The council hall of Blackstone Fortress was cold and quiet, with the pine resin in the brazier crackling and casting distorted shadows of the orc generals onto the stone walls.
Abar sat on the throne. The once-mighty Bloodhand Great Chieftain now wore a tattered wolfskin cloak. His one eye swept across the hall, and he asked in a low voice, "Tell me, what should we do now?"
The eldest son, Aijile, was the first to speak, his voice filled with urgency: "Father, what the human messenger brought yesterday...shouldn't we consider it?"
He didn't dare utter the word "surrender," but the meaning couldn't be clearer.
The old priest Otasi leaned on his bone cane, his withered fingers tapping the ground with a dull thud: "The souls of our ancestors are wailing. Zarg's glory cannot be destroyed in our hands. But..."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the empty seats, the places where the fallen generals had once stood. "Our ancestors also said that as long as the bloodline remains, glory can be rebuilt."
Eugene, the chief steward, lowered his head and flipped through a leather ledger, his voice hoarse: "The granary has only seven days' worth of rations left, more than half the horses are dead or wounded, and ironware, arrows, herbs... everything is gone. How long can Blackstone Fortress hold out? Three days? Five days?"
Kalem stood silently in the corner. The once arrogant young general was now wearing tattered armor and had a new scar on his face.
He fell silent, recalling his series of crushing defeats that began at Blackstone Plain and the army torn to pieces by the human Cannons.
Arroyo spat out a mouthful of blood, glaring at Eugene: "Surrender? Let humans drive us into cages as slaves? The warriors of the Zhaerge Clan would rather die in battle!"
Amur suddenly knelt down, his forehead pressed against the cold stone slab: " Great Chieftain, I am willing to lead the remnants out of the fortress to hold off the main human force... to buy time for the Royal Tent. The grasslands still have a vast eastern frontier, stretching all the way to the eastern edge of the continent. You can head east; there is still much to be done!"
Abar raised his hand to stop him, his voice devoid of emotion: "Time? How long do we have to drag this out? Until Glaeman's bombardment flattens Blackstone Fortress? Until the flag of Lakeheart Town is planted in this hall?"
The hall fell into dead silence.
The flames in the brazier flickered, illuminating half of Abar's face. He slowly rose, walked to the window, and pushed open the heavy stone door.
Outside the window, the sky over the grassland was low and leaden. Abar felt his vision could reach beyond the distant horizon, where, somewhere, the campfires of the Aldor army were linked together, like a giant beast approaching.
He could still faintly hear the muffled thuds of human artillery test firing, one after another, striking the hearts of every orc.
Abar, with his back to the crowd, spoke in a voice so low it was almost inaudible: "The messenger said... surrender, and you will be spared the death penalty."
He turned around, his one eye sweeping over the faces that were filled with anger, fear, or numbness. He slowly drew the chipped scimitar from his waist, its blade gleaming dark red in the firelight.
"But the warriors of Zarg never kneel down to beg for life..."
The air in the council chamber was almost frozen, and the generals were as silent as rows of stone statues.
Just then, the guard lifted the heavy animal-skin curtain and knelt on one knee to report: " Great Chieftain, the Gabella Empire has sent an envoy who says he has important matters to discuss with you and requests an immediate meeting."
Abar suddenly looked up, a glint of light flashing in his single eye: "Let him in!"
A moment later, a human wearing a black robe with silver trim entered. The robe was embroidered with the golden lion emblem of the Gabella Empire, and a slender noble rapier hung at his waist.
After bowing respectfully, he spoke in fluent grassland language:
" Eagle of zarg, Your Majesty Great Chieftain Abar, Emperor Antonio Griffin of the Gabella Empire, pays homage to you."
Abar waved for him to sit down and asked in a hoarse voice, "Speak, what does the young emperor want to trade with us this time?"
The messenger smiled, took out a scroll of gilded parchment from his robes, unfolded it, and had a guard hand it to Abar.
"His Majesty has instructed me to inform you that the Empire is willing to immediately provide the Royal Tent with 50,000 shi of wheat, 10,000 suits of fine iron plate armor, 10,000 good bows, 200 crossbows, and 100,000 arrows. Provided the Great Chieftain agrees, the first batch of provisions and weapons will arrive in the east of Blackstone Fortress within ten days."
A low gasp filled the hall.
Arroyo couldn't help but stand up: " Why are the people of Gabella so generous?"
The messenger looked up at him and answered calmly:
" The Aldor people are too greedy; they have begun to covet the Redstone Desert —a land that should never have belonged to them."
"I see! So you guys also dislike Aldor people!"
Abar had mixed feelings. He and Gabella had once shared the Redstone Desert, but while he was fighting Paul Greiman, Aldor's Sentinel Legion —the very legion he had almost destroyed—took back the orcs' spoils.
The orc Great Chieftain then asked, "Aren't you afraid of retaliation from the Aldor, given how generously you've aided us?"
The envoy chuckled confidently: "Not long ago, Aldor's Sentinel Legion was utterly defeated by the Imperial army at the Dalos Plains. Their commander, Valen Corin, led the remnants to flee west of the Redstone Desert, leaving behind nearly ten thousand corpses."
A gasp rang out in the hall. The once invincible Aldor army had actually been defeated by Gabella?
Abar gripped the armrest of the throne tightly, his single eye flashing with an almost beast-like ecstasy.
"real?!"
The messenger bowed slightly, took out a bloodstained Sentinel Legion badge from his sleeve, and gently placed it on the stone table. The badge still bore dried bloodstains and blackened marks from cannon fire.
"This is the Fire Dragon Legion Empire" General Siegfried picked it up from the battlefield himself; Great Chieftain can send someone to the Redstone Desert border to inquire—the information is absolutely true.
An uncontrollable cheer then erupted in the hall.
Aijile was so excited he almost stood up. Kalem slammed his fist on the table, and even the old priest Otasi's gaunt face glowed with the light of relief after surviving a calamity.
Abar laughed three times, but the laughter abruptly stopped at the last moment. He waved for the banquet to be served immediately, personally led the envoy to the seat of honor, and raised the heavy golden cup with his only remaining left hand:
"Thank your emperor for me! Tell him that Abar owes him a favor!"
Gabella's envoys were warmly received, and the banquet lasted until late at night.
After seeing the messenger off to rest, Abar stood alone on the castle's high platform. The ecstasy he had felt earlier had dissipated, replaced by a complex bitterness that bordered on humiliation.
He and Gabella once fought a bloody war for the oasis city-state of Redstone Desert, with neither side gaining an advantage. At that time, Antonio was just a young prince who had seized power through a coup and had not yet donned the imperial crown.
Now, he has to rely on the charity of that young emperor to preserve the flame of the Royal Tent.
The wind swept across the battlements, making the wolf-skin cloak flutter loudly.
" Antonio Griffin …I will remember this favor."
Tonight, the orcs of Blackstone Fortress finally got a good night's sleep.