Great Prairie

The Great Prairie, on the shores of the Holy Lake, where the royal tent was stationed.

It was an exceptionally flat stretch of land, with the orcs' camp built abruptly upon it. Bright bonfires illuminated the interior as if it were broad daylight.

At the very center of the main camp, the Grassland Orcish Great Chieftain Alba, ruler of the royal tent, sat upright on a beast-headed throne cast from black iron.

Any living being who saw the Great Chieftain's face would feel awe. The orc's massive body had reached the absolute limit of what an intelligent being could attain. His bronze skin gleamed with a cold metallic sheen beneath the torchlight, while the muscles bulging from his neck knotted like ancient vines. Above them sat a head jutting with fangs, crowned by a rhinoceros-horn war helmet carved with tribal totems.

Dark-red leather armor covered the Great Chieftain's rock-like muscular frame. A deep-brown cloak hung along the edge of the throne, decorated with some unknown material that glittered like a sky full of stars.

Alba's rough palm rested motionlessly on the armrest. Three copper bands around his wrist pressed shallow marks into his knotted muscles, while bluish-gray calluses remained between his protruding knuckles, worn down by years of gripping an axe. These features constantly reminded people that the Great Chieftain was not merely a ruler, but also a formidable warrior.

Anyone who knew Alba's life story would never dare entertain the thought of fighting him. At fourteen, he had already been able to ride out hunting alone, and the prey he brought back was not the sort of practice quarry hunted by other young orcs—rabbits, foxes, and the like. Such weak creatures had never caught the Great Chieftain's eye. The prey he returned with was usually a ferocious large carnivore,