Refreshed after their visit to the bathhouse, they sat down for a warm meal at the only inn in the settlement, located near the gate leading to the bridge. The two-story wooden building had a terrace from which they watched the activity at the harbor, enjoying, of course, baked fish accompanied by cold beer. Small fishing boats were returning to or setting out on the river, which was densely dotted with poles indicating nets, and the view was completed by the slowly setting sun.

  This was Gra’sha's first time in such an establishment and in another settlement altogether. The clans made sure to leave enough space between one another to avoid conflict over local resources, so they were usually separated by at least a few days' journey on foot. Until now, she simply hadn't had the opportunity to spend a night in a stronghold other than Wolf Rock, which was about to change today.

  "I didn't expect so much traffic. At our place, merchants from the east are a rare sight, but look here," she said, nodding her head toward another group of foreigners entering the inn, whom they could see clearly from above.

  "For all the caravans from across the river, this is the last safe place where they can replenish their supplies, hire protection for the journey ahead, and so on," her older companion explained.

  "You know a lot about their customs. You speak their language. Where did you learn it?" she asked, intrigued.

  "Actually, I'm from here. My father was a merchant; I helped him with the business and eventually picked up the language. He fell defending these walls," she said, pointing to the inner stone wall, then continued in a neutral tone, "five years ago. After all that, my mother and I moved to Wolf Rock. She passed on to the ancestors six months ago. Sickness."

  Until now, they had avoided talking about family. Gra’sha couldn't say much about hers, but she felt this was the right opportunity to share. "I'm sorry. Mine passed away when I was very little. Sickness, too," she said in a slightly subdued tone.

  "Life's too short to mourn the dead, Gra’sha," she said, looking her straight in the eye with sympathy and raising her mug for a toast.

  "To the living."

  "To us," Sha’dru echoed, and they clinked their mugs together.

  After the meal, they walked together through the streets where Sha’dru had grown up: the favorite bakery run by the same goblin family, the blacksmith's shop where an aging master was training the next generation of craftsmen, the butcher who, in good faith, asked her to pass on greetings to her mother, and finally, her favorite remnants of the walls from which she sometimes fished.

  Gra’sha looked at it all with curiosity, and it did not escape her notice how many orcs were engaged in work far from the warrior's path. They were looking at the slowly flowing river, which the early dusk had given a purple hue, when she spoke. "It's very different here than in Wolf Rock. Far fewer goblins, and orcs do a lot of the work. And you have to pay for everything with foreign coins!"

  "This is a trading settlement. Only real silver and gold coins that flow in from the neighboring lands are in circulation. But because of that, nearby clans or armed bands sometimes covet its treasures. There are fights almost every year," Sha’dru explained, tossing a pebble into the river's depths.

  "We haven't had a single siege in my lifetime. Sure, expeditions outside are not uncommon, but, indeed..." she trailed off, concerned.

  "The chieftain's warband, the volunteer corps, mandatory training," she said, shaking her bracelet with the silver cubes, proof of passing demanding trials, then continued, "all of that isn't the rule, Gra’sha. On the contrary, most clans don't operate with such rigor. But thanks to it, Urg’hur effectively eliminates all threats, crushing them with armed force in their infancy, and everyone in the region knows it."

  Gra’sha understood that this was why her mother had taken her daughter to Wolf Rock, to a clan whose moat, mighty palisade, and warriors would not allow the settlement's inhabitants to be harmed. It crossed her mind that perhaps her own mother had had similar motivations.

  "But a life behind the walls isn't enough for you. You're also fighting for a place in the chieftain's warband!" she replied in a defiant tone.

  "For that and much more. But don't worry, I'll take you there with me," Sha’dru said playfully, bumping the girl with her shoulder and then staying there, leaning against her.

  Gra'sha gazed into the distance and replied a little more quietly, "The world is much bigger than just Wolf Rock, isn't it?"

  "If you say so, then it was worth dragging you on this journey," she stated with satisfaction, then stood up and extended a hand to Gra’sha. She took it and got up with that little bit of help.

  "It's been a long day. Shall we head back?" the girl said.

