Oliver prowled through the darkness, moving with a cautious grace. The shattered remains of the moon above cast an eerie glow, its feeble light guiding his steps. He was treading unfamiliar ground, venturing into the heart of the forest alone for the first time, and the weight of the unknown pressed upon him.

The werewolf trial he had previously encountered didn't count; it had been artificially contained by scattered mana stones, ensuring no interference from other creatures. But out here, in the enigmatic depths of the woods, lay genuine danger. Dire Spiders, corrupted beasts, and other demi-humans patrolled these shadowy realms, lurking amidst the dense foliage. Oliver's senses were heightened, every nerve alert to the potential threats that lurked in the dark. It had taken him considerable time and effort to journey this far, refusing the comfort of a horse to protect the valuable mounts of the Lost Ones. The risks were too great, and he couldn't afford to jeopardize their safety.

Yet, despite the perils that loomed, Oliver pressed on, navigating through clusters of gnarled vegetation. His knife, an extension of his hand, sliced through obstructive undergrowth, granting passage where his mere touch couldn't reach. He cleverly employed the natural contours of the land, using them as shields when he sensed the approach of an impending monster or creature.

Finally, after an arduous journey, he stood there, back in its presence. A smile curved his lips, accompanied by a profound exhale of relief. The massive grey walls towered before him, an imposing sight that commanded respect. Stepping back to survey the fortress in its entirety, he allowed his eyes to trace the outline of those colossal ramparts. It was time to study and analyze.

Resting his pouch near his feet, Oliver withdrew parchment paper and pencils, his fingers itching with anticipation. Seated on the ground, he commenced sketching, his pencil dancing across the paper in an unrefined manner. With each stroke, he captured the features of the walls, documenting their cracked surfaces, the vines cascading toward the earth, and the sheer magnitude that deterred would-be invaders.

Yet, amidst his meticulous observations, a lingering question gnawed at him. He had read about orcs in works of fantasy and encountered them in video games, but what puzzled him was the absence of resistance against such a formidable stronghold. How could it be that no one had confronted them head-on? Were they truly as lethal as the tales portrayed?

Oliver shook his head, discarding his doubts. Regardless of the risks, knowledge was a weapon to wield. If these monsters harbored ambitions of expansion or territorial conquest, having every possible detail at his disposal would prove invaluable. His resolve solidified.

Three watchtowers stood sentinel at each corner, their precarious balance betraying their age. Yet, a fourth tower, battered by the relentless march of time, lay fallen to the side. No signs of movement or flickering lights pierced the darkness.

Curious, Oliver picked up his pouch and embarked on a slow circumnavigation of the fortress's perimeter. With no signs of life within the walls at this moment, he felt a flicker of confidence and safety. Could it be that the orcs slumbered, their false sense of invincibility stemming from the belief that no one possessed the audacity to challenge them? A wicked smile crept across Oliver's face as a daring plan began to form in his mind.

He circled, his eyes keenly scanning the fortress for any discernible features. The walls loomed large and menacing, a formidable barrier untouched by the passage of time. Not a single brick missing, not a single breach created. The Orcs may have neglected its maintenance, but its unwavering strength stood as a testament to its endurance.

Oliver's gaze drifted downward, and a momentary chill ran down his spine. Skeletons protruded from the earth, bony fingers reaching out, cobwebs clinging to their desiccated forms. Fear threatened to seize him, but he managed to regain his composure just in time.

Pale white bones, adorned with spiderwebs. They had been here for years.

This fortress, it seemed, had witnessed its share of warfare. Yet its numbers, equipment, and supplies were woefully inadequate. Still, possessing a stronghold like this held great promise for the future. Four impenetrable walls would provide safety, and the expansive perimeter offered potential for cultivation. The nearby rapids promised ample fishing opportunities, and the treasures concealed within the fortress were yet to be discovered.

Oliver made his way to the front, eyes fixated on the imposing gate. It stood before him, locked with tight chains to deter intruders. He pocketed his notes, a nagging question simmering in his mind. What would happen if there was no one here?

Tales from his father echoed in Oliver's memory, stories of what fear could do to people. Could it be that Orcs once inhabited this fortress, only to vanish over time—claimed by disease, or perhaps fleeing from its walls? No signs of life remained.

