Page 38 of Scoring the Orc

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.

25

EMILIA

“Everything is going to be fine,” I whisper to myself as I pace around in my bedroom. I have no more nails to chew on. “He’s been training for this. He’ll be ready.”

He has to win. I can’t stand the idea of leaving Jurto behind.

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