Interrogation wasn’t something Kai had done often. He’d witnessed it before—plenty of times in his old life. Watching men scream and beg, threats whispered into ears, fingers broken one by one, flames brushing skin just enough to blister. That worked—on humans.

But orcs were different.

He stood in the doorway of the small mud-brick house they’d claimed for the interrogation, watching the creature they had captured. The orc sat against the far wall, arms bound behind him with ropes thick as Kai’s wrist, legs pinned beneath a collapsed wooden bench. Blood had crusted thick along his torn right thigh where his leg used to be, but the wound had sealed. Whether it was regeneration or sheer grit keeping him alive, Kai didn’t know. He was shirtless now—partially stripped by the tribals while tying him down—and his green skin was marred with blackened bruises and ash from earlier attacks. Flies buzzed at the drying blood around his mouth.

Despite all that, he grinned.

Kai narrowed his eyes. Pain wasn’t working. He had already tried flame on skin—nothing more than a twitch. Threatening death sounded like a joke.

Orcs didn’t cling to life like humans did. And worse, threatening their kin was useless. From what Kai had learned, their belief system followed brutal strength. If a son or brother died, it wasn’t a tragedy. It was proof of weakness.

So the orc had sat there, head held high, bleeding from his torn eye socket and smiling with snaggy yellow teeth.

Kai might’ve wasted more time if help hadn’t arrived.

Boots crunched on sand and clay, and the door creaked as a woman stepped inside. The tribal leader of the Atemra– Sahlira, the woman he had briefly talked to during the battle. Her thin face was tight with fury, and Kai didn’t see an ounce of fear. A strip of cloth held her thick hair back. Her eyes barely flicked at Kai before locking onto the orc. She didn’t ask for permission.

She simply crouched, pulled out a thin dagger, and with a sharp twist, drove it upward into the orc’s mouth. A wet sound rang out as the blade hooked beneath a tusk—and then, with a sickening crunch, she ripped it free.

The orc howled for the first time.

“Speak,” she said flatly, holding up the blood-covered tusk. “Or I’ll take the other one.”

The orc writhed, blood pouring down his lip now, and spit at her feet, though it barely missed his own chest.

“You think that’ll scare me, stupid human?” His voice was guttural and strained, the gaping hole in his mouth whistling as he breathed. “You’ll get nothing. Burn me, cut me, flay me—I won’t squeal for a pack of weaklings.”

Kai crossed his arms, watching closely. Sahlira didn’t so much as blink. Her hand was already reaching for the second tusk.

“You came here burning homes. You beat my people. You tried to drag our children into the sand. Why?”

The orc laughed—though this time, it was bitter, stained red.

“You’ll die in the fire same as the rest,” he growled. “Stupid… Stupid human! You won’t get anything from me!”

“I know your kind,” she said, voice low. “Your skin’s thick. You’re proud. You think pain makes you strong. But I won’t kill you.” She pressed the dagger against the orc’s thigh. “I’ll carve you piece by piece until you tell me why you came here. Why did you burn our homes? Why did you steal our people? And there will be no mercy. Just as there was none for my husband when he was cut under your blades.”

The orc's lips peeled into a grin. His one good eye gleamed with challenge, not fear.

“Human,” he growled, “your man died because he was weak. I will die because I was weak. That is the way of Belkhor.”

That struck.

Her expression didn’t break—but her hand did. The dagger slammed into the orc’s remaining leg, the steel burying deep into muscle. With a brutal twist, she ripped sideways. Flesh tore. Blood splattered the wall. The orc writhed, growling—but not from agony.

From triumph.

He wanted her to lose control.

Kai, still leaning against the doorway, narrowed his eyes. Sahlira’s fury was real, but so was the orc’s satisfaction. In that pain, he had found victory. As her questions fell unanswered, repeated again and again, the orc just kept smiling, baring broken teeth and blood-slicked gums.

It wasn’t that Kai didn’t think she’d succeed.

