The first day and night with the new orcs was quiet. Greenbough was a camp far enough that none of the orcs had ever met someone from there.

After a brief meal, the new orcs went straight to their tent, with only Chief Greenbough delaying a bit to work out a few details with the camp's quartermaster.

But even after that, they kept mostly to themselves. They would eat together, sleep in the same tent, and talked mostly amongst themselves.

They joined in the daily efforts of the camp. Nobody had any complaints about them or their performance of duties; they did what was needed to do without shirking responsibilities. But once what was needed was done, they shut down. They didn’t laugh, joke, or get to know anyone. They just were around.

It took Adam a few days of thinking before he figured out why. It wasn’t just that they were sad, although he was sure they were. The feeling they gave off was like a kind of death. It was as if nothing mattered to them anymore. They had lost their purpose.

Adam thought back to what gave him strength during the grueling training sessions. My camp. My friends. My home. My honor.

He couldn’t imagine what it was like to have lost those things already - to train when your training had already failed you, to defend someone else’s home when you had already failed to defend your own.

That’s what the new orcs gave off. Hopelessness. It stood in stark contrast to the hope that the young orcs had seen in the human town. These orcs had nothing left but their strength.

Sam made the mistake of asking about life at their last camp once. The three orcs looked at him with a gaze that froze him to the spot.

—

Training continued. The absolute frenzy of the first few weeks died down with the arrival of the newer orc group, but the chief was still correcting stances, barking disapproval, and sometimes impressing on orcs the error of their ways with his fists, feet, or the flat of his axe.

Occasionally, as the orcs trained, Adam would see a hulking ancient orc in the distance. He would watch for a while, and by the time Adam looked up again after blocking the next round of blows, he’d already be gone.

—

Adam had not won all his spars. Most spars were group affairs, two on two or three on three, or sometimes even three-on-one to help train against being swarmed by numbers. But when he was in control of things - when it was his shield against a single other orc’s spear or sword, he came out on top.

Adam was strong, but some older, more seasoned orcs were stronger. He was fast, but other orcs were faster. Instead, he ground out victory after victory with his thinking. Having learned directly from the chief and a knight, he’d answer speed with strength and proximity, or overwhelm strength with elusiveness and deflection.

He watched the chief for signs of approval after every win, but didn’t see any obvious indicators. The chief was busy but Adam wasn't entirely sure if he was being intentionally ignored. It was only after a dozen or so wins that week that Adam received his first solid proof the chief had taken note.

“Adam.”

“Yes, chief?”

“I want you to fight with Luke.”

Strictly speaking, spars within a squad like Adam's happened when the squad trained alone. In the weeks of training before this, almost every spar was between orcs who rarely fought together, or with one another. There was good reason for this. Honor was the centerpiece of orc culture. Public fights with another orc in the same team happened only when an orc wanted to usurp the traditional squad hierarchy.

Luke stood up from the ground and walked over to the weapons rack to retrieve a sword. Luke didn’t appear fearful, but that was Luke. If he was stressed, nobody would ever know, not even his closest friends.

For his part, Adam wasn’t worried. If you want me to beat Luke, fine. I’ll beat Luke. It’s not like I’m squad leader for no reason, Chief.

The camp in general had taken note of Adam’s win streak. His bouts had been receiving more observation than others in the past days. But the chief's new arrangement was something worth watching. Orcs that were in the middle of their spars paused and gathered around, making a makeshift ring of orc bodies.

Stolen story; please report.

Adam and Luke squared off several meters from each other, stomping their feet, planting their stances and waiting for the start signal from the chief.

Rush in, deflect whatever blow he throws at me. Knock him back and stay on him so he can’t swing, and keep him off balance. Speed and strength.

Finally, the chief shouted to signal the beginning of the match. Adam's eyes widened as Luke flew like a sprinter from the starting line. Instead of keeping his distance, Luke virtually flew towards Adam and ate up most of the space between them.

Luke’s sword-point hit Adam’s shield dead-center like a spear, shocking Adam’s arms down to the bone. Adam pulled back his shield for a bash, but Luke immediately followed and shoved the shield with his shoulder. He brought his sword up from the ground in a shovel-hook motion that Adam twisted to avoid.

From there, things went downhill.

If the knight had been like mud that absorbed every blow without taking clear damage, Luke was something else entirely. His blows came in flurries from every direction, poking at vulnerabilities that Adam didn't even know of. Adam could only react, block, and retreat while searching for balance.

