The days after Tharak's submission were filled with a hard-earned quiet. Gorak used the time to reinforce Hollowpeak's defenses and train his soldiers in small-unit tactics, instilling discipline through blood and repetition. But peace, like all things in the wild, was fleeting.
Drask returned from a scouting mission with grim news.
"A warband's coming," the one-eyed hunter grunted, tossing a bloodied Redmaw scout's head onto the war table. "Redmaw Clan. Two hundred strong. Moving fast. They're after the ford."
Gorak's eyes narrowed.
The Broken Current Ford was one of the few reliable crossings over the Serpentflow River—a wide, churning artery that split the eastern wilds. Whoever controlled it could dictate trade, movement, and war. Losing it would cripple expansion eastward.
"We'll hold it," Gorak said flatly.
"And if they get there first?" Vrakka asked.
"Then we take it back in pieces."
By nightfall, Gorak's warband was on the march. One hundred and twenty warriors—orc, beastblood, and a handful of blacksmith-armed volunteers. Tharak led the vanguard, his pride now sharpened into purpose. Drask scouted ahead, while Gorak rode at the center, mind calculating routes, choke points, fallback positions.
The terrain leading to the ford was treacherous: mudflats, slippery stone ridges, dense fog. Ideal for ambushes.
Three days later, they reached the cliffs overlooking the ford—and saw the Redmaw banners below.
Red tents like bloodstains. Spiked palisades already rising. The enemy had beaten them by half a day.
"They're digging in," Tharak growled. "If they finish that palisade, we'll be storming a fortress, not a camp."
Gorak watched in silence, eyes scanning the terrain. To the west: dense tree cover. To the east: shallow marsh. The river cut like a wound through the land.
He turned. "We strike at dusk."
The war council met beneath the shadow of dusk's orange light. Gorak laid out the attack:
Drask would lead a team through the marsh, sabotaging enemy supplies and sowing confusion.
Tharak's vanguard would stage a frontal assault—loud, brutal, designed to draw attention.
Gorak, with a small elite unit, would flank from the tree line and strike the Redmaw command tent.
"No retreat," Gorak said. "We take the ford, or we bleed into the river."
War cries answered him.
Dusk fell like a blade.
The Redmaw camp was restless. Their scouts had spotted movement, but the fog worked in Gorak's favor. Then came the sound—drums pounding from the front as Tharak's warriors crashed into the palisade, bellowing fury.
The Redmaw responded in force, swarming to meet the charge.
That's when the sabotage began.
Red barrels of pitch exploded in flame within the camp. Drask's shadow-warriors struck from the mist, slashing ropes, burning tents, and unleashing chaos. The enemy formation broke ranks.
And in that moment, Gorak struck.
He and eight handpicked warriors burst from the tree line, axes gleaming. They cut through distracted guards like wind through grass. Gorak's path was direct—through the center, toward the command fire where the Redmaw Warlord barked orders.
"GORAK!" the warlord bellowed, seeing him. He was a mountain of muscle, clad in furs and wielding a twin-headed mace. "I hoped it'd be you!"
Their clash was thunder.
Mace against axe. Roar against snarl. The Redmaw Warlord fought like a demon, his blows shattering earth. But Gorak was faster. Smarter. He turned the warlord's fury against him, baiting a wide swing, stepping close, and ramming the butt of his axe into the warlord's throat.
The warlord staggered. Gorak didn't wait. His axe flashed, burying itself in the enemy's side.
The Redmaw fell, coughing blood.
Gorak stood over him, chest heaving.
"I am the fire that eats the old world," he said. "Tell your ancestors."
The Redmaw died smiling.
With their leader dead and camp in flames, the Redmaw warriors broke. Some fled across the river. Others dropped weapons and knelt.
Tharak limped up to Gorak, bleeding from a cut on his temple. "They're yours now. The ford too."
Gorak looked out over the battlefield. The Serpentflow glistened under moonlight, and for the first time, he saw its full promise—not just as a crossing, but as a lifeline.
A road to empire.
He raised Flamefang high. "This river flows for us now! And from this day forward, all who cross it will know the mark of Ashfang!"
The army roared, voices echoing off water and stone.
The Broken Current Ford was his.