Fallout:Blood and the Bull

The following days were marked by tension and a confrontation I could no longer avoid.

"What the hell are you doing, Ulrich? An orc war patrol passed right under your nose, and you did nothing," I said, crossing my arms and holding his gaze. My tone wasn't accusatory—it was calm, almost taunting, as if daring him to justify himself.

Ulrich reacted like a cornered wolf. His face hardened, and his fist slammed against the table, sending a few maps sliding. "Nothing? NOTHING? Who the hell do you think you are to come in here and say I did nothing, Konrad?" he snarled, his voice filled with aggression. "While you're playing at goblin hunting and whining about a few orcs, I'm defending this border from threats you probably don't even understand."

I didn't flinch. My calmness was a stark contrast to his fury. "Ah, I see. So those organized orcs who nearly destroyed my men were just a 'minor problem.' Forgive my ignorance, Ulrich. I thought an organized patrol might indicate something larger in motion. But I'm sure your maps and your infallible strategy had it all under control, didn't they?"

"You don't know what you're talking about, Konrad," he snapped, pointing a finger at me. "Did you know that while you were playing hero with those orcs, a larger group was attacking to the east? DID YOU?"

"Did I know?" I echoed, allowing a faint smile to cross my lips. "No, I didn't, because no one told me. Did you even try to inform me? Or did you decide those seven orcs didn't matter, that someone else would clean up after you?"

Ulrich slammed the table again, harder this time, his face red with frustration. "Because I don't have time to keep you informed about every little detail, Konrad! I'm dealing with something far more important than your petty patrols. You don't understand how things work here. It's not as simple as moving pieces on a board!"

I leaned forward, placing my hands on the table, my voice steady but weighted. "Oh, believe me, brother, I understand far more than you think. I understand that your 'grand strategy' didn't stop those orcs from slipping through and nearly wiping out my men. I understand that you're so fixated on what's in front of you that you're blind to the bigger picture. And most importantly, I understand that if you keep ignoring the signs, it won't be me paying the price."

For a moment, his eyes wavered. Perhaps it was because he wasn't used to me talking back, or maybe, deep down, he knew there was truth in my words. But his pride wouldn't let him concede. He stepped closer, his voice hardening. "If you think you can do better, then go ahead. Chase your orcs. Kill all you want. But don't come here giving me lessons when you've barely learned how to hold a sword."

I straightened and nodded faintly, a subtle smile on my lips. "I don't need to give you lessons, Ulrich. I'm just here to remind you of something: as long as you keep treating this like a border game, you're setting yourself up for failure. But don't worry, brother. I'll handle it. As always."

I turned toward the door, not waiting for a response. Before leaving, I added without looking back, "I just hope you're ready when the pieces you ignored decide to strike. Because by then, neither your maps nor your excuses will be enough."

While Ulrich played the conqueror, blind to our limited resources, I took a pragmatic approach: securing what we had and fortifying our defenses. For days, my group focused on small victories—clearing goblin nests and preventing them from establishing strategic footholds near villages. Each nest destroyed was a victory, not just for morale but for our survival. Goblins were more than just raiders—they were a threat to the future if left unchecked, especially given their horrifying breeding practices.

The eastern border brought new challenges. Younger orcs appeared more frequently. Unlike their adult counterparts, these orcs were volatile. They attacked in small groups, driven by instinct but quick to retreat when outmatched. Their fear made them more predictable, but not less dangerous.

My men were changing, too. Each victory, no matter how small, built their confidence. They learned to trust their formation, to keep their spears steady. With each encounter, they became more cohesive, more like soldiers. But I knew better than to grow complacent. The young orcs were manageable, but they were a prelude to something greater.

To prepare for the inevitable, I invested in chains of bronze. Ropes were useless against orcs; even wounded, they could snap them effortlessly. Bronze chains became essential for handling captured orcs and goblins. With them, I established a secondary camp behind my brothers' fortresses. There, we managed the steady flow of goblins and young orcs that slipped through the garrisons.

Each step was a victory for Falkenstein, but it was clear: the war for these lands was far from over.

Although these orcs posed a threat, they also presented an opportunity. As slaves, they held considerable value due to their immense physical strength. They were highly sought after for forced labor in mines and, of course, for violent spectacles in combat arenas. Each captured orc was, essentially, a valuable investment. Merchants and nobles were willing to pay exorbitant sums for them, placing us in a strategically advantageous position within the trade of these lands.

But it wasn't all about selling them. We also used the captured orcs to train my men. Even in chains, they remained dangerous, and facing them in a controlled environment was an invaluable learning experience. My men learned to overcome their fear, work as a team, and handle their weapons with greater precision. This training made each real encounter with these beasts a little less terrifying and much more effective.

Everything seemed to progress with an unsettling normalcy. My group and I continued clearing out goblin nests, capturing as many as possible to sell or use for training. Skirmishes with orcs had become routine, with occasional encounters against adult orcs still being the most dangerous challenges. On more than one occasion, these battles cost the lives of some of my men, usually when errors were made in formation or strategy. But painful as they were, the lessons were learned quickly. Each loss was a harsh reminder that discipline and caution were the keys to survival.