  "Sure," Sha’dru agreed, and they started walking back at a leisurely pace.

  By the time they arrived, it had already grown dark. They spent the night in an inexpensive common room at the inn, along with the rest of the orcs from their clan and a few travelers from the east. Despite the snoring, restless neighbors, and loud conversations downstairs late into the night, they slept like logs.

  In the morning, they conferred with the rest of their clan members, and everyone decided to return together. On the first day, they marched at a good pace, and Gra’sha had plenty of time to observe her own body and spiritual energy. While in the case of her companions, she saw something on the verge of smoke or a dancing flame, emanating to a greater or lesser degree from their bodies, almost devoid of color and substance, her own was becoming more and more like something fluid. It gave her the impression of a lake's surface, stirred only by its inlets, but from which not a single drop of water escaped. It was a strange but satisfying feeling. All the power she had absorbed from the ogre had settled within her over the three days of travel, condensed and thickened. The process had begun after the first battle, but now it had clearly accelerated and become more distinct to her.

  Among the volunteers, Gra’sha was known as the young, aspiring gnoll-slayer. News of how many she had beaten in her first battle had spread quickly among them. Moreover, she had defeated an ogre on the way to Riverbend, as they believed, only with Sha’dru's help. That's why now, as they were returning without the need to guard wagons, there was no initial shortage of people willing to spar with her.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  After some minor trials during the friendly evening training sessions, she judged that her physical abilities had increased again. Although the gain was much less significant than the last time, it was enough that she had to pretend a little that at least some of them posed any challenge at all. The biggest surprise for her was her sharpened senses. She could react much faster, and her already very good footwork now allowed for very precise positioning, just outside the range of an attack, or momentarily stepping into range with her own thrust, only to leave it again immediately. She felt like a lynx that could hunt a snake larger than itself because it could never keep up with her movements.

  By the end of the second evening, everyone had had enough of being defeated. Even though she was holding back a bit, no one asked for a spar anymore. Instead, they were happy to train with her, suspecting that she knew and used some exceptionally good training techniques that they could learn from her.

  By noon on the third day, they were already under the familiar old willow, and everyone felt almost at home. They were on clan lands, after all. However, not even a quarter of an hour's march into their territory had passed when the call of a goblin girl reached them, shattering the cheerful mood of the final leg of the journey.

  "The sheep! They're taking our flock!" the shepherdess called after them, her sheepdog not leaving her side for a step.

  The group first stopped, then exchanged glances for a moment and trotted out to meet her. Completely out of breath, she stopped in front of them, resting her hands on her thighs and bending over to catch her breath. The dog nervously licked its muzzle, sitting by her leg. There was blood on her shirt, but it likely wasn't her own; no wound was visible.

  "It's the Crescent Moon clan! They're taking our flock of sheep," she said feverishly. "Help, I beg you!"

  The girl pointed toward the trees on a small hill; behind it was a large clearing where they were probably grazing. So they headed in that direction, the oldest of the orcs leading the way. The shepherdess, a little calmer now but still with her ears drooping, followed them. When they emerged into the clearing, indeed, in the distance, they could see about two dozen orcs, struggling to herd the sheep to the northeast.

  The man shouted after them, and all ten of them marched quickly toward culprits. The others stopped and formed a line with a central group and two wings set back about a dozen paces, then came out to meet them, leaving only two with the sheep to keep them from scattering. They marched for several minutes before they reached them, passing the bodies of goblin guards along the way. They could handle wild animals, maybe petty bandits, but not orc warriors. All had died from arrows, most in the back. Gra’sha pressed her lips into a thin, angry line.

  "These are Wolf Rock sheep! Stand down!" the orc at the front announced in a thunderous voice.

  "These were Wolf Rock sheep. After they entered our pastures, they are ours," the mature warrior replied, spat loudly, and twirled his right arm, then continued in an arrogant tone, "We warned your goblin scum that if they grazed them on our side again, they would lose them. And now they have, both the animals and their lives."

  After these words, he fixed his gaze on the shepherdess, who had apparently escaped them.

