Larek

Things only got worse from then.

Usually the new General Major is someone chosen by the last one. If the deceased General Major neglected to name an heir, the rank goes down to his eldest child.

Here’s the problem: The General Major who was assassinated by the elf had two children - twins. Minor bickering turned to death threats and minor skirmishes, until a civil war broke out. Even the Mountain King wasn’t able to keep the peace as brother waged war against brother.

Meanwhile, the States of Fenlar conveniently launched their military campaign - a crusade of sorts - against the Mountain Kingdom at the exact same time the civil war started. The Andirltan Faction wars against the Dijurobul Faction while Fenlar’s armies slaughter thousands. The conflict is tearing the Mountain Kingdom apart from the inside.

It’s been three months since the fighting began. Over twenty thousand greenskins from each faction have been killed - and over five times that many are injured. Fenlar has sustained only minor losses, with less than a thousand recorded deaths from both greenskin factions.

I haven’t joined a side in the conflict yet - it’s hard enough getting by every day without worrying about wars and battles. The Mountain Guard has basically collapsed, with most of the soldiers deserting, leaving the rest to kill each other.

All this… turning the Mountain Kingdoms into a living Hell… was all done by one person. It was obviously all a plot hatched by the States of Fenlar to topple the Mountain Kingdoms, but we were too busy killing each other to reunite and defeat the true enemy.

I ran across the small town, a loaf of bread in my left hand - my breakfast for the next week, maybe longer. Behind me ran two guards, cursing. Beggar’s Haven, a town well named, was my new home… for now. It was occupied by the Dijurobuls, who seemed to be doing better in the war right now. However, they were cruel - killing the weak and using the strong as slaves to power their empire.

I never received the training Mountain Guard recruits were offered, but surviving for three months in a warzone was training enough. Nothing like experiencing war firsthand for one to understand it.

I could hear the footsteps behind me get louder, catching up. At the last second I turned around and parried an axe blow with my right hand, holding my trusty sword. The two guards were both trolls… unfortunate. Trolls were the hardest to kill out of the four types of Greenskins, their regenerative ability allowing them to stop bleeding in minutes. Wait a few hours and they could grow back a new arm.

The troll in front who had just attacked me held a bloody war axe. The blood was fresh and running freely down the weapon, which had probably decapitated some innocent creature a few minutes ago. The other one was a few meters behind, holding a double-sided spear.

Well, this would be a long fight. I was bound to win, with the trolls being nothing more than common guards probably forced into the military from the masses, but I might suffer a few injuries. I stared down the troll in front of me and tensed up, ready to fight.

“Need some help?”

Why did that voice sound so familiar? As I paused for a moment, an arrow zoomed past my right ear and slammed into the troll’s chest. I looked behind me to find a tall orc holding a longbow.

The memories rushed back. Garul… the strongest of Glitsnab’s orphans, the one I defeated. Once he was a monster, someone I feared, my worst enemy. As he smiled, I knew that circumstances had changed. “I haven’t seen you in awhile,” I said nonchalantly.

“A lot of crazy stuff happened.” Garul nocked another arrow and fired it at the troll’s arm as it raised up to attack me. The guard yelled in pain and fell backwards. “Shortly after you left news reached us that the General Major had been assassinated. A few days later conflict broke out, with his two sons each claiming to be his heir. After that we went into hiding, and Glitsnab began to properly train us.”

“How did you know to find me?” I tossed the loaf of bread to Garul, who caught it with his free hand. I grabbed Excalibur with both of my hands and with a swing decapitated the troll. The second one spun his spear around, suddenly uncertain.

“I didn’t,” Garul laughed as he threw the loaf of bread in the air. In a split second he grabbed another arrow and fired it at our last enemy before catching the bread again. The arrow zoomed forward and slammed into the troll’s neck with a shink. “It was just a coincidence that I saw you running from those two bastards. Well, Glitsnab misses you, you know. I’m sure he’ll be overjoyed once you come back.”

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I smiled as I charged forwards and stabbed my sword through the troll’s stomach. Glitsnab… it’s been so long since I’ve seen the old goblin. I was a warrior now, but apparently Glitsnab was a legend - Glafirpul the Magnificent. He could train me more until I was truly an elite - and with the help of him and the other orphans, I could finally stop this horrible war.

Serim

Well, hello there. I’m sure you’re all gonna hate me, but I don’t care. After all, what do the feelings of the common people matter to people like me?

I’m the eldest son of Dirron Mertyns, Serim. I was born an aristocrat… but I plan to die a king.

