Guk

Beneath a cloudless canopy, a massive crimson sphere radiated scorching energy in every direction. Malicious hot winds relentlessly licked at the cracked, dark-yellow earth, trying to erase the last trace of moisture. Lifeless withered grass swayed beneath the sweeping winds. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but scattered stones and a few pale bones of unknown creatures half-buried in sand and dirt.

Such a lifeless sight was unique in this vast world. Surrounded by mountains and oceans, it was a land abandoned and forgotten.

The Sinister Wasteland—every intelligent being who knew of its existence called it that, expressing their fear and vigilance.

That fear came from the enormous, terrifying "Blood Sun" overhead. Many called it that. Here, Atum, the lord of golden light who blessed all things, had become a reaper of life, seemingly no different from his wicked brother, Tah, King of the Abyss. No one knew why. Even the golden-crowned priests of the Great Temple of Atum had no answer. It was a forbidden question.

Yet there were always those who wished to uncover certain secrets. Records of expeditions into the Sinister Wasteland had appeared as early as the Twelfth Era. Though few in number and with even fewer survivors, their words and writings still allowed a select few to glimpse those horrifying scenes...

Sudden gales and sandstorms without warning, sand and stones capable of tearing apart armor, colossal tornadoes comparable to divine punishment, blistering days and freezing nights, savage beasts roaming everywhere or lurking beneath the gravel, torrents of searing heat that could erupt from underground at any moment... If not for ancient secrets buried deep within, no one would willingly enter such a nightmarish place. And even that was only the tip of the iceberg.

In the grand library of the Quetzalcoatl High Astrological Tower, there was an ancient scroll said to have been written in the Thirteenth Era. It described a kind of evil creature that lived in the wasteland. They resembled the disgusting "beastmen," but were stronger and fiercer.

They could ignore the perilous environment, howling as they emerged from raging winds and swept away everything in sight, leaving only ruins and wreckage behind. Yet unlike the corpulent, lecherous beastmen, these creatures cared only for fighting and eating. They had no interest in females—or perhaps, in their eyes, there was no distinction between male and female. They themselves seemed to be the same, showing no reproductive instincts whatsoever. Over the long years, the natives of Pacha World gradually settled on a single name for these strange creatures... Orcs!

Orcs!

Orcs!

"Urgh..." Grass Rope felt incredibly unlucky today. As a Gretchin who had only "dug himself out" five days ago, he had escaped countless deadly dangers and finally found himself a "boss"—some bloke who looked pretty strong—only to be sent out to look for water.

Of course, compared to picking the boss's teeth, this was already easy work. But what Gretchin could have expected a white hand to suddenly burst from the ground and seize him?

The enormous palm nearly squeezed the skinny brown Gretchin into a ball. His bald head flopped back and forth as the arm shook, and he let out meaningless shrieks.

Crash!

As another thick arm thrust out of the soil, the formerly flat ground rapidly swelled upward, rising higher and higher...

"AAAGH!!!!!!!!!" A tremendous roar echoed across the wasteland. Amid the billowing dust, a powerful figure leaped out of the earth and landed steadily on the ground, kicking up another cloud of dust.

"AAAGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The second roar was even louder, filled with the most primal fury. Several dark silhouettes faintly visible in the distant sands vanished in the blink of an eye.

With a smack, the unconscious Grass Rope felt as though the boss's backside had landed heavily on him. He instantly sprang up and looked down to check whether the rope around his waist was still there. Fortunately, he had suffered no losses so far.

"White... bloke?"

After checking himself over, he immediately shifted his attention to the thing that had nearly killed him. To his surprise, it was a bloke—or at least it looked like one. Strong, tall, and with strangely grayish-white skin, like the coarse salt in the boss's pocket.

"Urgh..." The white Orc stopped roaring and clutched his bald head with both hands, letting out a long, low growl. He took staggering steps forward, swaying as he moved. To Grass Rope, he looked like someone who had eaten too many hallucinogenic mushrooms—though Grass Rope really wanted to try some himself.