  "Be reasonable. You've killed our goblins, you wanted to take the sheep. Do you think your clan will approve of this? Stand down, and the matter of compensation will be settled between Urg’hur and the Crescent Moon chieftain."

  "And it would have ended with the goblins. You're out of luck today," he waved his hand at his men, and they obediently drew their weapons and charged at them to get rid of all the witnesses.

  Someone shot an arrow at the shepherdess, who was staying at the back, but Gra’sha spotted his intentions and was already halfway to the archer when he released it. She nonchalantly cut it with her sword as it flew past her, and it fell, chipped, into the grass. Only after she did it did she realize how clearly she had seen its flight. Everyone was rushing toward the nearest opponent, while she was already at the archer. He was just reaching for another arrow and blinked with a stupid expression on his face, seeing that the young orc woman had covered the distance between them a few seconds faster than he anticipated. Impossible, he thought, and a heartbeat later, her sword nearly severed his head; it was held on only by the skin and muscles of his back of the neck. His blood gushed out profusely, and before he fell forward limply, she was already gone.

  The girl was still getting used to her newfound strength. Besides, her anger clouded her judgment. She held nothing back. She understood, as did all the rest, that they had wanted to rob them and kill the goblins so the matter wouldn't get out, and when that failed, they decided to also slaughter the ten inhabitants of Wolf Rock who had the misfortune of stumbling upon them. All for a flock of sheep. She leaped in two bounds to the next of the Crescent Moon warriors. He turned his head toward her and started to move his weapon, then coughed up a copious amount of blood. Her sword was already buried to the hilt in his guts. She ripped it out brutally to the side, spattering several of his companions. She reached for the energy leaving him, but with moderation. Being a few moments faster made all the difference.

  The pleasant, familiar rush of ecstasy spread through her body, but she didn't stop to savor it. The nearest warrior flicked his companion's guts from his shield, only for two impossible-to-parry thrusts to pierce his torso through and through. Pulling out her sword after the second, she threw him to the ground, where he was now dying from his extensive wounds.

  Someone thrust a spear at her, but too slowly. She just turned sideways and, ignoring him, swung her steel shield at the head of the opponent on her right. Dazed, he took a blow from one of her comrades. Only now did the first members of her group engage in melee. She turned to the spearman. He was pulling back the shaft, but she was faster. She moved past him and cut deep into the back of his thigh, opening an artery and leaving him at the mercy of the advancing volunteers. Chaos erupted. She danced between opponents, killing, wounding, and exposing them to the blows of her companions, especially Sha’dru.

  Before the enemy's wings could arrive to support the center, almost no one from that forward group was left. A minute later, the thinned reinforcements seemed to begin to fall back.

  "She's a damn monster! Retreat!" one of them ordered, but there was no retreat. She made sure they were slaughtered to the last warrior. However, it was not without casualties; Gra’sha couldn't be everywhere. They lost three people, and with the exception of Sha’dru, practically every one of the survivors had suffered some kind of wound. A mixture of awe, disbelief, and shock was painted on the faces of those who had made it through.

  "If not for your charge into their ranks, we wouldn't have come out of this skirmish alive. You have my gratitude, Gra’sha," the oldest of the remaining men declared seriously, giving her a respectful nod.

  "Then keep the details of this skirmish to yourselves, so that she doesn't have to explain herself to anyone," Sha’dru interjected. The gathered group looked at them questioningly, and when Gra’sha nodded in affirmation, they all just grunted in confirmation that they would do so.

  They treated the fallen orcs from the Crescent Moon clan like raiders, stripping them of anything that might have value, and left them to rot. They carefully gathered the bodies of their fallen goblins and orcs and arranged them so that they could be collected later. They took the shepherdess, the spoils, and above all, the sheep, with them to the settlement, where they reported the entire incident to the guard commander, omitting the extraordinary combat effectiveness their companion had displayed. Scouts and warrior units were immediately dispatched to secure the return of other groups of goblin workers, not wanting to risk the Crescent Moon clan launching attacks in other places. In short, all forces were being withdrawn to the stronghold until the chieftain decided what to do about such an insult from a neighbor.