She would break him. Given hours, maybe a day, she’d shatter his pride like dry stone. There was something cold and determined in her he hadn't seen in their brief interaction—something carved from years of silent grief. She wouldn’t stop.

But Kai couldn’t wait. He stepped forward, placing a calm hand on her shoulder.

She turned sharply, eyes still burning, ready to snap—until she saw it was him. She hesitated. Her chest rose and fell, her knuckles still clenched around the hilt of her dagger.

“Let me handle it.”

Then, slowly, she looked back at the orc, her jaw tight, her silence an admission of reluctance. But she nodded.

Kai walked past her.

The orc turned his one good eye at him. Blood stained his face. And still, there was that mocking grin.

Kai stared at him quietly. There were many ways this could go. Different elemental spells that could twist the air in his lungs or freeze the blood in his veins.

But he had a feeling none of it would work.

Not because the orc was too strong… but because some beings would rather die than let go of their faith.

The orc knew he was going to die.

That was clear from the stillness in his limbs, the way he no longer tried to thrash against the ropes digging into his arms. The wound had stopped bleeding—mostly. But so had his resistance. Not because he had broken. But because he’d accepted it.

Kai crouched down, resting one elbow on his knee, his gaze level with the orc’s.

“I’m not here to play games,” he said calmly, quiet enough that it forced the orc to lean in just a bit. “But if you’ve already given up on life, why the silence?”

The orc bared his teeth in a twisted grin. “Because you get nothing, Mage. Your flashy little tricks don’t hurt much anyway.”

Kai tilted his head. “Your screams told a different story.”

A grunt answered that, short and sharp. “Pain’s easy. Real orcs don’t cry for it. And we don’t give anything to those who don’t earn it. You want words from an orc ready to die?” He scoffed, spit blood to the side. “That’s not going to happen.”

Kai smiled faintly and leaned forward. “What’s your name?”

The orc blinked.

“…What?”

“Your name,” Kai repeated. “If you’re going to die here, I’d at least like to know what they’ll call the corpse.”

The orc stared at him, confused for a second, then grunted again.

“Zarak.”

Kai gave a slow nod. “Zarak. Good. Now that we’re speaking, let me ask—do you believe in Belkhor?”

Zarak’s lips thinned instantly. “Any orc who doesn’t believe in him isn’t an orc.”

Kai’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then tell me… what kind of death does Belkhor consider worthy?”

There was a pause.

Zarak bit into his lip, tasted blood again, and for the first time… hesitated. Then he spoke, almost reverently. “A warrior’s death. To fall in battle against someone stronger. No regrets. No shame. Just blood, steel, and glory.”

Kai smiled at that, a cold, knowing curve of his lips. He guessed right.

“I see,” Kai said softly, rising to his feet with a slow exhale. “Then that’s unfortunate.”

Zarak looked up sharply. “What?”

“You won’t get that death,” Kai said, tone flat as a blade edge. “You’ll rot in this hut. Tied to a pole. Beaten. Left to bleed until your body gives up. No glory. No steel. Just silence.”

Zarak’s good eye twitched. “I know. I know that. I die here, weak and tortured. All because of you.”

The hatred in his voice was a storm. Rage and fury and shame all rolled into one. Kai didn’t pull back either. His eyes narrowed slightly.

“No,” he said. “You would die here… because you were weak.”

“You should have killed me,” the orc growled. “Like the others.”

Kai didn’t react right away. He let the silence stretch between them, then tilted his head just slightly. “I needed information. You’re the only one who might have it,” he continued, eyes flicking briefly to the artifact-laced bracer that lay discarded by the wall. “You wore that. That means rank. That means knowledge.”

Zarak’s lips pulled back in a sneer. “And I’ll die with it. You’ll get nothing from me.”

Kai didn’t move. But the wheels in his mind turned. That was the confirmation he needed. The orc had the information. And this—this wasn’t a shot in the dark anymore.

“Then,” Kai said, “let’s make a trade.”

Zarak laughed, blood dripping from the sides of his lips. “What do I look like? A merchant?”