Just then, a reckless fellow emerged from the fading dust in the distance. He had standard light-green skin, underdeveloped muscles, unknown beast hides and cloth wrapped around his body, and a rusty, battered cleaver tucked at his waist. Grass Rope recognized him: his boss.

"Hm?" Scratching his sparsely haired head, the uninvited guest's eyes were full of confusion. But he quickly tossed it aside. Anything strange could happen in this place, and there was no point thinking too hard about it. "New guy!" he greeted crudely, gripping his weapon and brandishing it proudly. With this in hand, he had nothing to fear.

Unfortunately, the fellow opposite him ignored him and continued shambling closer with strange cries. He seemed to sense hostility. Though the other guy was bigger and stronger, he was empty-handed. He could knock him down.

Orcs always acted faster than they thought. With a roar, he charged forward in a few strides, raising his blade and bringing it down. His widened eyes brimmed with bloodthirsty desire. The shift from idle layabout to frenzied beast took only an instant.

"Waaah!!!!!" There was no blood, only a Gretchin's piercing scream. Grass Rope felt certain he must have accidentally eaten hallucinogenic mushrooms earlier. He had just watched his boss get punched into the air with a single blow, flying as miserably as Grass Rope had when some bloke kicked him away. Broken teeth and blood sprayed everywhere. The blade in his hand flew far off and nearly landed on Grass Rope. Even now, it was still swaying between his legs.

"What... thing!" It was the white Orc's first time speaking. His voice was dry and hoarse, and his accent was somewhat strange.

"Boss! Boss! I-I-I-I... I'm here!" The first rule of Gretchin survival was to cling to the strong, so Grass Rope ran over without hesitation and wrapped himself around the white Orc's leg. And it actually felt rather comfortable.

But the owner of that leg did not feel the same way.

"Get lost!" With only a light kick, the Gretchin traced a perfect arc through the air, howling as he plunged headfirst into the dirt.

"I... here..." It was his first examination of himself. An unfamiliar environment, an unfamiliar self. Though at the moment his self-awareness had formed, he had vaguely known what he was—information that had automatically appeared in his mind—there were other things beyond that simple knowledge. Fragmented, indescribable things, like ghosts churning his thoughts in a whirlpool.

He had nearly become a madman upon awakening. If he had not encountered that fellow, the fight would not have allowed him to escape those tangled, bizarre thoughts. It had only lasted a few seconds, but that was enough. He did not need to think about those strange things anymore.

"I'm thirsty. Water." The pitiful Gretchin was pulled from the dirt. After all, whenever an Orc encountered a problem, the first things he thought of were always Gretchins or other Orcs. Unless there was no other choice, solving it himself was always the last option.

"B-Boss, there, over there!" Trembling with excitement, Grass Rope pointed in the direction he had come from. "Lead the way!" "Y-Yes!"

As they walked, Grass Rope occasionally looked back at his new boss. Super-cool white skin, a straight back, black eyes that looked fierce at a glance, a walking posture unlike any other Orc's—and most importantly, he was taller than every Orc Grass Rope had ever seen, and stronger too. Other Orcs all liked to slouch lazily. His arms seemed a little short... but that was not a flaw! Grass Rope felt today was his lucky day. After all, what could be more worth celebrating than finding a bigger, stronger boss?

But Grass Rope was no longer the only follower. There was also his former boss, the one who had been punched away earlier. He had lost half his teeth, especially several tusks that had only just begun to take shape. They had now become trophies of the white Orc. Still, that did not stop him from following along.

"I can't beat ya. I reckon you're tougher than Boss, so you're my Boss now." Perfectly normal Orc thinking. The white Orc did not refuse, perhaps because it was only natural. But he would regret it soon enough...

"Boss, they all call me Big Cleaver. I'm real good at choppin'. I'll chop for you."

"Boss, what's your name? You're all white, so I reckon maybe you're called Big White?"

