CHAPTER 4: TEMPERED IN IRON

Two months had passed, and the orc village was no longer the crude, inefficient settlement Einar had first encountered. The air was thick with the scent of burning coal, the rhythmic clang of hammers against iron reverberating through the valley. Where once stood primitive forges now loomed proper smelting pits, blast furnaces fueled by carefully directed airflows, and workshops outfitted with the tools of progress. The Dominion System had guided Einar’s every step, granting him the knowledge to elevate these brutes beyond mere raiders.

[Dominion System Interface]

Tech Tree Progress:

Metallurgy: Advanced Smelting (✓)

Infrastructure: Structured Labor (✓)

Agriculture: Improved Crop Rotation (✓)

Influence Levels:

Orc-Kin: Respected (▲)

Personal Stats:

Strength: 18 (▲)

Dexterity: 16 (▲)

Intelligence: 22 (▲)

Charisma: 25 (▲)

Dominion Points: 5 (Available for Allocation)

Einar observed these figures with cold satisfaction, knowing that every decision he made was shaping both himself and the orcs into something greater.

Over the course of two months, Einar had been completing daily quests and achievements given by the Dominion System, significantly growing stronger as a result. Though he had yet to reach the level where he could best Gorvak in combat, he was confident he could challenge one of the chieftain’s elite warriors. Along the way, he had also accumulated a number of minor trinkets and accessories as rewards, each offering small but useful benefits to aid his ascent.

A cluster of orcish children darted past him as he made his way through the village. Their laughter was foreign to the ears of those who had once known only war and scarcity. They skidded to a halt upon seeing him, their eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and reverence.

"Einar!" One of them, a small, tusk-faced girl, grinned up at him. "The chief says the warriors are getting new weapons today! Is it true?"

Einar allowed a faint smile, a rarity for him.

"It is true. The old ways have been reforged. Your fathers and brothers will wield steel worthy of conquest."

The girl beamed, before another child nudged her and whispered, "They say you tamed the mountain itself! That you made the fire burn hotter than ever before!"

Freja, walking beside him, let out an amused huff. "Careful, Einar. Keep this up, and they’ll start carving your face into stone."

Einar smirked but said nothing. He had not sought admiration, only results. Yet admiration came regardless.

They moved through the village, passing by orcs who once looked at him with open disdain, now nodding respectfully, some even bowing their heads slightly in acknowledgment. The improvements to the forges had not only revolutionized their metallurgy but had reshaped the very structure of their society. With better tools came greater harvests, sturdier homes, and even the first hints of proper governance. Einar had introduced methods of rationing resources, of organizing labor more effectively. Slowly but surely, the orcs were evolving past their primal existence.

But it had not been without conflict.

Chieftain Gorvak Bloodtusk stood waiting at the main forge, arms crossed over his scarred chest. His expression was unreadable, though his gaze lingered on Einar longer than usual. Behind him, the orcish smiths unveiled their newest creation—a row of steel swords, forged with precision, sharper and more resilient than anything the orcs had wielded before.

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"You have done what you promised, human," Gorvak rumbled. "The steel is stronger. The weapons deadlier. My warriors thirst to test them in battle."

Einar nodded. "Then they shall have their chance soon. But you must remember, Chieftain—true strength does not come from the blade alone. It comes from order. Discipline. Without it, all this power will be wasted."

The orc warlord let out a guttural chuckle. "Order? Among my kin? That is a harder thing to forge than steel."

"And yet," Einar said smoothly, gesturing to the village around them, "it is already happening. The children no longer starve. Your hunters return with greater bounty. Your warriors train with purpose, not mindless aggression."

Gorvak was silent for a long moment. Then he let out a slow exhale. "You speak as though you mean to make kings out of us."

"Not kings," Einar corrected. "But something far more dangerous—rulers of your own destiny."

Before any more words could be exchanged, a trio of orc scouts rushed into the forge, their bodies slick with sweat and dirt from the road. They knelt before Gorvak, fists slammed to their chests in salute.

"Chieftain!" one of them panted. "We return from our patrol. The elves remain settled by the river to the west. Their numbers are near three hundred, including warriors and mages. They are well-supplied, with food stores and weapons. They have fortifications of wood and stone."

Gorvak's lips curled into a snarl. "Then we strike now! While the steel is fresh, before they know we come!"

Einar raised a hand. "No. That would be a waste."

The orc chieftain turned to him, eyes narrowing. "You would have us delay? Waste the advantage of surprise?"

Einar met his gaze without hesitation. "Surprise is wasted if it comes without strategy. The elves have magic. They have walls. If we attack head-on, even with our new weapons, we will lose far more than we gain. But I have a plan—one that ensures our victory with minimal losses."

Gorvak grunted. "Speak, then, human. Convince me."

Einar stepped forward, eyes glinting with calculated intent. "We must make them fight a battle they do not wish to fight. First, we harass their supply lines—burn their food stores outside their walls, poison their wells, disrupt their hunts. Hunger breeds desperation. Then, we seed fear—our scouts will be seen, but never caught, whispers of an overwhelming force spreading through their ranks. When the time is right, we strike not their walls, but their minds. We send a false retreat, lure their warriors into an ambush away from their fortifications. And when their strongest are cut down in open ground, then we take the settlement."

A slow grin spread across Freja’s lips. "Deception. Misdirection. Divide and conquer. Clever."

Gorvak stroked his chin, considering. Then, after a moment, he let out a deep, rumbling laugh. "You are as cunning as you are ruthless, Einar. Very well. We shall do it your way."

The Dominion System chimed.

[Quest Update: The First War]

Objective: Weaken the elven settlement through attrition.

Bonus: Execute a flawless ambush.

Einar exhaled slowly. The stage was set. Now, it was time to play the game of war.