helena's lullabies.
They always dressed Titan in long clothes to hide his green skin and gave him a hat to cover his horns when going out.
Ten years passed, and Titan matched the height of an adult man and possessed strength comparable to a warrior. His hands, hardened like a blacksmith's, wielded the hammer as skillfully as his father. Each time he brought the hammer down, the smithy resonated.
But they could no longer hide him. Village rumors grew, and suspicious glances turned toward the Blade family. Rumors spread on the wind.
Eventually, they took Titan to see Duke Strider. Titan's heart pounded with fear, but he moved forward, firmly holding his parents' hands.
As he walked to the castle, leaving the smithy for the first time, Titan felt everyone's gaze. Curiosity, fear, terror, disgust... various emotions were directed at him.
He instinctively knew this was the most important moment in his life. Depending on the outcome of this moment, his fate would be determined.
Duke Strider listened to Titan's story and tested his character. Impressed by Titan's answers to various questions, the duke's eyes showed wisdom and insight.
Finally, the duke officially recognized Titan as a citizen of Westdark in front of everyone. Many opposed, but the duke's decision was firm.
His voice echoed throughout the castle. The voices of opposition gradually subsided.
"Though he has the form of an orc, his heart is like ours!"
The duke declared.
"Westdark survived the Dominator's attack, and we all carry those wounds. Titan is proof that we can overcome that darkness. Accepting him is the first step in healing the wounds of the past!"
People in the castle began nodding one by one to his speech. After that day, Titan no longer had to hide in the smithy.
Another ten years passed, bringing us to the present.
Titan had become a young man of twenty. Standing over two meters tall, his muscular body, trained in the smithy, embodied both strength and grace.
He grew up honest and strong as the blacksmith's son, loved by the villagers. The swords he crafted were recognized as the finest quality in Westdark. Knights who owned his works felt pride. Reverence filled their eyes as they received the swords.
However, orc instincts flowed in his blood. No one knew when they might awaken.
Sometimes he had strange dreams, and when he woke up speaking an unknown language, cold sweat beaded on his forehead. His fingers gripped the pillow with such force that he sometimes tore the bedding.
When news of orcs came again from the west, Titan's dreams became more intense. He sensed this was not mere coincidence. Something was calling to him. Something in his blood was awakening.
But Titan had decided. Whoever he was, wherever he came from, he was the son of Blade and Helena, and a citizen of Westdark.
His destiny depended on his own choice.
