My gaze stays glued to Borg as he descends the mossy stone steps. Rye and Scar don’t speak, following behind him like loyal hounds, obscured by his tremendous bulk.

I glimpsed the entirety of this field when we stepped out of the castle, and the area is crowded with orcs and their goblin underlings. With stone walls hedging us from four sides, what might have been a large field the size of an neighbourhood parking space feels cornered off and claustrophobic.

When Borg steps off the last step and onto level ground, he vanishes among the sea of bodies. With my target lost, I shift my attention to try and count the number of orcs I see. From my short vantage point, I count around fifteen, though from the number of pairs of legs, I’m sure there are plenty more. So many fresh faces, none of them pleasing to look at.

If you ignore the individual scars they sport, these orcs look identical to each other. Like Guts, menacing tusks jut from their bottom lip and their heavyset frames bulge with muscle definition capable of cutting a slab of stone in half. Ignoring the handful of them with bulging beer bellies, anyone stumbling across this scene would mistake this as a competition between body building junkies.

“Borg coming,” Guts whimpers.

“Heh… this is gonna be messy for sure.”

Leon’s words go unheard. Guts is trembling as the gathering of green creatures split apart like the red sea. Grass is crushed underfoot as orcs hastily stumble out of the way, pulling or shoving the goblins with them. After that brief flurry of activity, the stifling silence returns when Borg reappears.

Everyone’s attention, including mine, rests on Borg. He strolls down the path they carved for him with a stride too purposeful to be casual. If fear had a scent, the air would stink of it.

As he walks toward us, I observe another peculiar occurrence. Whenever Borg passes an orc, the other creature would keep their head bowed while their backs sag into a hunch, making it look as if their spine suddenly snapped in two. When Borg’s back is to them, their gnarled faces would twist into expressions of relief.

I don’t get it. With all I’ve been hearing, I thought Borg would be massive, with a terrifying face and a vicious attitude to match his larger than life reputation. And since he’s an Orc, I expected him to be built like a veritable tank. As far as I can tell, he’s physically identical to the rest of the orcs.

If my assumption was correct that orcs can’t see anything resembling a game interface, then even if Borg is twice their level, they shouldn’t be aware of it. If physical appearance and level isn’t what’s intimidating them, then what is everyone afraid of?

I glance at Guts. The orc has shot past trembling, his frame wracked with hard shakes I’m sure his bones must be rattling. His two goblins are somewhere off to his side, not a single peep to be heard from them.

Leon and Fae stand between me and Guts. Leon is further up front while Fae is directly on my left. Goblin A, meanwhile, is safely tucked on my right side. I am, ostensibly the center of the group, a piece of meat between a sandwich. It’s stupid, but I feel a little safe. If we were attacked in this instant, I would at least be protected.

As soon as I think this, Borg finally arrives. He stops before Leon and I tilt my head up to take in the presence of the infamous orc leader I’ve been hearing about.

Fae and Leon take small, shuffling steps back. This time, I understand why. Borg didn’t look intimidating from afar, but up close… I reflexively reach for my dagger. My unease doesn’t completely disperse even as I lightly grasp its handle.

Borg towers over us, and unlike most of the other orcs, he’s bare chested save for a leather harness. I spot a battered pole sticking up from behind him, probably the reason for the harness. It has to be a weapon, probably a club or axe of some kind. I can’t see an orc using anything else.

The rest of Borg’s outfit is spartan and laughably simple. On his shoulder sits a simple pauldron with two protruding curved spikes. The bottom half of his body is covered by a simple fur loincloth, held together by an thick, flat metal piece that functions as a belt. In its center is an engraving of a monster’s fanged skull.

“So slow,” I jolt to attention when Borg speaks. “Waiting makes me hungry.”

He reaches up to scratch his chin and – ah? His mouth tusks are nowhere to be seen. No, to describe them more accurately, it’s that they’ve been reduced to stumps. I glance at the two spikes on his pauldron again, a niggling memory from my past life clawing its way up.

