A vast valley stretched as far as the eye could see, a breathtaking landscape sculpted by nature over millennia. Its walls rose gently, with rocky slopes tinted in hues ranging from reddish to golden, depending on the sunlight. At the bottom, a river meandered calmly, reflecting the blue sky and the slow-moving clouds. Vegetation thrived along the riverbanks and in crevices of the rocks, where resilient trees and shrubs had found a place to take root.
In the midst of this natural masterpiece, a city seemed to have sprouted from the earth itself. Surrounded by lush flowers and a variety of plants, the city was a labyrinth of greenhouses, hanging gardens, and distillation towers. The architecture was organic, with structures made of living wood and carved stone to blend seamlessly into the environment. The air was thick with the scent of herbs, flowers, and bubbling potions.
As one ventured deeper into the city, it became clear that the buildings were equipped with unique technology and peculiar designs. Among the stones and trees, transparent obsidian materials reflected sunlight, which was directed toward special plants growing around each structure. The sun nourished the entire city, making it glow like a living rainbow.
Tall towers housed chimneys at their peaks, expelling smoke that smelled of herbs and prana. Other towers, located outside the city in a containment complex, had their smoke redirected to the mountain summits.
On a large platform suspended from the tallest tower in the city, a massive botanical garden surrounded by transparent obsidian was guarded by a battalion of imposing, well-armed orcs. Their robust bodies had a slight greenish tint, with pronounced canines, and they wielded weapons as large as their frames.
In the center of the botanical garden, a human knelt before five imposing chairs arranged in a semicircle.
The three central seats were occupied by orcs with grave expressions and scars covering their bodies. The two side chairs were taken by elegantly dressed women who exuded the fragrance of herbs.
"My king," the human said humbly to the figure seated in the central chair. "I come from the demonic imperial capital, Chaos, to report on the rumors about the 'queen's pawn.'"
The massive orc in the central chair gestured with his hand, signaling him to continue.
"I was disguised in demonic territory for a week and witnessed with my own eyes the Djinn named Glenn face three powerful warriors close to reaching the higher Champion rank. They were three impressive battles in a single day. He still emits the energy of an early Awakened rank, but his creativity and casting speed are supernatural. The demon is a complete anomaly! Even while being pressured in the three battles I witnessed, he managed two draws and one loss."
"How much stronger is he than our shamans of the same level?" asked the woman seated at the far right.
"Mistress of Herbs Nazhra, I believe not even our Champion-ranked shamans would be a match for this demon."
"Are you sure you're not exaggerating, Crow?" questioned the orc to the right of the central chair.
"I am being completely honest, Guardian Vorgath."
"What about his scent? Did you notice the use of overload or excessive growth potions?" asked the second woman, seated at the far left.
"It's not my specialty, but his body barely emitted the scent of potions. Only in the third battle of the day were there traces of a recovery potion, Mistress of Herbs Zarrah."
"This is absurd! Just when we received the largest number of gifts from Drakk and thought we were finally ahead in military power," complained the orc seated to the left.
"Leave!" ordered the central figure with a deep, commanding voice.
The man called Crow bowed respectfully and left the botanical garden.
"If Crow says it's true, there's no reason to doubt, my lord," said the same orc who had complained earlier.
"What consequences could this bring us, Guardian Morgath?" asked the central figure.
"Honestly, my lord, I hope it motivates the younger generation. But over time, we might need to prepare for the worst."
"What do you mean by 'the worst'?" asked Nazhra.
"Our race isn't known for magical talent, and we're still progressing slowly. The emergence of another aberration in the demonic kingdom could discourage our pupils," Zarrah replied.
"Warlord Kargath, what should we do? Do we suppress the news or spread it?" asked the king's right-hand, Vorgath. "Especially after the last tournament, where none of our shamans reached the later stages."
"Grrr..." Kargath growled, showing little patience for the matter. "This is why you're here! Decide quickly, so I can return to my hunt!"
"Phew..." the two women sighed.
"Our race has a good history with the demons. We've always maintained strong contracts with them, especially during wartime. I believe the best course is to spread everything about this 'queen's pawn' and maintain our neutrality, as we have done," advised Morgath.
"You bootlicker! All that's in your rotten head is neutrality!" insulted Vorgath.
"I'm always open to duels, Vorgath. Perhaps you've forgotten how many times I've buried your head in the mud," Morgath retorted.
"Teenagers!" Zarrah muttered, while Nazhra nodded in agreement.
The heated discussion continued for some time.
In the orc territory, the king and his leaders were unsure how to approach the news. To make matters worse, they would receive an invitation to a banquet the following week.
To them, this newcomer meant nothing: no challenge and, likely, no upheaval.
Yet, strangely, the Warlord, king of the orcs, had a bad feeling about ignoring this newcomer.
Kargath Stonehand ventured deep into the abandoned forest, trying to find worthy prey. But every time he was close to following a trail, his mind wandered, returning to the same thoughts.
Memories of a fight he had a hundred years ago invaded his mind. A succubus with white hair and red eyes had shattered half his ribs and dragged his head across the arena. Even after so long, shivers ran down his spine as he recalled that fateful day. A fight that left him recovering for six months.
'You fight quite well. Perhaps we'll meet again when you're stronger,' were words no orc would want to hear from an opponent.
Raising his head, a sharp, almost lunatic light gleamed in his eyes as he noticed movement behind one of the trees. He took a combat stance, gripping the massive double-bladed axe he carried.
But he was interrupted by a familiar voice.
"My lord!" called Crow, stepping out respectfully from behind the tree. "An invitation to the banquet has arrived from the demonic empire," he said, holding out a scroll with the empire's seal.
Kargath, without ceremony, opened the invitation and read its contents. Shaking his head decisively, he turned and charged off, destroying everything in his path.
"I'll go myself!" the Warlord shouted to Crow, disappearing like a shooting star.
"Damn it! Those four old fools are going to kill me!" Crow yelled.