Drawing a deep breath, Oliver stowed his notebook back in his pouch and rose from his crouch. Ahead, a dirt road stretched out, flanked by verdant greenery emerging from the soil. Maybe his hypothesis was correct. Maybe this place was nothing more than a haunt of ghosts and fear.

Rising to his feet, Oliver began to move forward. But just as he was about to step into full view of the fortress, a sound reached his ears, swift and menacing. Before he could react, hands closed around him, dragging him down into a shallow crevasse. The coarse fur against his skin reminded him of the Wolfkin, his eyes widening with realization. Storm Fangs—a tribe known for their Wolfkin population and ferocious, warlike practices.

Panic surged through him, beads of fear coursing his veins. He felt himself being pulled deeper into the earth, his hand instinctively reaching for his knife. But before he could free the blade from his grasp, a pair of hands silenced him.

A gasp escaped the figure's lips. "Motherfucker..." A feminine voice, suppressed in a hiss that barely reached a whisper. "You bit me, Oliver, you bit me..."

"Lena, it's fine. It didn't break the skin."

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"Lena?" The name tore through Oliver's mind as he snapped his head toward both girls. The moon's glow illuminated Lena's Wolfkin features, her countenance contorted in rage, revealing her more primal side. Rena separated herself from the shadows, her gaze locked onto Oliver.

"Ollie," she spoke, her voice laced with urgency. Yet, her ears twitched, her nose lifted into the air for a fleeting moment as she caught a scent. "They're coming. We must hide."

"Wait, what?" Oliver's confusion hung heavy in the air.

Lena and Rena swiftly took cover on either side of him. Rena tightened her grip on her spear, while Lena's hand found its way to the knife at her belt.

Then, they heard it—the whirring of gears and the grinding of metal. The door began to ascend, slowly revealing what lay beyond. Oliver rose, eager to catch a glimpse, but Lena's demi-human strength forced him back down. "What's going on? I want to see..." he protested.

"No, don't be an idiot," she snapped. "We came here to prevent you from doing something foolish."

"I wanted to see how many of them there are. Even if we're not planning an attack, we still need to know our enemy."

"Shut up..." Rena hissed, her muscles tensing as she inhaled, only to recoil and cover her nose. "Disgusting," she murmured to herself.

The pounding of footsteps reached their ears—the monsters were approaching. Each breath was heavy and labored as they lumbered down the paved road. Their gaze fixated on the scene before them. One of the Orcs halted, sensing that something was amiss.

Oliver's grip tightened on Rena's spear as he caught sight of it—the scarred face, the sickly greenish-yellow skin, the remnants of what had once been human armor reduced to tatters. He clenched his jaw, refusing to take a breath, his heart threatening to break free from his ribcage with its ferocious pounding.

Was this the moment?...

Rena and Lena's hands found their place on him. "Let him pass," Lena urged.

"And if he doesn't?" Oliver questioned.

Both girls remained silent. Oliver's hands wrapped around the spear, a bead of sweat tracing its way down his face. The first strike was crucial—if only he could find a vital point. Then, they might stand a chance...

But instead, a grunt sounded, and the Orc turned away, joining his comrade. The monsters continued their patrol around the perimeter of the forest. The collective sighs of relief from Lena and Rena reached Oliver's ears. However, he wasn't finished, not yet.

That was likely the reason why he sensed their presence as Lena and Rena moved closer behind him. "What are you planning, Oliver?" Rena asked.

"We only saw two Orcs, just two," he pointed out.

"And?" Lena countered.

"Think about it, Lena. When the Lost Ones send out scouting or hunting parties, how many people do we usually send?"

"Between five to ten. What's the point you're trying to make?" Rena queried, her tone skeptical.

"The point I'm getting at is this," Oliver explained. "The Orcs must have limited numbers if they're sending out such small groups."

Lena's eyes widened before narrowing into a glare. "And how do you know that, Oliver? We're out here because Dozia got worried. She thought you had run away or were up to something stupid..."

"Which you were," Rena chimed in.

"Come on, Oliver," Lena pleaded. "Let's go back to the caverns. I know you don't like it there. Hell, most of us don't like it, but being out here isn't safe."

