Across the Northern Wasteland, the horns of every orc tribe sounded.
The calls traveled from mountain to mountain, from grassland to grassland.
Orcs emerged from tents, crawled out of caves, and stepped out of the woods.
They gripped weapons—axes, hammers, and spears—some still stained with the blood of last night's prey.
Several tribal chieftains gathered atop a high slope.
A tall orc pointed at the sky, his voice hoarse.
"There's a world up there. We're down here, and it's up there. It wants to fall and crush us all to death."
Another orc raised his axe.
"Then fight! Smash it back!"
The orcs roared in unison, bursting with fierce fighting spirit.
They had lain dormant in the barren Northern Territory for far too long and urgently needed new land to feed their ever-expanding tribes.
Across the various wildernesses of the Source Realm, scattered little green creatures lived in small numbers.
The goblins struggling to survive in the wild crouched beside their nests, staring at the reflection in the sky.
The Source Realm's goblins had no civilization, no city-states, and no writing. No race would accept them, so they could only survive in the wilderness like beasts.
They merely lived, crawled, reproduced, and died.
Yet at this moment, an indescribable light filled their eyes.
The goblins raised their heads and saw the unfamiliar world in the sky. Low gurgling sounds rose from their throats. There was no fear, only an inexplicable sense of familiarity.
An old goblin crouched atop a black rock, looking up as the reflection filled his gray eyes.
Compared to the wilderness, that world looked more like home.
A goblin crouched on a rock, its gray eyes reflecting the sky of that unfamiliar world.
Its lips moved, producing several indistinct syllables. The goblins beside it made the