Tactics:

  Back at the stronghold, the same day Rocka got expelled, Tragnash watched the end of Traken and Vihks’ match unfold.

  Traken circled Vihks in a wide arc, light on his feet as Vihks swung furiously, each strike carving dust from the arena floor.

  “Stop moving, boy!” Vihks snarled, breath ragged.

  Traken didn’t answer. He waited. Measured. Then, as Vihks’ swings grew sloppy, Traken kicked a spray of sand into the air and snatched a handful of stones from the ground, pelting them forward in quick succession.

  “I can’t see a thing! Traken has him at the ropes!” Fergus shouted, the crowd rising with him.

  Blinded and enraged, Vihks charged the silhouette before him — and missed. Traken slipped behind him, both clubs raised, and with two swift, brutal strikes he shattered Vihks’ knees.

  “Ahhh!” Vihks screamed as he collapsed, unable to stand.

  The dust settled. Traken stood over him, clubs in hand, chest heaving. Tragnash stared in astonishment — not at the victory, but at the precision. He glanced toward Torkr. The old orc nodded once from across the arena.

  Fergus blinked, then grinned wide.

  “He’s done it! Traken is the victor — Vihks is incapacitated!”

  The crowd erupted as the battle band struck up a triumphant rhythm. Kraken clapped from the high seat, pride unmistakable.

  “What a match, folks! Traken moves on — but we’re not done yet! Next up: Brek of Gren?Lok, brother of the Strikemaster, versus Grash of Dreknesh!”

  Tragnash slipped away from the noise, retreating into the armory’s dim hallway. As he passed the infirmary, the nurse maid left with her head down and Tragnash saw Horker propped on a cot, jaw bound, knee swollen from his bout with Goram.

  “Tall Tragnash,” Horker rasped with a cough. “To what do I owe the pleasure, brother?”

  “I see your jaw isn’t broken enough to silence you,” Tragnash said flatly.

  Horker chuckled, then winced. “Don’t pretend you care. Clean break, they say. Lost a tusk, though. Knee’s the real trouble. But enough about me — what do you want?”

  “I seek insight,” Tragnash said.

  Horker raised a brow. “My older brother wants insight. That’s a first. What do you need to know?”

  Tragnash sat on a stool.

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  “I noticed Traken and Goram share similar techniques.”

  Horker leaned forward, interest sharpening.

  “How so?”

  The infirmary door swung open. Torkr stepped inside, leaning on his crutch.

  “He means the pressure?onslaught,” Torkr said, answering for Horker. “The technique where they strike fast and relentless to force their opponent into mistakes. But in your fight, Horker, Goram’s onslaught faltered. He had to get creative. Traken, on the other hand, used a variation — kicked up dust, threw stones, adapted. Half the arena noticed.”

  He tapped his crutch once against the floor.

  “Kraken likely taught them to shift tactics at this stage.”

  Both brothers fell silent, thinking it through.

  Horker finally spoke. “Aye. At the start of my match, Goram baited me, then pressed hard. When I broke his onslaught, he shifted — slid around my blind spots, dashed in and out. I tried a dust screen, but it only made things worse. I got careless. He outmaneuvered me.”

  He gestured toward the arena outside.

  “Traken’s variation worked better against Vihks. He adapted faster.”

  Torkr nodded. “Traken is the youngest — least experienced — but do not underestimate him, Tragnash. I knew Kraken in his prime. He trained those boys well.”

  He fixed Tragnash with a stern look.

  “Your task is simple: break the onslaught like Horker did… then overcome the shift that follows. Whether it’s dust, misdirection, or something new. If you can’t see, rely on other senses — sound, vibration, breath. Horker did.”

  Horker raised a hand. “Hold on. Even if he handles both tactics, you know Kraken prepared more than two shifts.”

  Torkr exhaled. “Indeed. There will be unknowns. That part is on you, Tragnash.”

  Tragnash nodded slowly. “We still have a couple rounds before my fight.”

  He peeked out into the arena.

  The crowd roared. Dust swirled. Steel clashed.

  “Die, you scum!” Grash bellowed as he slammed into Brek.

  “Already wishing death — and yet Brek is unfazed! Who will triumph?” Fergus cried over the battle band’s pounding rhythm.

  Tragnash returned to the infirmary. “This is the last qualifying round. After this, the main fights… then semifinals… then the final match.”

  Torkr stroked his beard. “After Brek and Grash, Goram faces Garsom. Watch that one closely. Then it’s you versus Traken. We’ll watch Goram’s fight together, my son. I’ll give you what insight I can.”

  Horker reached out and clasped Tragnash’s arm.

  “Fight well, brother. Might beyond might.”

  “Might beyond might,” Tragnash answered.

  He and Torkr stepped out toward the arena just as Fergus’s voice rose above the walls.

  “Grash’s armor has given out—Brek has pierced straight through! Brek is the winner!”

  The crowd erupted. Kraken laughed and clapped from the high seat as the battle band thundered triumph. Blood streaked the arena floor while Brek raised his blade high, basking in the roar.

  Kraken stood.

  “Excellent match. Nothing less from the Strikemaster’s brother. That concludes the qualifying rounds. We now proceed to the main matches…”

  Torkr and Tragnash climbed the stands to secure a vantage point. On the way up, Torkr spoke low.

  “Tragnash, it is imperative you do not repeat your mistake with Rocka.”

  Tragnash exhaled sharply. “I understand, old man. Must we recite the lesson again?”

  Torkr’s gaze hardened. “If you fail, rising back up will be easier said than done.”

  They took their seats as Kraken finished addressing the crowd.

  “We will now take a brief intermission to allow our fighters rest and nourishment. But fret not—our singing greenskin will keep you entertained with tales of our way and culture. Fergus, if you would.”

  Fergus practically leapt into place, grinning wide.

  “Thank you, Battle Master! Now, folks—many of you know this tale, but I see young faces in the crowd who could use a spark of inspiration. I will tell you the origins of Tengwar, straight from the Battle?Keeper’s scrolls, from the words of the master of masters and father of orcs—Mau?Lak!”

  The crowd cheered, clapping in unison like a congregation awaiting a sermon.