No… it couldn’t be. So what if they have the same name or that familiar piece of equipment? I burrow my nails into my palm. Don’t overthink it. It’s not like there can’t be coincidences.

I watch Leon square his shoulders and say in a crisp, dry voice, “My men would might have already told you, but I’ll repeat it anyway. We had our hands full. We returned as fast as we could considering we had to drag these wounded failures along with their loot.”

He gestures at Goblin A and I. “We even wasted time rescuin’ them from an ambush. You should be aware we didn’t go slow to mess with you.”

Borg stands there as Leon speaks, drinking in his words. Beside me, I hear Fae’s breath grow erratic. I can’t help but be wound up despite being an observer. The tension permeating the air is infectious.

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Soon enough, Borg raises his hand before Leon can continue.

“You talk too much.” Borg turns away, and as if rubbing salt in Leon’s wound, he fires off parting words in the same bored monotone, “I am too hungry to listen continue listening.”

I can’t help the tiny snort that slips out of me. I can’t tell if Borg is being genuine or sarcastic, but his reply exceeds my expectations.

“Fine, then I’ll keep my trap shut. Forgive me for obstructing your interrogation, Bor– General Borg.” Leon watches Borg head toward Guts, every inch of him bowstring taut and overflowing with badly suppressed annoyance. “Fae girl,” he asks, voice lowered as he glares over his shoulder and straight at me. “Did you hear something from that stupid goblin?”

My poker face isn’t as great as Ling Ge’s but it won’t crumble under such a lousy glower. From the corner of my eye, I see Fae giving me a curious glance. Hey, don’t mind me. I’m just a simple goblin, minding my own business and enjoying juicy drama.

“I did not,” Fae says evenly.

I shoot Leon the goblin stare I’m on my way to perfecting – a blank, wide eyed expression that lulls its receiver into baffled complacency. Leon grunts something rude and turns away. “Feh,” he mutters. “What was I expecting from a stupid goblin?”

Subversion complete, I direct my attention back to Borg and Guts. Luckily for me, Fae is only slightly taller than I am. I crane my neck to look past her tiny head, but it’s a small price to pay. I can’t miss seeing what’s about to happen.

Not because I’m secretly a sadist, but to confirm if my theory on Borg’s identity. The actions he takes next will either prove he’s that same character from Ascendance or absolve him from it.

Borg… please don’t be who I think you are. I seriously do not know what I would do with that knowledge if it were true.

The two orcs stand head to head. From the way Guts is trembling, it’s obvious to onlookers who has the upper hand. Compared to him, Borg is the exemplary image of a strict, fear-wielding leader.

“Tell Borg what happened,” he says.

Guts swallows and recounts his tale. I learn that the orcs had split up upon arriving at this ruins, and at Borg’s order, went off to pillage anyone who had the terrible luck of travelling through the vicinity. Guts had encountered a number of migrating humans and attacked them, which is how he obtained the sacks of food.

“After that, me meet Grit and hear your call,” Guts says. “We leave fast to come back, but when we enter forest, we meet two big monster. First one already hard to kill, but when second one appear, Grit and goblins all useless. They get swallowed!” The orc gesticulates his hands in an effort to show the sheer size of the Serpent Glade which ended Grit’s life.

Borg doesn’t say anything and gestures at him to continue.

“I fight back, but monster too strong. Guts thanking Borg for sending master’s humans. If they no come, I surely–”

“Why Grit killed, but not you?” Despite Borg’s impassive face, there’s an undertone to his words that makes sweat gather on the back of my neck. Behind Borg, I catch Rye and Scar exchanging glances.

“That because Grit stupid. He distracted by tasty snack we find, so monster get chance and hurt him.” Borg must remain unconvinced because after that, Guts goes painfully silent. Then suddenly, Guts extends his arm and points straight at me. “Let smart goblin say what happen. Grit useless, but smart goblin help me kill one of them monster.”