“I’m not one either. And I’m not offering coins.”

The orc narrowed his eye.

“You tell me what I want to know,” Kai said, “and I give you a chance to face me again. One move. One strike. Win, and you can drag yourself out of here. Lose, you get a warrior's death, not the death of a rotting hound.”

Zarak’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t speak, not immediately. He coughed instead, blood bubbling out between clenched teeth. But Kai had seen it—the shift in his gaze, the flicker of conflict. He had touched something deep.

Zarak wasn’t just a soldier. He was devout. And for the orcs, Belkhor wasn’t just a name—they believed in him wholeheartedly. In battle. In death. In honor through strength.

“How do I know,” Zarak rasped finally, “that you’re not lying?”

That was it. Kai knew then—he had him.

“Because I’m a warrior too,” he said. “I don’t lie about battle.”

From behind him, Sahlira shouted. “You’re sure about this? You… You can’t trust orcs.”

Kai didn’t take his eyes off Zarak.

“It’s fine,” he said quietly. “If he agrees… I’ll believe him.”

For a long breath, silence stretched between them—taut and heavy, like a bowstring drawn to its limit.

The orc stared at Kai, his single good eye boring into him, searching for deceit, for even a flicker of hesitation. But Kai didn’t flinch.

Then finally, with a deep exhale that sounded more like a growl, the orc spoke.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll tell you… if you stay true to your words. I don’t want to die a coward. That’s… unacceptable.”

“Very well,” he said. “Then let’s begin. Why are the orcs abducting people? Even children. Why?”

The moment the words left Kai’s mouth, the orc’s jaw clenched. His thick fingers curled into the dusty floorboards, and for a moment, it looked like he might refuse.

But he didn’t.

“It’s Khorvash’s orders,” the orc said at last. “He wants to go deeper. Into the sacred place… our god’s temple.”

His gaze flicked to the side, as if even saying that much left a taste of ash in his mouth. Kai didn’t interrupt. He waited, letting the orc speak at his own pace.

“There are doors there,” the orc continued, each word falling heavy. “Sealed. With markings no orc can read. Khorvash said they might be ancient writings of your kind. Human words. He thinks… if he brings enough of your people, especially those who can read or… write, maybe the doors will open by one of them…”

***

The interrogation proved both fruitful and deeply unsettling.

As the orc spoke, piece by piece, the puzzle in Kai’s mind began to complete itself. The vague outlines of theory he’d been working with suddenly sharpened into clear, terrifying truth. Khorvash hadn’t just stumbled across a ruin or some buried relic site. He had found the entrance to Valkyrie’s Tower.

He had been able to finally confirm it.

Only the ground floor was accessible so far, sealed above by enchanted gates. But that hadn’t stopped the orc overlord. Instead, it had sparked something far worse: a plan.

The abductions—scattered, vicious, and senseless on the surface—were orderly beneath it. Khorvash was targeting those most likely to be useful. Children and relatives of tribal leaders and Sand Knights who were young enough to have information, but still capable of obedience. Trained just enough to serve, not enough to resist.

It made sense. And it painted a bloody image of what was coming.

Kai leaned back once Zarak had finally stopped talking. His thoughts spun around the tower. If only that ground floor had gifted Khorvash enough power to change the rule the Duneborns and create such a terrifying reputation, then it bagged the question just what was on the upper floors.

Khorvash sapping on the power of a massive aethum crystal was believable. Most towers had one somewhere, buried under stone or locked within. That wasn’t the concern. The artifacts were.

The orc couldn’t give exact numbers, but he had named several that had already been distributed among Khorvash’s elite. Rings that turned flesh to stone. Bracers like the one Kai had taken. Cloaks that bled illusions and blades that drank heat. None were on the level of true relics—but in the hands of a dozen orcs, they were dangerous enough.

Kai had pressed for more, and Zarak, stubborn but bound by his warrior’s vow, gave what he could. It was enough to get a general map of Khorvash’s inner circle—and more importantly, their strengths.

