The border forest stretched endlessly along the northern fringes of the Wild Beast Zone, its canopy thick and oppressive under the afternoon sun.
Here, where the Eldoria Empire's reach barely touched, survival meant bending to the rules of the strong.
The small elven village of Silmaren existed as a fragile thread caught between worlds—surrounded on all sides by the orcish settlements of the Grak'thar clan.
In the shadowed alley between two crumbling wooden structures, a young elf man pressed his back against the rough bark wall, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
His slender frame trembled as three orcish women closed in, their muscular forms blocking any escape route.
"Look at this pretty thing," one of them growled, her tusked grin wide as her thick fingers reached out to trace the outline of his penis through his simple brown robe. "Barely anything there. Like a damn twig."