Oliver snapped back at her. "Nowhere is safe, don't you all get it? This fortress, it might have Orcs in it. But if we can take it, if we can truly make it our own home, then we'll be stronger than ever. The caverns are just a temporary fix. They were meant to be a resting place, not our permanent home."

Oliver's gaze shifted to Rena. "How did you know about the Orcs? I couldn't hear them."

"We Ratkin weren't always dwellers on the surface," Rena revealed. "Before the false king stole our magic, we were confined to the underground. We have a heightened sense of smell, far greater than the Wolfkin. We're naturally immune to most airborne toxins, and it's difficult for us to fall ill."

"Ah, I see," Oliver replied, his grip tightening on the vines as he prepared to traverse.

"What are you doing?" Lena questioned.

"I'm going to get a good look at their defenses and the actual number of Orcs in the vicinity. We need to know what we're up against."

Lena let out a sigh. "This is foolish, Oliver. I understand your ambition, but is the risk truly worth it?"

"Yes, it is. What we have the opportunity to gain is far greater than what lies in those caverns. Think about it, Lena. Fresh food, proper hunting and fishing, and the ability to cultivate our own crops."

"But people will die, Oliver," Lena retorted. "You'll get your war, but no matter how well you plan, there will be members of the Lost Ones who will perish in this battle."

"This is war, this is battle," Oliver asserted. "My father taught me that death is an inevitable truth."

His words rang out harshly and unyielding, yet Lena detected a stutter, a tremor in his voice. It was as if a child was attempting to mimic the deep and callous tones of adults but fell short in the replication. Maybe Oliver tried to believe in his father's lessons and teachings, but deep down, he knew the warped nature of it all.

The Lost Ones, despite their vast numbers and harsh experiences, were still just children. The oldest among them barely reached fourteen, while the youngest was no more than a toddler. They weren't a band of seasoned warriors but mere wanderers seeking refuge from the darkness and monsters of the world.

Perhaps Oliver had a valid point. Maybe they couldn't continue like this, slowly withering away—a Slow Death. Regardless of whether they aligned with Oliver's plan, death would be inevitable on both sides. It was a matter of choosing one's poison. All Lena hoped for was that Oliver would learn and shoulder the responsibility for those who followed him—whether their deaths or their actions, they would rest on his conscience.

As the scuttling of Rena reached his ears, Oliver threw himself to the ground, followed by his companion. The harsh snoring of the Orcs echoed through the air, and the pair inched along the floor, their eyes adjusting to the dim surroundings. Decrepit wooden structures, dirt-covered paths, and the faint crackling of a dying campfire came into view. But what caught their attention were the slumbering Orcs.

Oliver hastily took note of their numbers and the sorry state of their equipment—neglected and in disrepair. The Orcs' ranks were far lower than even the Lost Ones had anticipated. It was possible that...

Rena nudged his side, and he turned to see her pointing at the doors opposite the towering gate—a massive stone entrance that likely led deeper into the fortress, possibly to its underground levels.

"Those are Dwarfan-made," Rena remarked.

"Dwarfan?" Oliver echoed, perplexed.

She nodded. "It must have been a joint effort between the human empires and the Dwarfs during their alliance against the demon king."

Oliver remained puzzled.

"You're missing the point, Oliver," Rena said, a smile forming on her lips. "Weapons, armor, and supplies. If they weren't looted from the Dwarfs or the humans before they fled, that means..."

His eyes widened as Rena paused, and he began to grasp her meaning. "Those doors can only be opened by Dwarfs?"

She shook her head. "I don't know, but I heard that Dwarfs create intricate puzzles to safeguard their armories."

His smirk grew wider. There could be weapons, armor, and treasures locked away in time's embrace. Yet, on the flipside, they could have been plundered centuries ago. Even so, it was a risk worth taking.

Oliver sketched the remaining details of the interior, counting the Orcs—somewhere between five and ten within the courtyard. Then, he and Rena descended the vines.

"Did you find what you needed?" Lena's arms crossed, her gaze narrowing at Oliver.

He flashed a knowing smirk. "Damn right, I did. Tomorrow, I want another council..."