Ashen Dragon

"Mine, mine, it's all mine—"

An Orc was humming a little tune, walking with a lively stride, cheerfully heading south.

From appearance alone, this Orc wasn't much different from its kin, just slightly more burly and robust.

Unkempt and ugly, it wore tattered beast hides and carried a big stick fashioned from the leg bone of some unknown beast. Its entire body exuded a rancid stench...

The only thing truly remarkable about it was the two long, thick tusks protruding from its mouth, yellowed and bloodstained, their sharp tips almost brushing its nose.

These Orcs that spawned from the ground didn't have names, often plucking up random words they liked. Due to its two prominent tusks, this Orc was called "Big Teeth" by its tribe.

It was immensely proud of this name. To ensure no one stole it, it beat up several other Orcs nearby who also called themselves "Big Teeth," snapping off their tusks and leaving them scrambling "to find their teeth everywhere."

Through this feat, the title of "Strong Big Teeth" spread. Many Orcs came to pledge loyalty to it, and over time, it rose to become a Boss leading over a hundred underlings.

The lives of Green-skin Orcs were simple—either they were fighting, or they were on their way to fight. The causes for fights were countless; it could be for resources, for nests,

or even just because they exchanged a glance and didn't like the other's face, resulting in deadly combat.

Everything Orcs owned came from robbery and looting. The strong took from the weak, larger groups took from smaller ones, and if weaker Orcs couldn't win, they'd pledge allegiance to bandits and become their followers.

During their rapid reproduction, the Green-skin Orcs formed their own society, though its structure was remarkably simplistic—a countless number of bands living off plunder formed a hierarchical system where robbery trickled downwards.

As for the weak ones at the bottom? They'd either face physical elimination by Orc society and be reduced to food, or they'd go raid other races.

In Big Teeth's brief lifespan of little over a year, it had carried out hundreds of raids but had been looted seven or eight times by stronger foes. In its view, this all seemed perfectly normal.

And this upcoming war was no exception.

They'd thoroughly crush those weak yet wealthy Southern people, take everything they owned, and become the masters of the continent.

"Everything I lay my eyes on is mine!" Big Teeth softly hummed its own self-made chant, continuing to march with the great army, feeling particularly joyous.

"Boss, after we loot Aivendel-dan, I'm gonna make a stick out of wood!"

"Useless! Those humans and Dwarves are loaded. After snatching their stuff, I'm gonna make a big stick out of iron!" Big Teeth sneered disdainfully at his short-sighted underling.

Big Teeth's mentality reflected the Orcs' attitude toward war—a frenzy fueled by ignorance, guided simply by the notion of "Sounds like a good plan!"

Initially, their "Big Boss" Solo preached about historical legacy and racial honor to rally them, but the Green-skin Orcs couldn't comprehend, merely scratching their heads in confusion.

Ultimately, Solo, at his wit's end, raised his spear and roared: "We're going to war! We're going to plunder everything in those Southern cities!"

An Orc below asked, "Are they rich?"

Solo replied, "My kin, hear me out: One human is richer than a hundred Orcs, and one Elf is worth more than a thousand Orcs!"

"What about dragons?"

Another Orc asked.

At this, Solo grinned widely. "Giant dragons are the greediest, strongest, and richest beings. One dragon hoards treasures worth tens of thousands, even millions of Orcs!

Their scales can be forged into the toughest armor; their bones into the hardest big sticks; their—"

"Waaaagh!"

"Take it all from them!"

"I want a dragon! I'll loot one!"

Suddenly, the Green-skin Orcs erupted, their voices crashing like waves. Within the sea of Orcs, thunderous war cries burst forth, their fervor soaring to the heavens, shaking the earth with tremors.

Among them was Big Teeth, who raised its fists high, like any Orc madly obsessed with war, dreaming of a glorious future where it could coat its tusks in gold.

That way, no one would ever break its teeth or take away its name.

Suddenly, chaos broke out at the front of the Orc horde.

"Look!"

"That's Aivendel-dan! No wonder it used to be the capital of the Dwarves!"

"Waaagh, that fortress looks worth looting!"

"Outta the way! Let me through!" Hearing this, Big Teeth hurriedly shoved aside the Orcs in front of him, pushing his way to the front.

"This, this is..." Big Teeth raised its head and stared into the distance, its jaws dropping open, exposing its oversized tusks that emitted nauseating odors.

From afar, atop a high mountain, stood a towering and magnificent fortress, built from steel and stone, constructed along the mountain's slopes. Above the fortress, countless Wyverns swirled, their wings beating chaotically, resembling stormy black clouds.

"That—that kind of fortress, how much steel must it have? Enough to make how many big sticks?!" Big Teeth murmured in awe, gazing at the scene before him.

The Orc's heart pounded wildly, as if a warm flow surged through its veins. Blood and cells alike awakened, roaring madly within—war! We need war!