Despite the losses, reinforcements always arrived. My father wasn't generous with his resources, but there was something about our results that seemed to justify the steady flow of men sent to reinforce our ranks. They were mostly peasants, but with each new group, our small army grew in both numbers and experience. We fought, reclaimed land, and secured new areas. Each week, we pushed the safe zones further east, gradually bringing order to what had been a chaotic territory.

Time passed, and after another month, the results were evident not only in the terrain we had reclaimed but also in my father's demeanor. Despite his cold and reserved nature, he seemed genuinely pleased. The arrival of an envoy from the south made his satisfaction even more apparent.

The envoy turned out to be a pompous noble from the south, the kind of person you could only describe as an idiot with money. He was the sort of man who seemed to enjoy the idea of hunting more than the actual hardships of facing creatures like those he described. According to him, he'd hunted harpies and minotaurs in the west, centaurs in the south, and now his sights were set on something more exotic: the head of a goblin shaman or an orc clan leader. It was a ridiculous goal, but the gleam in his eyes and his arrogant demeanor made it clear he was convinced he could achieve it.

The man moved and spoke like a fool, making little effort to hide it. His strutting mannerisms, as if he were parading through a court of nobles rather than a battlefield, only highlighted how disconnected he was from reality. Still, he wasn't someone who could be dismissed easily. For one thing, he carried a seemingly bottomless purse of gold, a resource that could prove invaluable if handled correctly. For another, his retinue of men was impressive. They were well-trained professionals, outfitted in gleaming iron mail and fine surcoats that suggested they were more than mere adornments. These men looked better prepared for war than for a simple hunting expedition.

I watched him carefully as he spoke with my father, boasting of his exploits with an enthusiasm clearly meant to impress. "A goblin shaman would make the perfect trophy!" he exclaimed with a dazzling smile, as though the statement weren't a declaration of near-certain suicide. "And an orc clan leader… imagine the glory! A head like that mounted in my hall would be the envy of all the nobility."

To my surprise, my father seemed willing to humor him. I didn't blame him. With the wealth this man was ready to throw around, even someone as pragmatic as my father knew the value of playing along. As for me, I wasn't sure what to make of the situation. The noble, despite his idiocy, had brought with him a contingent of men who could be an invaluable resource if directed toward a common goal. But such ventures always came with complications. Hunting a goblin shaman or an orc leader wasn't a simple task; it demanded time, resources, and the willingness to face dangers far greater than anything we had encountered so far.

Still, I chose to remain on the sidelines for the moment, observing and evaluating. If the noble wanted to play at being a hunter, I would let him, so long as he didn't interfere with our operations. But if his presence could be leveraged to strengthen our position, I would find a way to channel his ambitions toward something truly worthwhile. After all, his gold and his men were far more valuable than he himself seemed to realize. Properly managed, even a fool like him could become a useful tool in the right circumstances.

It didn't take long for him to prove useful. Within days, he returned with nearly five hundred men, all well-equipped. While not everyone was clad in iron mail like his personal retinue, many bore bronze armor, reinforced surcoats, and weapons built to last. It became clear that this southern noble, as foolish as he seemed, spared no expense when it came to achieving his goals.

"First the goblins. The easy part, right?" he declared, with the overconfidence that seemed to define him. As much as his attitude grated on me, I couldn't deny that his five hundred men were an unexpected boon. With a force like that, even the densest goblin nests in the north would be relatively easy to clear. For the first time in weeks, I allowed myself a moment of relief, knowing I wouldn't have to bear the full weight of this campaign alone.

The noble appeared to revel in his position of authority, enthusiastically outlining his plans with little regard for their practicality. It was clear that most of the actual planning fell to his captains. Regardless, his men moved with a discipline that made it evident they weren't a mere makeshift force. These were trained soldiers, accustomed to orders and battle.

When he announced his intention to move north as soon as possible, I regarded him with a mix of curiosity and caution. On the one hand, his ambition was obvious, and his insistence on tackling "the easy part first" suggested he didn't fully grasp the risks we faced. But on the other hand, his eagerness meant we could seize the opportunity to make significant progress in clearing the infested territories.

I proposed targeting the nests closest to the trade routes and vulnerable villages first. The goblins in those areas were numerous, but with five hundred well-equipped men, we could eliminate them swiftly while securing those crucial routes. To my surprise, he agreed without objection, making me question whether he was truly as foolish as he seemed or simply preferred to delegate tactical decisions to others.

The camp buzzed with activity as preparations for the march began. My smaller group joined the contingent, forming an unusual alliance. While the noble strutted about, his men worked efficiently, organizing supplies and ensuring everything was in order.

Despite my irritation with his presence, I couldn't deny that this noble had brought exactly what we needed: men, resources, and an opportunity to advance far faster than I had anticipated. His motives might have been selfish, and his demeanor insufferable, but for now, he was a critical piece on our board. "The easy part first," as he liked to say. The harder challenges would come later