"This can not be real"

That was the only thought that crossed my mind, for a moment a feeling of discomfort crossed my being, the deadly fight I had just gone through, the sacrifice of my ally, the thousands of slaves, who like me, have fought savagely and died on the battlefield.

They have been of no use, the leader, the one who exuded so much power, the one who seemed invincible in our eyes, lay on the ground with the enemy leader's sword stuck in his chest, and with the enemy's foot being used as support to finish him off with his life. Shit, I could only think, here I was, badly injured, after an exhausting battle, which had taken everything out of me, only to witness how that bastard died shortly after entering the battlefield.

While deeply shocked, one of the soldiers accompanying the enemy leader positioned himself on top of a rock with a small jump, after a moment of nervousness and small struggles from those who had not yet learned of the death of our leader, the soldier began to speak loudly.

"Listen, all of you, clan soldiers and slaves alike, your clan leader is dead! hahaha, you all now belong to the Blightskulk clan."

And just as if it were a simple task, the soldier climbed down from the rock and positioned himself behind his leader. It should be said that this race is not characterized by its organization. Even if they wanted to, they couldn't. The lack of organization is noticeable as much as possible. Surely they will rely on their tormenting numbers to fight, leaving aside my ramblings the enemy leader suddenly turned around and transmitted an order with a simple word, "Return."

And so with those few words, my destiny of being a slave of a clan that I have not even had time to find out its name, I become the slave of a clan called Blightskulk, Haaa..., here I am a man rat, similar to master splinter, in a fantasy world, turned into a slave, and now being a prisoner of war, this can't get any worse.

After an almost endless march, the thousands of prisoners were taken through the caves from which the Blightskulk army came. Now by observing my surroundings better I can see the environment in which this species lives, the caves are quite spacious, with a type of luminescent moss that emits a greenish light through all the passages of the cave, the rocks are similar to those you would find in a rocky environment close to a volcano, and the most curious thing are the small veins between the rocks that pulsate with a copper tone that illuminate in less quantity than the moss.

"I'm definitely in another world..."

Looking around, I can see that the soldiers and slaves of our clan, now destroyed, are treated in the same condition that they treated us slaves, by the way the bastard who cut off that slave's head just got stabbed in the chest, because of his terrible wounds, I guess karma exists everywhere.

After a while more walking, I was able to glimpse what I can only describe as an underground city, it was not a work of engineering, "I don't know why I expected more from some kind of warmongering rat men either", what I could see from my position They were huge walls of wood and rocks, without any type of cement between them, other than the joints of handmade and battered screws, as if the builder had been in a hurry to finish, the enormous doors were a little better finished with a style like that of The gates of the medieval castles that are seen so much in Europe, the watchtowers were simply a scaffolding with two walls to avoid arrows.

Tribal, is the first word that comes to mind, and even more so after hearing what the name of the new place to which I now belong was, the Blightskulk clan.

"STOP!".

After an order from the leader, we all stopped short, the leader advanced with a firm step and with the head of the opposing leader in one hand. What is he going to do? Why is he forcing us to stop?. Thousands of questions flooded my mind as I watched him slowly approach the enormous doors.

"Open the door!, grrr, I Warlord Ironclaw, I have brought the head of the vermin hahaha"

And so, throwing the head of the enemy, and with a thunderous laugh, the doors of what would become my new home opened, giving way to a feeling of uncertainty about what the future would hold for me.

"Haaa...", I hope I don't encounter any more surprises, I don't think my heart can take them".

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"My lord, Warlord Ironclaw, has returned from the conquest of the southern tribes and...".

A wererat akin to Warlord Ironclaw strode into the expansive chamber, his report booming through the room. Seated within, an imposing figure, bearing a resemblance to a wererat, snapped open its eyes, which glowed with a fierce crimson hue. The informant visibly trembled at the sight, momentarily forgetting to continue his report. "My lord," The poor informant finally managed to speak, his voice quivering with fear, "Warlord Ironclaw has returned, bearing the head of the enemy leader and prisoners of war."

