Hordius lifted his beer mug, squinting into it as if searching for hidden flaws. He exhaled sharply, clearly unimpressed.

"And here I was, hoping we’d finally be rid of those scheming humans. But no—just more talking. No fight, no bloodshed, no glory."

Wetina flicked her dark green mane, the motion almost dismissive, and shrugged.

“She did take out one of those high-paladins, didn’t she?”

Her short, curly hair seemed determined to rebel, with a few stray strands stubbornly falling across her face. She pushed them back with a flick of her hand, her expression somewhere between amused and exasperated.

Wokta, the giant, chuckled—a low rumble like distant rolling stones. His massive hand enveloped one of the mugs on the table, making it look comically small as he took a long, satisfied sip. He tilted his head thoughtfully.

"She looked a bit rattled after that fight. That paladin must’ve given her hell," he mused, raising a bushy brow.

Wetina sighed, "High-paladin. Over level ninety. They don’t go down easy. Who started that fight? And how? That might be enough to hurt her badly in the beginning. With their healing and armor, those paladins are practically unkillable."

"Meh," Woktarod scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. Contradicting Wetina had become his new hobby. "Shouldn’t be much trouble for a real hegemon."

Wetina rolled her eyes. "Sure. But did you see what was left of the paladin? Just a pile of clothes and armor. No body. That must have been a hell of a spell!"

"Speaking of piles of clothes, is it true that she was naked?” Woktarod wondered his eyes blinking. "Who fights without armor?"

“Hah! Is that seriously all you can think about?” Wetina laughed, shaking her head with a roll of her eyes. She gave a half-hearted shrug. “It’s probably one of those movement or transformation spells—maybe something that shreds her clothes or armor in the process.”

She paused for a beat, brushing a rogue curl from her face, then grinned, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Still, I would’ve killed to be a fly on the wall for that fight! Boss, what do you think? Maybe we could ask the paladins for some sparring matches? Could be worth it.”

Wetina’s tone was light, but there was a spark of genuine interest beneath the jest.

Drackar chuckled, tilting his head thoughtfully. “I’ll consider it. It might not be a bad idea.” His expression shifted as he raised a questioning brow. “But is that what you wanted to tell me?”

Wetina’s demeanor turned serious as she shook her head. “No, boss. There was a young merchant who struck me as a little too curious for comfort, so...”

Drackar’s brow arched higher. “So?”

“So... I might have tossed him into a barrel,” Wetina confessed, flashing a sheepish grin.

Woktarod erupted in laughter, nearly spilling his drink. “A barrel? Gods, Wetina, you can’t just pickle merchants whenever they annoy you! Did you at least haggle a discount out of him afterward?”

“No,” Wetina replied, her grin widening. “But after the sixth dunk, he started spilling something else—an interesting story.”

Drackar’s expression hardened as he leaned forward. “I trust it was worth the effort. You know I don’t appreciate you harassing merchants without a good reason...”

Wetina’s grin turned triumphant. “It was worth it. He admitted he was here to gather information on Lady Lores. But more than that, I found some dangerous scrolls in his possession. When I pressed him further, he confessed he was planning to kill her.”

Drackar’s brow arched higher, his gaze sharpening.

“What level is he? And how sure are you his answers weren’t just the ramblings of someone who’s had their head dunked in stale rainwater one too many times?”

Wetina shook her head firmly.

“Boss, he’s a low-level fool playing merchant. He’s got more stubbornness than sense, but he had a solid reason for hating her. He claimed he was a survivor from Nok’Torsa… and that she was one of the seven warlords who raided it.”

“She’s one of the seven?” Wokta muttered, eyes widening with surprise.

A heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the sound of Drackar’s slow, measured breathing.

Drackar's eyes narrowed as he considered the implications.

“It could be,” he admitted, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Some of the reports we’ve gathered from the human kingdom hint at a connection, but the descriptions don’t align.”

Woktarod slowly turned his head towards Drackar, his expression skeptical but curious.

“Can this really be?” he rumbled.

Drackar nodded again, slower this time.

“It’s not impossible.”

Hordius let out a low, gruff huff, baring his sharp canines.

“She might’ve altered her appearance. If she is one of the seven, that explains a lot,” he growled.

All eyes shifted towards him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Nok'Torsa’s treasury hold,” Hordius continued, voice heavy with certainty. “No one ever found the gold after the raid. Rumor was, the raiders couldn’t get to it. None of the high magistrates survived to reveal where it was hidden.”

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Woktarod’s brow furrowed.

“How much gold are we talking about?”

Wetina leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper as if speaking the number aloud would summon ghosts.

"Millions. In heavy gold coins.”

A chill settled over the room.

“It doesn’t add up,” Woktarod said, shaking his head. “Nok'Torsa is two hundred leagues from here. Why would she stake her claim here of all places?”

“It’s the closest human-held land to Nok'Torsa,” Hordius replied, his voice low and edged with suspicion.

“Then why not just sail there?” Woktarod pressed.

Hordius shrugged, frustration flickering across his scarred face.