But only one orc seemed dangerous to Kai. Khorvash himself.

The others were threats, yes, but manageable ones.

The orc overlord, Khorvash—so the stories went—was the strongest to rise in the last hundred years.

And he listened closely as the prisoner spoke, the fire in his voice steady even through the pain. Different stories of conquest poured out like long-held pride—villages burned, rival chieftains crushed, Sand Knights torn down one by one. But what interested Kai wasn’t the victories. It was what had made those victories possible.

Especially how Khorvash kept everything for himself. And hearing it all gave him a good idea of both the strength and personality of Khorvash.

He asked everything he could—for hours and hours. Every name that has an artifact. Every defensive layout. Guard rotations, traps inside the tower, the frequency of patrols. The orc was stubborn at first, spitting insults between words—but he kept his vow. He answered.

And by the end, Kai had more than enough.

But a deal was a deal.

Even with one leg gone and blood caked along his jaw, the orc demanded what he was owed: a warrior’s death. He said nothing as Kai stood, and Kai said nothing back. A glowing [Wind Blade] shimmered to life as Zarak charged with one leg, and in a single clean arc, it slid through the orc’s heart.

No pain. No delay. That was the most he could give Zarak.

Just honor.

Kai looked down at the body for a moment, then turned to Sahlira, her eyes narrow and unreadable in the dim torchlight.

“Take care of his body,” Kai said quietly. “Give him a proper burning, if you can.”

She hesitated. The hate in her was clear—but she nodded all the same.

But the moment brought no peace. Instead, a deeper urgency set in.

The orc had confirmed too much. Khorvash had reached the tower. He had reached his tower. Only the ground floor, yes, but the seals above wouldn’t hold forever.

Even if the doors were soul-locked to Valkyrie’s bloodline, there should be other ways to get in. Kai couldn’t afford to take that risk. He hadn’t even set eyes on the tower himself, and yet the clock had already begun to tick.

He turned away from the corpse and said the only thing that mattered now.

“Call a meeting.”

***

The room was quiet. Kai sat at the head, his spear resting beside him. Around him were Maari, Sahlira and the members of his party, some seated, others leaning against the walls, listening.

He had told them everything. Every word the orc had spilled. When he finished, silence followed.

Maari's face shifted—eyebrows drawn in tight, jaw clenched, lips slightly parted like she was still trying to piece it all together. Fear sat in her eyes. Then disbelief. Then something unreadable.

After a long moment, she exhaled through her nose and said, “I never thought… the orcs were hiding something this deep.”

“I told you.”

She looked at him, eyes narrowing for a beat before softening. “I know. I didn’t doubt you, Count Arzan. But this… this confirms it. No one can question the words of an orc carrying an artifact.”

Sahlira folded her arms. “We’ve tried capturing orcs like him before. Wanted answers. All we ever got were grunts and rumors. The few who knew anything died too fast. And if we push too hard, we risk a full crackdown. The orcs have already crushed too many tribes.” She paused, then added, “Still… I’ve heard of this temple. The one they revere. They barely speak of it.”

Kai leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “That temple is our goal. The tower. If I’m right, that’s where the abducted are. All of them. And Khorvash is forcing them to read the runes and unlock the upper levels.”

Claire, sitting cross-legged near the corner, frowned. “But… they wouldn’t know how. None of them aren’t Mages.”

Kai nodded. “Exactly. Seal magic isn’t something you stumble into. It takes years, training, lineage. Even if someone had a clue, they wouldn’t get far. And the desert has no Mage culture.”

He glanced around the room.

“Which brings us to the real question…” His eyes moved from face to face. “What happens when Khorvash realizes they’re useless to him?”

No one answered. No one needed to.

The silence said it all.

Faces hardened. Claire looked down at her hands. Feroy’s mouth was set in a tight line. Sahlira exhaled slowly, her hand tightening around the hilt of her dagger.

They all knew the answer.

“We have to reach the tower,” he said. “Before Khorvash makes a decision we can’t undo.”

***

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