"Boss, that Gretchin ain't useful. I know some Gretchins that are real quick."

"Boss, where's your big chopper? Or a big stabber? Or a big smasher?"

"Boss..."

After enduring more than ten sentences of nonsense, the white Orc finally made his first underling shut up. Of course, half of the teeth remaining in his mouth were gone afterward. But in Orc society, no matter what happened, the Gretchins always suffered in the end. The frustrated bloke took out all his anger on Grass Rope, kicking, pinching, and beating him.

After walking for quite a while, just as the white Orc felt his patience was about to run out, the Gretchin suddenly jumped up from the ground and cried happily, "We're here! We're here!" At last, they had arrived at a crude camp—or rather, a camp that was a little too crude.

There was only a token fence of rotten wood around the outside. Inside were nothing but huts pieced together from dead grass and broken lumber. When the white Orc swaggered in from outside, the previously rather empty camp seemed to conjure more than a hundred Orcs and countless Gretchins out of thin air. All of them examined this rare specimen with curious and ill-intentioned eyes.

"Look, a freak!" "That's an Orc too? I reckon it's a shapeshifter." "I don't see any teeth. Do you? Maybe we can make a profit..." The whispers gradually became chaotic clamor. Some blokes had already picked up their weapons, ready to teach the newcomer a lesson. But when the white Orc swept his gaze over them, every sound vanished. For no reason at all, every bloke felt an invisible pressure and obediently shut his mouth.

"Boss, water... Boss! Boss! Water!" Passing through the blokes' living area, the white Orc headed straight for the deepest part of the camp. There was no reason for it; he simply felt that he should go this way, to the point that he ignored even the water the Gretchin offered in a skull bowl.

"You, what are you!" On a raised platform built from stones and massive logs, a powerful Orc chief rose from his bone throne with a roar. He was greener and larger than ordinary Orcs. Long tusks rose from his lower jaw and nearly touched his nose. His eyes were filled with fury and cruelty. He wore armor made of metal, skulls, and beast hide, armed with cleavers, axes, and a broadsword. Behind him, a ragged red cloth bearing a black fist fluttered weakly in the wind.

Soros, boss of the Black Fist Tribe, a battle-hardened giant.

"I go up!" the white Orc roared, utterly unmoved by the other's imposing presence. "You come down! Or die!" "Then you die!" Uncontainable rage drove Soros into a fierce attack like an erupting volcano. Raising a massive battle axe covered in notches, the boss leaped from the platform with unstoppable momentum, intending to split this fellow who dared offend him in two.

But to the white Orc, it was as laughable as watching a clumsy fat bird tumble from above. He grabbed a nearby Gretchin who had been watching the show as though plucking a mushroom, then threw it at Soros's face. Soros immediately cried out and rolled into a heap with the Gretchin.

"This was your choice!" Taking advantage of the moment when his opponent frantically threw aside the screaming Gretchin, the white Orc grabbed him by the neck and smashed him away with a heavy right hook. By now, blokes had surrounded them on all sides. The fierce battle set their blood boiling, and their howls rose and fell, making the camp sound like boiling water.

"You..." "This place belongs to me now!" With one kick, the white Orc sent Soros, who was trying to rise, crashing back to the ground. He picked up Soros's axe and raised it high...

ROAR!!!!!!!!!!

Amid the blokes' cheers, Soros's huge head flew high into the air alongside a spray of blood. His eyes were wide open, and scarcely any teeth remained in his mouth.

"Quiet!" Holding Soros's head in one hand and the battle axe in the other, the white Orc walked step by step onto the platform. Every bloke looked at him with worship and fear. Soros? The moment he lost, he had been forgotten.

"From now on! I! Guk! Boss!"

"Guk! Boss! Guk! Boss! Guk! Boss!"

The blokes went wild, cheering and shouting for their boss, while the Gretchins joined in noisily. Darkness fell. The Black Fist Tribe perished in the night, and a brand-new tribe would be born at dawn!