It was then.
The orcs blocking Duraha's path suddenly shoved one another aside, splitting left and right.
The footsteps that approached were different. Heavier. With every stride, the earth sank beneath them. A massive figure clad in iron was coming.
Thick iron horns, bent outward on both sides, jutted from the forehead of his helm. Layered steel plates covered his shoulders, and crude gauntlets encased his forearms. Segmented iron guards protected every knuckle. In one hand he carried a long-hafted double-bladed axe. The shaft was made for a two-handed grip, reinforced at the end with metal to prevent slipping. The axe head flared wide on both sides, thick at the edge before tapering sharply.
What approached Duraha and the Dawi soldiers was a giant among orcs.
A warlord who had risen above the others through endless battle. One who had crushed countless enemies and subjugated countless tribes, claiming his place through sheer strength and brutality.
The Orc Lord was staring at Duraha.
Their eyes met.
"Dawi…!"
His thick lips parted, baring yellowed tusks.
"Uka… I am Grag!"
Grag raised his axe and brought it down in a short, sharp chop. Mud sprayed from the impact. At that single motion, the surrounding orcs retreated even farther.
Duraha did not look away. He lifted his greatsword and rested it across his right shoulder, the blade slanting diagonally down his back.
"So you're the chieftain of these orcs."
Grag grinned, fangs flashing, his breath coming in harsh rasps.
"I am the king of orcs!"
His hands tightened around the axe shaft.
"I am Ullruka to all orcs! I am the Orc Lord!"
Grag's voice, spoken in the tongue of Damu, carried the thick, guttural accent of his race.
Duraha's brows furrowed.
"A savage orc… calling himself a lord."
His voice was low and thick with contempt.
Duraha kept his greatsword resting on his right shoulder, the blade running diagonally down his back.
Grag leveled his double-bladed axe in front of him.
Duraha charged.
Grag swung the axe in a wide horizontal arc from his right side.
Duraha dropped low, bending his knees mid-stride and lowering his body. The axe whistled over his head. From that crouched position, he surged forward straight into Grag's waist.
His right shoulder slammed into the orc lord's torso with the full force of his charge. The impact was heavy, yet Grag did not stagger back.
Duraha pulled away.He stepped back, leaving long tracks in the mud, but he remained well within striking range.
"You filthy orc…!"
Duraha swept his greatsword upward in a rising diagonal cut from low right to high left, aiming for the orc lord's left flank.
Steel plates shifted and groaned. Grag twisted left and brought his axe crashing down. Duraha raised his blade to meet it. The axe shaft slammed against the flat of the greatsword.
—Kaaang!
A dull, ringing impact rang out. Duraha was driven back, his boots carving deep furrows through the mud.
He retreated a step and pulled his sword close to his chest, catching his breath. In that moment, Grag lunged forward, axe raised high.
Duraha immediately stepped in to meet him head-on. He drove his right shoulder into Grag's body and kept pushing without pause.
Grag's descending axe shaft caught on Duraha's shoulder, the downward force pressing heavily upon him. Duraha lowered his stance and held firm.
Then he twisted his greatsword upward, forcing Grag's arm higher.
The axe rose with it. In the opening Duraha had created, he planted his left foot forward, leaned his upper body low, and brought the greatsword crashing down from above.
The full weight of his body drove the blade. The edge sliced along the seam of Grag's shoulder armor. Steel split. The sword bit deep without stopping.
The Orc Lord dropped to one knee.
"Wag Ullru… Graaa…"
A broken wheeze escaped between his teeth, the words incomprehensible. Even then, Grag's eyes remained fixed on Duraha.
Duraha twisted the blade and wrenched it free from the massive orc's body. Grag toppled forward.
"Ullruka! Graaag!"
Heavily armored orcs roared and charged at Duraha.
Dawi halberdiers surged forward to meet them. Halberd shafts thrust out as orc and Dawi clashed.
Orc axe heads and Dawi halberd blades crashed together. Sparks flew amid the ringing steel.
On the narrow strip of ground, orcs and Dawi shoved and strained against one another.
One orc slammed his shield into a Dawi soldier, shoving him backward. The soldier lost his balance and collided with another Dawi behind him. Seizing the opening, the orc raised his axe for a killing blow.
From the side, another Dawi intervened. He swung his halberd in a wide overhead arc and smashed the side of the orc's helm.
The orc's head snapped sideways from the impact. His body twisted, and he collapsed on the spot.
Duraha stood beside the fallen Grag, greatsword planted in the ground.
"Do you regret coming to Damu now?"
His voice carried clearly.
"I have no intention of letting a single one of you orcs leave here alive."
Then the ground trembled.
These were not ordinary footsteps. Each one spread outward with heavy force.
