Fallout:Blood and the Bull

Days had passed quickly, and spring was already in the air. The wind carried a fresh scent, a mix of new grass and budding flowers, but for me, the routine remained unchanged: clearing the north of those damned goblins. Over the past two months, I hadn't had a single moment of rest. Alaric's garrison was too busy with other tasks, and my other brother, as always, was too far away to concern himself with something as "trivial" as a goblin infestation. The burden fell entirely on me.

I had eradicated several dens and reclaimed a small village overrun by those creatures. The scene was horrific—its inhabitants massacred, their homes turned into crude caves. The goblins never stood a chance. One by one, I hunted them down, and the few survivors ended up in wooden cages. Word spread quickly: a new supplier of goblins had emerged, perfect for the cruel amusements of nobles and, surprisingly, for the church's purification sermons.

The church… It never ceased to amaze me. They purchased more goblins than any noble, not for entertainment, but to burn them in great bonfires before the masses. It was a grotesque spectacle, but the flow of gold and silver was relentless. Father was pleased. It was rare to see him smile, but every time I returned with goblin slaves, his chest seemed to swell with pride. Of course, it wasn't pride in me but in what it represented—a step closer to consolidating control over these lands.

Among the most significant achievements was reclaiming an old copper mine that had been infested with goblins. The victory was more symbolic than practical—no one had any real plans to repair it; it was too costly and risky. Still, rumors of its recovery bolstered our position, even if only symbolically. The coins earned from selling slaves were invested wisely. The first thing I did was establish connections with merchants, ensuring I always had reliable buyers. Then I purchased new spears and full leather armor. I transformed the conscripted peasants into something I could call "soldiers." They weren't a disciplined force or even close to legionaries, but they served their purpose. And for now, that was enough.

Father had granted me free rein to recruit peasants, an advantage I didn't intend to waste. However, I quickly learned that not all men were equal. During the first weeks, I tried to keep several hunters in my ranks. They were experienced men, skilled with bows and accustomed to moving stealthily through the woods. But I soon realized it wasn't cost-effective. For the price of keeping one hunter properly paid—offering him just slightly more than he'd earn in his trade—I could cover the wages of four peasants. And while a peasant lacked the precision and skill of a hunter, they could be trained.

It was a difficult decision at first, but logic prevailed. I kept a few hunters as instructors, tasked with teaching the peasants basic archery skills. Of course, the results were uneven. Some peasants proved utterly useless, unable to draw a bowstring without injuring themselves, but others showed potential. Still, I knew this was a long-term investment. The peasants wouldn't become expert archers overnight, but at least I'd have a basic force that, over time, I could shape to my will.

During those days, I realized I wasn't just fighting goblins—I was fighting against time. Training a peasant took months, even years, to reach an acceptable level, but the goblins didn't wait. They multiplied like rats, and though they were now more scattered, I knew they wouldn't take long to regroup. I needed immediate solutions but also had to think about the future. So, I put the remaining hunters under my command to work. I gave them clear instructions: train the peasants in basic archery and teach them how to hunt. They might not become the best soldiers, but they would learn to survive.

Meanwhile, I doubled my efforts to maintain control over the lands with the resources available. The silver earned from enslaving goblins continued to flow in, and although some merchants tried to haggle, I had the advantage of being the only reliable supplier in the region. Every coin I earned was reinvested, whether in weapons, armor, or, more recently, grain reserves to feed my men.

With much of the northwest cleared behind the border garrisons, I felt my work was far from done. While we had achieved relative stability in that region, I knew the east also needed attention. My other brother controlled that area, but his focus was on maintaining the border fortresses and main trade routes—not on chasing small bands of goblins that, while not an immediate threat, still wreaked havoc on the more vulnerable settlements.

I decided to act on my own. Organizing a contingent to move east wasn't difficult. The peasants I had trained were eager to prove their worth, though some still feared the tales of horrors from the east. I couldn't blame them; even I had heard of the dangers lurking in those lands. But I had no intention of letting fear dictate my decisions.

Reaching the east was a change of scenery. The terrain was less familiar—more forested and broken, complicating our maneuvers. The goblin groups here weren't large, but they were cunning. They moved quickly and knew how to use the terrain to their advantage, attacking small villages and disappearing before defenses could be organized. It was a different challenge than what I faced in the northwest. There, the goblins had been numerous but disorganized. Here, their numbers were smaller, but their tactics required greater patience and planning.