But Luke couldn't find a winning blow. Without that, Adam gradually found his footing. Good job, Luke. But I have the pace now.

He bashed, and Luke stepped back, only to find Adam had slipped forward with him to bash again. Luke brought his sword forward for a strike, but Adam's shield cut the swing short and continued onward. Luke's sword then rose to eye-level, threatening a stab. But Adam ducked his head behind the shield and left no room for a proper strike.

Finally, Adam's shield met real resistance. Luke's chest. It was a clean, unanswered strike, sending Luke stumbling back several steps.

They stared at each other. Luke's calm face now had a bit more emotion to it, and Adam’s eyes dared him to try to seize the pace again.

After a short pause, Adam roared and was surprised to find Luke's roar mixed in. They charged.

By now, Adam knew Luke’s range, and braced himself at the exact point of impact. The blow hit a split second after he expected it. Before he could figure out why, he felt four or five quick blows, much quicker than Luke should have been able to dish out. His pacing was shattered as the sword once again poked and prodded at every vulnerability.

Without much choice, he kicked back to make room and then finally saw Luke’s tactic.

He’s half-swording!

Luke had shifted his left hand up from the handle of the sword to the blade, just after the crossguard, in what would be the unsharpened portion of a real sword. This took away from the power he could put forth, but gave him far more precision and speed.

It did have its downsides. As Adam sprang back into action, he adjusted for the other difference in half-swording - Luke had to stand closer to Adam than he otherwise would. That meant he was now vulnerable to different kinds of attacks from the edge of the shield, rather than just simple shield bashes. Adam could now twist the shield at a nasty angle and catch Luke on the shield's iron rim.

Now it was Luke on the back foot again, taking advantage of a lull from Adam’s blows to back up several steps. With enough distance, he reset and sprung forward with his sword point level. He was back to wielding the sword properly and aimed at the center of the shield once more.

I’ve seen that already, Luke.

Adam was ready for exactly what was coming. He’d take the point hard in the center of the shield, then tip the lip of the shield forward, pushing Luke downward with the force. It was similar to the tactic that he had used with Dax to take down the knight. The only difference is that he had to catch the flow of Luke's strength and slip past it. It was a good move, one that had won him several fights this week.

Adam grinned as the point of the sword hit his shield and he angled forward, only to feel the pressure from the sword suddenly disappear. Both of Luke’s hands appeared, empty, above his now lowered defenses.

Luke grabbed the lip of the shield with his left and pushed down. Combined with Adam's momentum heading in the same direction, Adam was exposed. Desperately trying to regain his balance, Adam let go of his shield and tried to charge forward. He was stopped short by Luke's right fist. It landed squarely on the point of his chin. All Adam could see for the next few seconds was darkness.

For the first time since they had met, Luke had grounded Adam. When Adam came to, he tried to shake some clarity back into his head and freed one of his arms to push himself up. It was too late, when his eyes opened, he saw that Luke had recovered his sword and had it pointed at his neck.

Luke had won.

—

There’s no reason to be embarrassed. I got unlucky. It’s fine. It’s fine.

Even Adam didn’t believe his own thoughts. There was no reason why Luke couldn’t win. Like Dad, Luke worked hard. Luke had won most of his spars that week. Luke was a good fighter. Luke was smart. Luke was his friend.

But these facts didn't help the taste of defeat. Adam could hardly see straight. Part of it was from the blow but part of it was his raging anger. He gritted his teeth as he got up and clapped Luke’s shoulder.

“Good job, Luke. Good fight.”

He didn’t mean a word of it. His words might have fooled other orcs, but Luke would hear the insincerity in the voice.

Looking for anything else to do, he started to move off towards the camp well, looking for a drink to cool off his loss. As he moved off, he could hear the chief congratulating Luke.

“Luke. The sword is agile. It’s for chipping away at defenses, and for taking advantage of mistakes. You did well.”

Adam had been winning all week. The chief hadn’t congratulated him once. He cast his eyes to the ground as he lost control of his supposed-to-be-casual pace to the well for his drink of water.

Four steps in, he ran right into the mountain that was Chief Greenbough.

The first sign of the enormity of this mistake was a strong arm that sent Adam flying through the air. The second sign was after Adam had landed and saw a huge, grasping hand looming over him. It looked like the paw of a beast.

Shit.

It was beginning to look like a particularly bad day for Adam.