The imposing figure on the throne regarded the informant with a steely gaze, his crimson eyes seeming to pierce through the very soul of the trembling chieftain. With a low growl, he responded, "Bring him before me." the informant nodded quickly, eager to fulfill the figure command, and scurried out of the room to fetch Warlord Ironclaw.

"Haha, scary little rat," "yes, yes, run away as soon as you get the chance," "mmm, I wonder if my lord has another special request," three voices echoed in the side area of the large room.

As they chatted, a figure emerged from the shadows, its fur diseased and eyes glowing green. Another followed, with green fur and intense eyes giving it a sinister air. Lastly, a towering figure cloaked in shadows, with midnight black fur and crimson eyes, stepped forward, radiating an aura of doom. After a quick glance, the figure sitting on the throne picked up a parchment-like paper from the side of his throne, and with his deep voice, addressed the three who had just spoken.

"You three, Plague shamans," the imposing figure spoke, his voice echoing through the chamber, "you asked me for more test subjects." After the statement, the three shamans stood up straight, their attention fully focused on him, awaiting his next words. "And I gave it to you, you asked me for time, and I gave it to you," every word uttered by the imposing figure resonated with a palpable sense of power, corrupting the very air around him. The sheer force of his presence made it difficult for even the plague shamans to maintain their composure, causing them to waver under the weight of his authority.

"Now I want you to tell me the results of the investigations," the imposing figure ordered, his words carrying an undeniable weight that seemed to press on the three shamans like a lead blanket. When he finished speaking, the shamans let out the collective sigh they had been holding.

After a moment of silence, the first shaman who had entered prepared to make his report. "My lord," he began, his voice quivering slightly under the weight of the Dreadlord's gaze, "during my experiment phase, I have managed to replicate a small part of the powers of Our God Vorthul in the bodies of three of the two thousand subjects."

"Oh, continue," said the imposing figure, his crimson eyes narrowing as he listened intently to the report.

"Yes, my lord," the shaman continued, gathering his thoughts. "After replicating the powers, these subjects lost part of their intelligence. However, in exchange, they gained the ability to spread miasma, comparable to a small unit of sorcerers."

"Interesting. How many subjects do you need to start creating a small squad?" The imposing figure's voice resonated in the chamber, his crimson eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"Perhaps another 1000 subjects would do it," the shaman replied, hesitantly, knowing better than to push for more. Dreadlord Verminous was a warmonger, currently on a campaign to extend his power, and the shaman didn't want to risk his wrath.

"Well, go to Warchief Ironclaw, and tell him that I have given you the order to transfer 1000 servants for your experiments. I trust you understand the consequences of failure," Dreadlord Verminous's voice carried a chilling undertone, his crimson eyes boring into the shaman. The shaman, who until a moment ago was at the peak of happiness, froze at the implicit threat. Composing himself quickly, he bowed deeply and accepted the order with a solemn nod.

"There will be no failures, my lord," he affirmed, determination burning in his eyes as he turned to carry out his task.

After a brief pause, the second shaman stepped forward to deliver his findings. "My lord," he began, "we've successfully melted the stone discovered in the southern regions. It surpasses the strength of metal and is amenable to inscribing with runes, infused with a trace of the power of our deity, Vorthul."

A gleam ignited in Verminous's crimson eyes. "And how many of these stones are required to forge a sword?" After a moment of contemplation, the shaman poised to respond. "They would require twice the amount needed for a metal sword, my lord." Following another moment of reflection, Verminous issued his decree. "Very well. I will give you one of the war chiefs, so that you can command an army of 4,000 clan soldiers with him. Do not fail me."

After the second shaman left, the third shaman prepared to speak, "My lord, our Veiled Assassins have discovered traces of the Sableclaw Marauders Clan, to the north of our territory," the shaman hesitated, sensing the ominous energy radiating from Verminous's throne. Suddenly, Verminous rose from his seat with a commanding presence. "Investigate further. Send scouts to gather intelligence on their numbers and movements. If they pose a threat, crush them without mercy," he ordered, his voice echoing with authority throughout the chamber.