Once Durotan was completely out of sight, Kilrogg slammed his fist into the ground. "Humiliation! An utter humiliation!"
"Chieftain, are you feeling any better?" The Old Priest quietly approached from the side.
"Do I look like I'm feeling better?"
The Old Priest took a closer look. The left side of Kilrogg's face had begun to swell, and blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. The Chieftain certainly didn't hold back with that slap! In truth, he had long resented Kilrogg's insistence on upholding orc traditions. The clans that followed the Holy Church were thriving now. Not only did they have meat at every meal, but their people also had gleaming armor and weapons. If the Shattered Hand hadn't had fewer members than the Bleeding Hollow, there was no telling who would have been robbing whom.
Of the entire orc Horde, only the Shattered Hand and the Bleeding Hollow clans remained at the bottom. Both clung to the old belief in orcish valor and refused to settle down to honest work. Recently, however, the Shattered Hand had changed chieftains. They no longer wanted to live as the Bleeding Hollow did, and under their new leader, they had begun taking part in the Horde's sweeping development.
With his own clan on the verge of falling into last place, how could Kilrogg not be anxious? That was what had sparked the conflict between the two clans.
"Chieftain, why don't we settle down and focus on development too? Otherwise, in a few more years, the Bleeding Hollow clan might truly cease to exist. Times have changed, Chieftain," the Old Priest earnestly urged.
Kilrogg silently pushed himself up from the ground into a sitting position. As he looked at his clansmen, still clad in animal skins, uncertainty flickered in his eyes. The thought of