Deep prints sank into the mud. Between the heavy thuds came the low, thick sound of creaking wood. Not one, but many. Different rhythms, different weights. The sounds rolled along the base of the wall.
Huge shadows moved along the battlements.
The Muwa's Kina revealed themselves.
They stood nearly ten cubits tall (5 meters), massive and imposing. Their bodies were thick rectangular blocks built from heavy timber beams joined without waste. Thick, twisted bark covered their surfaces, revealing deep, rugged wood grain beneath. Multiple plates layered the front of their torsos, protruding forward in overlapping sections. Narrow horizontal slits ran between the plates, and through them leaked a steady, pale glow of flowing mana that mixed with the firelight from the moat.
Their arms, extending from both sides of the torso, were enormously thick—crafted from roots and heavy branches. At the shoulder joints, large wooden knuckles interlocked. Every movement caused the joints to twist and creak, the grain splitting audibly. The forearms were as thick as the trunks of ancient trees.
At the end of each arm were three thick, clawed fingers. Joints clicked and groaned whenever the hands clenched or opened.
With every step, the ground shook and wind stirred. Deep footprints were left in the mud. One could feel exactly where the shifting weight landed with each stride.
On each Kina's shoulder was carved the emblem of the Mosrow Clan: a circular border enclosing a sun motif. The carving was deep, filled with golden pigment that gleamed brightly under the firelight from the moat.
These were the Kina of the Mosrow Clan.
Another Kina appeared behind the first. Then a third. More followed along the base of the wall. Their wooden joints creaked and groaned as they moved, the sounds layering together beneath the battlements. One set of footsteps, then another beside it, then more behind. The heavy rumbling lingered below as the steps continued.
Fourth. Fifth. Sixth.
The Kina kept coming.
The orcs froze in place.
Those running across the moat, those standing on the slope of the wall—all of them stopped at the sound, bodies going rigid.
The Kina marched along the base of the wall, each one bearing the Mosrow Clan's emblem on its shoulder.
Seventh. Eighth. Ninth.
And then the tenth Kina appeared.
This one was clearly different from the rest. Its torso was far thicker and broader than the others. While a normal Kina's body was wide enough to match three Dawi soldiers standing side by side, this one was noticeably bulkier and more heavily reinforced at the front.
Multiple layers of iron plates covered its torso, protruding at varying heights. Bright mana light poured through the gaps between the plates.
The right arm of the lead Kina was shaped differently from the left.
It slanted from the shoulder, the grain compressed and layered in one direction rather than running straight. The shoulder joint was not a single large knuckle but a central node surrounded by smaller ones that interlocked in layers. When the arm moved, the joints tightened inward instead of spreading outward.
As the arm descended, the grain grew tighter, condensing toward the end.
Its right hand's claws were thick rather than long, with many joints and permanently curved, never fully extended. Something was gripped between them.
The severed head of a Minotaur.
Thick horns bent and trapped between the heavy wooden claws.
The sun emblem on its shoulder was carved larger than on the others.
This was the Kina that always charged ahead on the battlefield without fear, smashing enemy heads, snapping necks, and crushing armored foes beneath its feet.
A single sight of it in battle was enough to make the name Fearnought rise in the minds of those who witnessed it.
This was Salma's Kina.
Salma's Kina came to a stop at the base of the wall. The heavy footsteps ceased, the creaking joints fell silent, and a low, deep rumble passed once through the massive wooden body.
Then a panel on the shoulder opened. From within, the figure of a Muwa appeared, clad in garments bearing the Mosrow Clan emblem.
Salma's voice descended from inside the Kina.
"Warchief Duraha."
Duraha stood beside the fallen Grag, greatsword planted in the ground, and looked up toward the sound.
"I'm a little late." Salma said.
Duraha lifted his greatsword and rested it back across his right shoulder.
"Yeah. You're not exactly early."
He raised his chin, staring up at Salma atop the Kina.
Salma's Kina raised its right arm. The severed Minotaur head lifted high, held out toward the far side of the moat. Across the ditch, from the edge of the forest and among the orcs, noises of alarm rose. Some orcs began to fall back.
Salma spoke again.
"The Mosrow Kina will take the lead."
A brief silence hung between Duraha and Salma.
"You can cover our rear, Warchief Duraha."
Duraha swept his gaze across the ten Kina lined up along the base of the wall. Every shoulder bore the Mosrow sun emblem.
"Very well. I leave it to you, Mosrow."
Salma's Kina took a step forward. Its right leg rose and slammed down, shaking the earth. The left leg followed, sending another heavy tremor through the ground. Behind it, the nine other Mosrow Kina moved in step. Their footsteps overlapped, rumbling together beneath the wall as they advanced toward the moat.