A heavy silence settled over the encampment, thick as smoke, suffocating in its intensity. The air was damp with the lingering scent of blood and fire, the aftermath of battle still clinging to the ground like an unshakable ghost.
Before Leonhart, the orcs knelt—the same savage warriors who had roared for his death just hours ago. Now, their massive, battle-worn forms were bowed low, their breaths deep and steady, their submission complete. The flickering torchlight carved sharp shadows across their faces, making them seem both monstrous and—at this moment—strangely human.
Behind him, Gurruk, Drog, and Bruk stood in grim silence, their expressions unreadable. Sshorak and his lizardmen lingered on the outskirts, arms crossed, their reptilian eyes narrowing in quiet calculation. They were watching. Weighing.
Leonhart stepped forward, the dirt beneath his boots feeling different now. This land—this battlefield—had once belonged to his enemies. Now, it belongedtohim.
His voice, calm but edged with steel, cut through the stillness.
"Rise."
The orcs hesitated, their primal instincts warring with their new reality. Then, one by one, they obeyed, standing as warriors who had lost a leader—but found something new. Some looked at him with wariness, others with fear. A few with something close to respect.
A shadow moved. A towering figure—larger than any of the others—stepped forward. He was a WarchiefOrc, his body a roadmap of old scars, his muscles thick with the weight of countless battles. His deep, rumbling voice carried like distant thunder.
"Whatnow, Warlord?" he asked, his gaze steady. "Whatdowedowiththis… power?"
Leonhart met his eyes, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. He turned, sweeping his gaze over the gathered orcs, goblins, and lizardmen—the three races now bound to him by strength, by blood, by fate.
"Webuild," he said. "Wegrow."
His voice dropped lower, his tone carrying a promise that sent a ripple through the crowd.
"Andwhenweareready… ourrevengebegins."
By Dawn—The Rise of Order
Morning broke over the encampment, its golden light casting long shadows over what had once been a chaotic warband. Now, the first signs of order had begun to take root.
A crude wooden structure—the war tent—stood at the center of the camp, a symbol of leadership, of direction. Around it, orcs, goblins, and lizardmen moved with renewed purpose. No longer just raiders. No longer just scattered clans.
They were something more now.
Leonhart gathered his key subordinates: Gurruk, Drog, Bruk, Sshorak, and the strongest of the orcs, the Warchief Orc. They stood before him as he laid the foundation of a new hierarchy.
The Ranks of the Monster Nation
• Warlord – Leonhart, the absolute ruler.
• BattleLords – The five strongest warriors, chosen by merit, not race.
• WarCaptains – Mid-tier commanders, each leading squads of 10–20 warriors.
• Warriors – The standard combat force.
• Workers – Goblins and lizardmen assigned to construction, food, and maintenance.
Leonhart's gaze swept over them, his voice steady.
"Astagnantleaderisadeadleader," he declared. "Ifyouwishtocommand, thenproveyoudeserveit. Strengthandloyaltywilldecidewhorises—andwhofalls."
Murmurs of approval rippled through the gathering. Monsters did not follow blindly. They followed power. And Leonhart had made sure they knew exactly who held it.
The Foundation of a Monster Nation
The goblins, small and quick-fingered, scoured the land for materials, piecing together the first fortifications. The lizardmen, with their deep knowledge of the swamps, began carving defenses into the land itself—trenches, pitfalls, water barriers to make the terrain treacherous for outsiders.
The orcs, their sheer strength unmatched, heaved stones into place, erecting the first crude walls of what would one day be a true stronghold. Their battle chants rang through the night as they trained, their raw power sharpening into something more disciplined.
Leonhart stood atop a newly built watchtower, watching the transformation.
A presence joined him. Gurruk. The hobgoblin crossed his arms, his gaze following Leonhart's.
"We are no longer just wandering warbands," Leonhart murmured. His golden eyes gleamed. "Weareanarmy. Akingdom."
Gurruk exhaled sharply. "Andyouareourking."
Leonhart smirked, but this time, he did not deny it.
The War Council – Preparing for the Human Invasion
The war tent was dimly lit, its air thick with the scent of burning oil and earth. Around a roughly drawn map, marked in blood and charcoal, Leonhart's top warriors gathered.
Sshorak's clawed finger traced a section of the map. "The swamps here will work to our advantage. The humans will not know how to fight in such terrain."
Gurruk grunted. "We should hit them first. Strike their supply lines. Make them bleed before they even reach us."
Leonhart shook his head. "No. We fight when we are ready, not when we are reckless."
A plan was set:
• FirstMonth – Fortifications, resource gathering, and training.
• SecondMonth – Small skirmishes, testing human forces.
• ThirdMonth – A full-scale invasion.
The council dispersed, each warrior carrying with them a singular thought—war was coming. But it would be on their terms.
A Test of Strength – The First Ranking Battle
To solidify the new order, Leonhart called for a rankingbattle. Warriors from all three races stepped forward, eager to prove themselves.
The strongest emerged victorious:
• Bruk, Drog, Sshorak, Varokh (the Warchief Orc), and Var'Zul (a High Orc)—the first Battle Lords.
Leonhart watched from the sidelines, arms crossed. A satisfied smirk played on his lips.
"This," he murmured, "is only the beginning."
Meanwhile—The Kingdom of Man Takes Notice
Miles away, on the fringes of human territory, sat the Duchy of Ravenshire.
A grand estate loomed over fertile lands, its castle a symbol of human civilization.
Within, a scouting party had returned, their faces pale. The scout captain stood before the Duke, his voice hoarse.
"My lord… we've seen something unnatural." He swallowed. "Beyond the marshes, where once there were only scattered monster tribes… there is now a fortress. Awarcamp. Organized. Growing."
The Duke of Ravenshire frowned. "Nonsense. Monsters fight each other. They do not build."
The scout's hands trembled. "Not anymore, my lord. They have a leader. One who unites them."
A long silence followed. Then, the Duke turned to his assembled knights, his expression darkening.
"Sendwordtothecapital," he ordered. "We may not have the king's attention yet, but if we do not act now… this monster nation will reach our gates before the kingdom even knows it exists."
The flickering candlelight cast long shadows as the Duke stared toward the distant horizon.
Far beyond, past the swamps and forests, thefirstkingdomofmonsterswasrising.
End of Chapter 29.