"Hold fast, men! These filthy greenskins aren't even worthy of your steel!" I roared as the hordes of some tribal chieftain assailed the walls.

What was the name of this sunforsaken little town again? No idea. I've been wondering for days how this backwater hamlet could afford the services of the Thorn Company. Other mercenaries might not care as long as they get paid, but not me, Palladion as Pendragyn.

Or, as everyone outside my inner circle knows me, Pal as Ter. A disgraced Taron noble seeking his fortune in the old world. I shudder to think how quickly the Inquisition bastards would appear if they knew the Black Sun was playing mercenary.

For all I loathed my training under my grim mentor, Lea, its value is undeniable now. At seventeen, I've completed both parts of my education. In de litteras, I studied books on warfare, culture, and other matters I only read to avoid Lea ás Ras's persuasive stick. I swear I know more about Republic culture than those despot bastards on my throne. But my interest lay not in books, but in iron: de ferrus. There, Lea taught me what it means to be a Taron of the house ás Pendragyn—a monster in any fight, whether man to man or alone against many. When your trainer is Lea ás Ras, former Imperator of the Lux invicta and butcher of the Swan Field, only excellence is acceptable.

As always, Lea stands to my right, her gauntleted hand perpetually on her sword hilt. Her presence serves multiple purposes. For one, she clings to my side for my protection. Apparently, the inches-thick Thornsteel of my family heirloom plate armor isn't enough for her. As ás Ras once said, "Those Republican dogs will seize any chance to kill the Lux in umbra."

Lux in umbra. My burden… My council believes I´ll be the Restorator of Taron, the Black Sun. When I once asked how I could possibly achieve that, their answer was, "Fate will guide you, Palladion." Fanatics.

My thoughts wander again. I must focus on the coming battle, for therein lies the second reason for Lea's presence. She observes my actions to deliver hours-long lectures on how I can improve my tactics. Though I've managed to evade my mentor's scrutiny more often lately.

Despite having little time to prepare the settlement for the orcs, an impressive palisade wall now stands. On the wall are my musketeers and crossbowmen. Their firepower is effective only against lightly armored orcs, but fortunately, the orcs in this region seem relatively primitive. I see few chain mails, let alone plate armor.

The attacking horde is nearly within firing range. "Men, ready to fire. And FIRE!" I bellowed.

Countless projectiles tore into green flesh. Bodies exploded, heads burst. The sharp smell of gunpowder filled the air. Bolts and bullets felled dozens. A reddish mist of blood began to rise.

The local orc chieftain, however, was no fool. He had placed a throng of living shields in front of his real troops to absorb the shots. Likely captured slaves from other tribes. It’s reassuring to know that orcs war among themselves as much as humans or elves. I dread to imagine what a united legion would look like.

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Seeing that most men had reloaded, I shouted, "Second volley, FIRE!"

The impact was as effective as the first volley. Orcs were knocked off their feet, and again, the reddish mist of death was visible.

Ah, what is more enthralling than the sound of battle, the tone of death? The tingling in the fingers. The anticipation of the fight.

Some Taron philosophers ascribe the fight as the sole purpose in the life of a golden Taron.

After the second volley, nearly the entire mass of cannon fodder lay dead. Unfortunately, this also means fewer slaves for us, ergo less profit from this damned expedition.

I turned to Relus as Albion, like Lea, a former member of my mother's Lux invicta. If Lea embodies elegance and finesse, Relus is raw power. At 2.5 meters, he is one of the tallest Tarons ever, or so my mentor says. Where she is cautious and calculating, he is impulsive. A necessary counterbalance to her. No wonder Mother assigned him to my side.

"Give the signal, Relus," I ordered. My bodyguard blew into his enormous chimera horn, a trophy from a previous monster hunt.

The horn's sound echoed loudly over the din of battle, over the screams of dying orc slaves, and above the marching sound of orc warriors, who made no effort to avoid stepping on the still-living, shot-up slaves. You could hear bones splintering here and there.

As the horn's sound faded, another noise took its place.

The sound of hundreds of hooves making the ground tremble.

The orcs had reached the palisade and were attempting to break through. In some places, they succeeded, but the local guards held most of the breaches. Not without heavy bloodshed. Most of these guards were either human or elf and not particularly well-trained.

Against the two-meter-tall orcs, they stood little chance.

Over there, an orc tore a man's head off, only to be impaled by several spears while blinded by the blood fountain from the headless body. The blood-soaked orc still managed to chop off a half-elf's arm before falling—a wound equivalent to death in this part of the world.

The ground's vibration grew stronger and stronger.

In another spot, an orc broke through an undermanned section. The settlement didn't have enough guards to man the entire palisade, so they handed weapons to every able-bodied resident.

Even an undernourished half-elf, if my eyes don't deceive me.

I let my attention drift from the battle to the half-blood.

She stood alone against the orc, after the boy beside her dropped his pitchfork in terror and stumbled headlong into the settlement. Luckily for her, her opponent was a leftover from the cannon fodder, poorly armored and limping from a wound in his right leg. One hit from his oversized club would still mean instant death for the half-blood.

"Hey, Lea, look at that half-elf. Unlike the rest of her comrades, she hasn't run off. That's the bravery of a warrior," I said, nudging my bodyguard.

"Hmpf," she snorted, "Bravery won't help that weak creature slay the greenskin."

I kept staring at the half-elf. Something about her fascinated me. Her eyes? They were red, a rarity here and not well-regarded. Her skin was pale, her hair dirty and disheveled but of a deep raven black. But no. Her gaze? Yes, her gaze drew me in. The way she looked at that creature before her. A cold, hateful look. As if she were observing an insect, not a murderous orc.

"What do you think, Relus? Can the half-blood take down the orc?" I asked.

Relus grinned, "Lea, I'll bet you ten orc-bloods on the girl."

Lea rolled her eyes.

"The behavior of the rabble is rubbing off on you, my friend. Orc-blood? Last time, you lay on the ground slurring about riding unicorns after five mugs," Lea retorted.

"Ho ho, the great Lea as Ras, butcher of the Swan Field and mentor of the Lux in umbra, is chickening out?" teased Relus.

"Idiot, not so loud, or do you want to report us directly to the Inquisition?" Lea whispered. "You think you can impress me? Fifteen orc bloods on the greenskin. I'll make sure you won't get out of bed for three days."

I laughed out loud. Should the half-blood win, watching Lea with fifteen mugs would be a true spectacle.