Just as the Royal City descended into celebration, an eerie atmosphere hung over the Half-Orc delegation's quarters within the city.
A burly werewolf scout carefully rolled up a report he had just obtained in the city and slipped it into a specially made leather tube.
"Chief, this news... it's terrifying," another warrior, a bull-headed man, said in a rumbling voice.
"Those scrawny-armed Elves actually beat the Demon Clan so badly they fled with their tails between their legs?"
"It wasn't the Elves. It was those visitors from another world called the 'Great Xia people.'"
The Half-Orc leading them was a powerfully built old werewolf named Greymane, whose gray eyes gleamed sharply.
The earthenware cup in his hand shattered as he spoke. Jagged shards pierced his palm, but he was utterly unaware.
"Their weapons changed everything."
Greymane listened to the Elves' cheers in the distance. At that moment, the sound was unbearably grating.
"The Elves have grown stronger, while we..." His voice was bitter.
"We've lost our lush jungles and grasslands, yet we're still fighting separately. We even nearly turned our blades on one another over disagreements about surrendering."
Dead silence filled the quarters. Every Half-Orc lowered their head without a word.
"We can't just sit here and wait to die!" Greymane abruptly rose and snatched the leather tube from the scout.
"We have to send this news back to the tribe immediately!"
"Tell the chieftain we need to establish contact with these Great Xia people too."
"We can use those weapons they call technology too!"
"We can win battles too!"
Greymane turned his gaze toward the distance beyond the Royal City.
The Half-Orcs struggled to survive on this land.
In terms of their institutions, they had to admit they were worse than those of the other races, leaving them without