The Brightheart Dynasty… never wavering, ruling the Aubrerid Empire for over three thousand years. Their distinctive silver hair that is found nowhere else has found itself on the throne for seemingly forever… until now. I’m a Viscount, one of the more influential aristocrats, but nothing compared to the King of Aubrerid. I wanted to become king - I wanted to be the first non-Brightheart to sit on that golden throne.

The current king, King Liram Brightheart, has three daughters and two sons. I married his youngest daughter to secure my place on the throne. The eldest is already married, and the second one is too cunning. The youngest, barely seventeen, is naive and foolish. She’s also beautiful, like a frail white flower, but I do not love her. She’s just another pawn, another piece of my grand scheme. Even though I’m seven years older than her I stole her heart with lavish presents and promises. I managed to get her father’s permission after I promised something - to win back Ashait.

Ashait… once a province of the Aubrerid Empire, it surrendered to the States of Fenlar to stop the Fenlar-Aubrerid War. Ever since then it has become a diplomatic issue between Fenlar and Aubrerid. Although it belongs to Fenlar many of its officials hail from Aubrerid - my own younger brother is the general of its armies. Winning it back would be easy - let my brother cause a revolt, leading to a civil war. Aubrerid would support the war in favor of the rebels, and by the end Ashait would once again be ours.

I hear a knock on the door. Finally… I open the door to reveal a man covered with a cloak. “Serim Mertyns?” He whispered, and I nodded. “Well, who’s your target?”

I smiled. “Jaddon Brightheart, the older of King Liram’s two brothers.”

The assassin paused. “You want me to assassinate the King’s older brother?”

“Well, I’d pay you well, of course.”

“I don’t care how much money you hand me, I will not risk my life to-”

“Three thousand Rina.” I smiled as the assassin paused. The Rina was the most valuable of coins, being made of pure gold. Three thousand Ria was a large chunk of my treasury, but I needed Jaddon dead.

“All right,” the assassin relented. “May I ask why you want Jaddon Brightheart dead?”

“Well, let’s just say I have an insatiable desire for power… something only the golden throne of Aubrerid could satisfy.”

The cloaked figure looked at me as if I were mad. “So… Marcyl Brightheart’s poisoning, that was-”

“Yes, I poisoned the King’s other brother,” I waved impatiently. “Now I need this one dead. Can you do that?”

“I can’t make any promises.”

I smiled. “I don’t need promises. I need results.”

Larek

Ouch.

I tasted blood in my mouth as I reeled in shock after the old goblin snapped me. “Are you fucking stupid?!” He yelled. “What were you thinking three months ago?! Trying to play the hero?! Let me tell you, there are no such things as heroes-”

“I know, I know.” Maybe coming here was a mistake. The refuge cleverly disguised as a bankrupt tavern was where Glitsnab and the remaining orphans lived - nine were left. Two were killed by the guards, three more were captured and sold into slavery, and one deserted. “I’m sorry, ok?”

“Sorry doesn’t mean shit,” Glitsnab spat. “How have you been surviving so long?”

“I know how to fight, you know.”

Glitsnab laughed as he let me in. “Fight, my ass,” he muttered.

“Say, Glitsnab,” I paused.

“What is it?” The old goblin grumbled.

“I want this war to stop.”

The goblin paused before snorting. “Who doesn’t? This war is a big pile of bullshit, you know.”

“No, I want to be the one to stop this war.” I braced myself for Glitsnab’s sharp retort.

“And how are you gonna accomplish that?”

“...I want to become the new General Major.”

Glitsnab closed his eyes as if deep in thought. “New General Major, huh,” he muttered. “Well, normally I’d say it’s unfeasible, but with this situation it’s possible.”

“Really?” My eyes lit up.

“Don’t be getting ahead of yourself, runt. You’re gonna need to reunite this entire Kingdom if you’re gonna become the General Major. How the hell are you gonna do that?”

I took a deep breath. This was the most important part. “Glitsnab… I need your help. And the other orphans. I need you guys to help me reunite the Mountain Kingdoms.”

“...”

The silence was unbearable and unbelievably awkward. Finally, just as I was about to walk away, Glitsnab muttered: “Sharog, your son is a fool.”

Sharog? “Um, Glitsnab…”

“All right, all right!” The goblin yelled. “Fuck you, Sharog, wherever you are. Because you went and died I have to put up with this little piece of shit.” Glitsnab sighed. “All right. I’ll help you… or rather, I’ll see what you can accomplish. If you can liberate this town from Dijurobul rule, I’ll consider it.”

All right. Finally. I wanted to jump and scream. The first town I would add to my kingdom… Beggar’s Haven.