The story goes that the Orcs never knew what had happened to them. They were initially strolling leisurely along the river, longing for cold ale and a good piece of meat, when all hell broke loose behind them.
Dozens of beasts they had never seen before simply trampled them underfoot, without any resistance possible. And when they found their king's fortress on fire, the Orc nation was no more.
For Neo, this was his third victory in a row. Skra and Skar had been killed...they had at least had the courage to fight, and Neo's commandos had slit Királya Orkok's throat. Neo hoped that peace would finally come. But he feared for the future...after all, seven was his magic number.
Meanwhile, Neo had borrowed the horse from one of his officers. He still had to find a new one, though. Troop morale was high. Three major victories and finally out of the mountains. And everyone wondered what Short Head (named after his short haircut) still had in store for them.
They didn't have to wait long. At one point, they rounded a bend around a mountain and saw two majestic structures in the middle of the landscape.
As they drew closer, a mighty army awaited them. Tens of thousands of soldiers, armored, tall and strong, and with magnificent plumes on their headdresses.
Their commander, or king, towered over everyone, easily measuring two meters. His plumage left no doubt: he was the boss here, and he was playing a home game.
Full of confidence, he approached Neo and spoke to him in a foreign language: "K’ulumaq chi us sa’ li ch’och’ sachenaq. K’a’jo’ xnimal xloq’al eek’ulb’al arin."