Borg diverts his attention to me and my pulse screeches to a stop. My feet feel like they’ve grown roots. My entire body stiffens, my face numbing to the point where it’s seemingly a block of ice. Borg’s intense beady eyes remind me of a mantis deliberating on whether to strike a unwary cicada. If I am wearing a blank expression, it is not by design, but an uncontrollable reaction to Borg’s cold, dispassionate gaze.

What terrifies me to the point of puking is not the knowledge that Borg is capable of killing me with his bare hands. It’s what I glean from the hidden depths of his cool contemplation, a bloodthirst so overwhelming it’s incomparable to the hunger from the Serpent Glade.

My gut churns uncontrollably. A wave of nausea smashes into me. I don’t realize I’m swaying until I bump into Fae’s shoulder.

“A goblin helped to kill that snake?” Leon barks out a laugh. “General Borg, I saw the monsters your minion is going off about. Unless the goblin can use magic, there’s no way it could deal enough damage to help.”

“I agree,” Rye pipes up, sounding equal parts amused and pitying. “I saw the carcass. It’s too large to be trifled with by a single goblin. Size aside, I don’t think the goblin could have done much if it had a lower level. Fae, you remember what you saw back then?”

“That Serpent was dead by the time we arrived,” Fae says. “But if it was the same level as the one that escaped, I don’t think the goblin could have helped. It’s only level 10.”

My blood resumes flowing when Borg peels his gaze off me to bare his teeth at Guts. “Master Asura’s humans call you a liar.”

“G-Guts not lying! Borg, why you believe in human and not orc?” Whatever terror Guts is feeling must tip him over the edge, because he tries to knock Leon aside, extending his green hand to grab me. “Smart goblin can prove I not– graaak!”

Borg clutches his neck in one hand. It’s not large enough to wrap around the entirety of it but it’s enough to have Guts gasping for air. His arms twitch as he visibly fights to keep them at his sides. That’s surprisingly strong willpower in the face of getting choked to death.

Borg rubs his free hand over Guts’ right cheek before bringing it to his nose. He takes a deep, meaningful sniff. Then licks it. Ew… why did I have to pay so much attention?

“Grit got killed because he ate a tasty snack. You did not mention it, but Guts also ate tasty snack, right?” Borg licks the strip of flesh across his palm again. “Taste is old, but Borg recognizes it. Both of you eat Slugg without me?”

Guts’ eyes have rolled into the back of his head. Still, he manages to get out a strangled, “N-No!”

There’s no point in denying it, not when Borg has already caught on. And now that Borg mentions it, I notice a couple of light brown smears. They aren’t prominent and blend well with Guts’ skin colour, but it’s evidence all the same. It figures. They were stuffing themselves back then, not idea of the fate awaiting them as they slurped down Oily Slugg after Oily Slugg.

“Slugg is my favourite.” Borg sounds upset, his first outward display of emotion other than passive aggressive comments. “Did you bring some back?” He loosens his grip on the other orc’s neck. “Not happy at all.”

“B-Bah, don’t mad, this easy fix.” Borg hasn’t released his hold on his neck, but Guts just looks relieved to be able to breathe again. “Me and goblins go back forest to get. With master’s humans, can go fast there and back, Guts promise.”

“Rgh, this is a hard choice.” Borg shuts his eyes and considers it. He opens them seconds later, a hard edge to his beady orc eyes. “But Guts will take too long, and I am already hungry.” Borg shoots forward, and what comes next is eternally seared into my memory.

The agonizing tearing of flesh follows a flash of teeth. Blood sprays across Borg’s chest as he rips out Guts’ throat in a single, snarling bite. Chunks drip crimson down Borg’s chin. He swallows the mouthful of bloody meat, watching as Guts goes limp.

“Baha,” Borg smacks his lips. “No need to wait when I can eat now.”