My brother, as expected, showed no interest in what I was doing. To him, my arrival was more a nuisance than a help. But that didn't stop me. I knew I couldn't rely on his resources or men, so I did what I did best: worked with what I had. My soldiers were inexperienced in this kind of terrain, but they learned quickly. I ensured the hunters still in my group acted as guides, teaching them to move silently and use the forest for cover.

In a short time, we began to see results. Den after den was destroyed, and while progress was slow, it was steady. Each small victory boosted my men's morale. The peasants began to trust their skills and those of their comrades.

But this time, it wasn't so easy. Although I had thirty men under my command, all decently equipped with weapons and armor comparable to any local militia—and a few experienced hunters from the area—I encountered something unexpected: orcs.

The first time we saw them, they took us by surprise. We were scouting a small forested valley, following tracks we believed belonged to a group of goblins, when we heard the roars. Deep, guttural, like an echo that reverberated through the bones. That's when they appeared. Orcs. As tall as two goblins stacked on top of each other, and as wide as three. Their bodies were covered in thick muscles, and their weapons, though crude, were brutally effective: massive axes and clubs that looked capable of splitting a man in two with a single swing.

My men, who until that moment had faced goblins with a bravery I admired, hesitated. Terror was evident in their eyes. Some began to instinctively step back, and the younger ones gripped their spears so tightly their knuckles turned white. I couldn't blame them. The roars of the orcs were terrifying enough to make even the most seasoned soldier consider running.

I had to act quickly. A disorganized retreat would have been a disaster—the orcs would have hunted us down one by one. I shouted orders at the top of my lungs, trying to keep the men in formation. I reminded them that orcs, while strong, were slow, and that our spears and arrows were our greatest advantage. "Hold the line! Plant your spears and don't give an inch!" I roared, hoping my voice could overcome the fear gripping them.

The battle was chaos. The orcs charged with a ferocity I had never witnessed before. Their stomps shook the ground, and their roars seemed to cloud my men's judgment. Some fell at the first impact, their shields splintering as if they were made of paper. But slowly, my orders began to take effect. Spears drove into their hulking bodies, and arrows fired from the rear found their marks.

That was when the hunters truly showed their worth. Used to taking down large prey in the forests, they drew on their experience to fire with precision, targeting the orcs' weak points: the neck, joints, and eyes. Their skill was crucial in tipping the scales of the fight.

Even so, we suffered losses. Six men lay on the ground by the end of the battle—some dead, others so gravely injured that their survival was doubtful. Those who remained standing were exhausted and still trembling from the ordeal. I was no exception, though I couldn't let it show.

Seven orcs. Seven damned orcs, and they had almost crushed us. The thought was both humiliating and terrifying. If such a small group had pushed us to the brink of disaster, I couldn't fathom what facing a larger horde would mean. This wasn't something the garrison could continue to ignore, but the truth was, they had. While they remained comfortably behind their walls, I was here, facing these beasts with men who barely knew how to hold their spears steady.

Two of the orcs were still breathing—barely. Their wounds were severe, but with a bit of luck, they might survive if treated. Alive, they could fetch a significant price. Any noble would pay a fortune for something as rare as a live orc. The church would likely stage a grand ceremony to burn them in a public spectacle. Yet, I couldn't decide immediately. A part of me wanted to let them die right there, to eliminate any potential threat they might pose. But the gold they could bring was not something I could easily ignore.

As my men collected the bodies of the fallen and set up a makeshift camp for the night, I couldn't stop thinking about their performance. They had managed to hold the line in the end, but only because I was there shouting at them to do so. Their lack of resolve frustrated me. Was it too much to ask for them to hold their spears steady and let the orcs impale themselves on them? They didn't need to be seasoned warriors; they just had to stand their ground.

There were a few among them who bore the blessing of the warrior's aspect, men who seemed to have a natural instinct for combat. But they were the exception, not the rule. Most of them were still peasants at heart, and though I had given them decent weapons and armor, I couldn't instill in them the will to face danger with courage.

That night, as I watched the campfires and listened to the murmurs of my men, I knew something had to change. I could keep training them, but that would take time, and the orcs wouldn't wait. I needed to find a way to make them stronger—not just physically, but mentally as well. They had to learn to overcome their fear, to trust in their weapons, their comrades, and in me.

Perhaps the answer lay in the two orcs still breathing. If I managed to keep them alive, I could use them to train my men. They could learn to face real danger in a controlled setting, to look these beasts in the eye and not back down. It was a dangerous idea, but danger was already a constant in our lives. I couldn't afford to be cautious.