For Orks, war was more like a carnival than a reckless rush toward death, so they never hid their desire for war.
After Beluf laid out the strategic plan, the entire city of Tyre stirred with unease.
First came the growing number of guards and armored vehicles on the streets, then the massive increase in reports of nearby towns being attacked by "Feral Orks" (the human term for scattered Orks unaffiliated with any legion), along with quietly rising prices and the increasing number of farmers entering the city to seek refuge. All of it proclaimed one fact.
War was drawing near once again.
Everyone in Tyre had their hearts in their throats, because the bloody scars left by the last war had yet to fade from their minds. No one knew what consequences this war would bring.
After all, regardless of who won or lost, the future of those who survived would be bleak.
They were obedient subjects under Ork rule, yet cowards in the eyes of their own kind. An Ork victory would not lessen their oppression, and a human victory would bring them no greater comfort.
When survival became the only goal, the selfishness of human nature was magnified without limit.
But some were unwilling to accept that.
At midnight, faint whispers could always be heard in the deep alleys, followed by the soft opening and closing of doors and windows.
Within dim rooms hidden behind curtains, plans and intelligence circulated through an invisible network before eventually rushing eastward.
The clamor and silence of the two races formed a strange balance within the vast city of Tyre, but to those with keen eyes, the storm brewing beneath it was already enough to swallow everything.
Yet the one at the eye of that storm was currently venting his frustration