“I can’t say for sure. But tell me this – doesn’t it strike you as strange? The raid succeeded, but the real prize – the treasury – vanished. Nok'Torsa was the wealthiest city on the coast. After the tribes rallied and retook the citadel, most of the remaining raiders were wiped out, still scouring for that gold. And now, one warlord just so happens to settle in the nearest barony to the ruins? That’s no coincidence.” His eyes narrowed. “She knows where the treasure is, but for some reason, she can’t get to it. Maybe she’s looking for some gullible orcs to help dig it out.”

He turned sharply toward Drackar, his voice dropping to a growl.

“And this is the bitch you want to trust with our secrets? To bring our families under her rule?”

The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of Hordius' words lingering. Drackar's gaze hardened as he met Hordius’ fiery glare.

“You think she would need our help to claim a treasure she already knows the location of?” Drackar's voice was low but carried the weight of authority. “If she is one of the seven, she’s not the kind to beg for assistance.”

Hordius crossed his arms, his massive frame shifting uncomfortably.

“Then why here? Why now?”

Drackar exhaled through his nose, casting a long glance out the narrow window at the orc camp outside. The rhythmic clang of blacksmiths and the distant shouts of sparring soldiers carried on the breeze, grounding him.

“She’s no fool,” Drackar said at last, his tone calm but firm. “I don’t know exactly what she’s after, but I trust her. She’s never broken her word in any deal we’ve struck. If she is one of the seven, I’ll find out—and we’ll decide what’s best for the tribe from there.”

“How do you plan to do that?” Woktarod pressed, narrowing his eyes.

Drackar’s grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he downed the rest of his beer in one smooth gulp. He set the empty mug down with a thud.

“I’ll ask her.”

*

The fight with the paladin left a murkiness in my soul that I couldn’t shake. It lingered, heavy and unsettling, until I felt worn down and disoriented—like I needed to step away from everything and let my thoughts settle. I craved time to reflect, but at the same time, I dreaded it. Reflection brought questions I wasn’t ready to face—questions about who I was, what I was. How much of me was truly free will, and how much was a construct shaped by some so-called god?

How had I learned that spell so easily? How could Deimos simply implant the knowledge in my mind, as if it had always been there? And if he could do that… what else had been placed inside me without my knowing? Was I still… me? Or was I just a vessel meant to serve? A collector of souls, bound to his will?

I shook my head, trying to chase the thought away. That “delivery” had been a rescue, hadn’t it? I had been saved. No one forced me to act—I had chosen, hadn’t I? My will was my own… wasn’t it?

But how much of that was truly mine? I could move, speak, and make decisions freely. Nothing compelled me, and yet the unease sat there like a stone in my chest. Why did it feel so frightening?

I didn’t want to shut myself away, not when solitude only seemed to feed these doubts. So after some time, I wandered down to the council room. My boys were there, lingering over cups of coffee after lunch. I had already eaten with Ju in my quarters earlier, and I welcomed the company—and the chance to drink coffee with them and feel, at least for a while, that things were normal.

They chatted about a range of topics while I listened, half-drifting in my own thoughts. Still, just sitting there with them eased something inside me, grounding me in a way I hadn't realized I needed.

My quiet reflection was cut short when Drackar entered, his expression serious as he approached. Clearly, he had something on his mind.

Drackar’s gaze flickered across the room, taking in each face with a quiet intensity. His usual ease was gone.

“We can discuss the report later, Drackar. I’m not in the mood for politics right now,” I tried, hoping to brush him off.

But he didn’t budge. “Lady Lores, there are matters that cannot wait. I must insist.”

I narrowed my eyes and sat up a little straighter, despite the exhaustion clinging to me. Drackar rarely pushed this hard, and it wasn’t like him to be this formal. Something was off.

“These are serious issues,” he added, his voice lower now. “Ones you may prefer to address in private.”

I exhaled slowly, tempted to dismiss him again. Instead, I lifted a hand, gesturing at the others. Hew, Tom, Mike, Ju, and Alice—my inner circle, the ones who knew me better than anyone else.

“I trust everyone here,” I said firmly, leaning back in my chair. “I have no secrets from them. Speak freely.”

He sighed.

“Very well…”

Julietta stood up.

"Captain Drackar, would you like to drink a coffee?" she offered.

I blinked surprised, but then caught myself and gestured toward an empty chair at the table, realizing I should at least try to be polite. Ju was right, after all, the rest of us were already drinking.

"Please!" I said

“I won’t refuse,” he replied with a nod, easing into the seat.

Without a word, Ju reached for the kettle and poured a fresh cup, sliding it across the table. Drackar accepted it carefully, taking a slow sip with a nod of appreciation before turning his attention back to me. As I met his gaze he asked.

“Did you raid Nok'Torsa, Lady Lores?”

The question hung in the air like a blade.

Tom broke the silence first, frowning. “How? When?”

Before anyone else could react, I felt the pressure shift as Ju activated her isolation ring, sealing us from prying ears. A soft hum vibrated through the space, and in the next blink, Lynx materialized on the far side of the table, settling in like he’d been there the whole time.

“Oh, now this is going to get interesting,” Lynx remarked, reaching casually for a cup. He glanced at Ju with wide, pleading eyes.

Ju sighed, already knowing where this was going. With a smile, she poured Lynx some coffee.

Lynx grinned, cradling the cup like it was the highlight of his day, all the while looking directly at me, his eyes sparkling with mischief.