Chapter 21: Gorrak vs Tengen

The battlefield was supposed to be a storm of steel, screams, and blood. Instead, it was silence. Thousands of warriors—Orcs, Lizardmen, Ogres, Beastkin—stood frozen under the oppressive weight of my aura, their weapons trembling in hands that suddenly seemed too small for the fight they had come to wage.

The wind itself held its breath.

And then—movement.

A single figure broke the stillness. A girl. No—an Ogre. She shoved past her retainers, who scrambled to grab her arm, to hold her back from what every living thing here recognized as a death zone. Her robes swished in contrast to the armor of those around her, her black hair flowing behind her as she sprinted forward with reckless determination.

The retainers hissed warnings. “Princess, stop!”

But she ignored them, slipping through gaps like water between stones.

And somehow, impossibly, she made it to me.

There she stood, chest rising with sharp breaths, defiant but… respectful. Her gaze locked with mine as she bent slightly in formality.

“I am the Princess of the Ogres,” she declared, her voice trembling but loud enough to carry. “Daughter of Lord Gorrak, leader of my people.”

The title hit me like a blade to the gut.

Ogres.

The word alone dredged up memories I had buried under training, sarcasm, and denial. The Dark Elf village… their attack, the flames, the destruction. They had tried to crush the people who had taken me in. If not for their defenses and sheer luck, it would have been a massacre.

My vision narrowed.

My aura erupted before I could stop it.

The air cracked. The ground at her feet splintered. Every warrior in a hundred meters stiffened as if a hand had closed around their throat. And the Princess herself—her eyes widened in horror as my killing intent clawed into her mind.

In her head, she saw me move. Saw Moonrend flash. Saw her own head tumble from her shoulders. Saw her retainers cry out too late as her body crumpled to the dirt. Saw the darkness swallow her.

Her breath caught, and she stumbled backward, clutching her throat though no blade had touched it.

“Your race,” I said, my voice colder than the northern ice, “attacked the people I swore to protect. You tried to burn their homes, to slaughter them all. And for that… I will kill you. Every last one of you. Including you, Princess.”

The retainers froze like statues. They knew—everyone knew—that if I willed it, she would be dead before any of them could blink.

Even the warriors beyond, the armies massed on either side, shifted nervously under the pressure. If this was the strength of a single human boy, then perhaps this battle was already over before it began.

The Princess’s knees trembled. She glanced at me, then at my companions—Yoruha with her evolved silver hair glinting like moonlight, Dravel lounging on his tiger with arms crossed like he owned the world, Shirina with her calculating eyes that weighed every move, Zeril perched smugly on Garfield, mana already humming at his fingertips.

And then the tigers. The Divine Tigers, proud, massive, exuding their own authority, letting us—mere mortals—ride them. That alone unsettled the Ogre warriors. To them, it was impossible, a sign that something beyond mortal blood was happening here.

Her lips quivered. Then, in a motion that shocked even her retainers, the Ogre Princess dropped to her knees.

Her forehead touched the ground.

“I… apologize,” she said, her voice shaking. “For the sins of my people. For what we have done. I know my words mean nothing against the weight of what has been lost, but I offer them regardless. I beg forgiveness, even if it cannot be given.”

The armies gasped. An Ogre Princess, daughter of their warlord, kneeling before a human? It was unthinkable.

I stared down at her, my anger still boiling. My aura pressed harder, enough to make the ground creak, enough to send cracks through the earth. Part of me wanted to end it here. To swing Moonrend, to silence her voice, to make good on my words and paint the battlefield with justice.

But then—

A hand.

Warm, steady, firm on my shoulder.

Yoruha.

Her violet-streaked hair framed eyes that met mine with unshaken calm. “Tengen-sama,” she said softly, her voice carrying through the silence, “this girl… likely had nothing to do with what was done. She is young. Bound by blood and name, yes—but not the crime itself.”

My breath hitched.

“You promised the Sylara-sama,” she reminded me gently. “You promised to end this without needless bloodshed. To bring peace, not more corpses.”

Dravel chuckled, breaking the suffocating tension like only he could. “Besides,” he said, grinning, “if you cut her down here, who’s going to laugh at your terrible aura stunts later? You’d be down one heckler.”

I shot him a glare, but the absurdity of it cracked something in me. My killing intent wavered, slipped back under the surface like a blade sheathed reluctantly.

The Princess let out a shuddering breath, realizing she was still alive.

I exhaled. “Tch. Fine.”

But my words still cut like steel. “Don’t think for a second this apology erases the past. Remember what your people have done. Remember the weight you carry. If you stand before me again, and your people’s crimes continue… I won’t hesitate next time.”

The Princess lowered her head further, acknowledging the truth of it.

The battlefield remained frozen, tension drawn tight as a bowstring. Everyone watched, waiting for the next move, the next word, the next spark to ignite the war again.

And in that taut silence, a new voice boomed across the clearing—deep, guttural, mocking.

“Pathetic,” it rumbled.

The ground itself seemed to vibrate under its weight.

“An Ogre Princess, kneeling before an inferior. How utterly disgraceful.”

I turned my gaze.

And there, towering, scarred, his presence like a mountain in motion, came Gorrak, Lord of the Ogres.

“Pathetic,” the voice repeated, rumbling through the battlefield like distant thunder.

The warriors of every race instinctively shifted their eyes toward the source. And there he was—Gorrak, Lord of the Ogres. A towering mass of muscle and scar tissue, his tusks gleamed like ivory blades, his crimson eyes burning with derision. Each step he took left cracks in the ground, as though the earth itself feared to carry his weight.

The Ogre Princess flinched, her head still bowed before me.

“You shame me, daughter,” Gorrak snarled, his voice loud enough to carry over the silent armies. “Kneeling to a lesser being. To an inferior. I should have left you in the brood pits.”

His words cracked against the air like whips. The Princess trembled, but said nothing, her forehead pressed to the dirt.

Gorrak’s gaze turned toward me then, dismissive at first, then mocking. “And what,” he sneered, “is a weak little human doing in the middle of a battlefield meant for warriors?”

A hush spread through the surrounding armies. Everyone waited for me to respond.

But before I could, a new voice rang out.

“This man,” the Lizardman Chief said firmly, his scaled hand tightening on his spear, “is anything but weak.”

The chief’s words carried weight, for his kind respected strength above all. The armies murmured, the Lizardmen shifting proudly behind their leader.

Gorrak barked out a laugh, cruel and booming. “You? A chief of scales, lowering your head to a boy? You fear him so much that you call him strong? Pathetic. No wonder your kind hides in swamps like cowards—you bow to children.”

The Lizardman Chief grit his teeth, but said nothing further. His warriors bristled, but one look from him held them still.

I stepped forward, my shadow cutting across the fractured ground.

“Don’t underestimate humans,” I said flatly.

Gorrak turned his head toward me, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“There is a Saint I know,” I continued, my tone sharp as steel. “A single woman who could erase most of the armies gathered here by herself. Humans are not weak. Underestimate us, and you’ll regret it.”

For a moment, the battlefield absorbed my words. Even the Lizardmen seemed to stiffen with pride.

Then Gorrak threw his head back and laughed. A deep, booming sound, full of scorn.

“Good! I like you, pipsqueak!” He slapped his massive thigh, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’ve got fire in your gut and lies on your tongue. Funny. Very funny!”

He leaned forward, pointing one massive clawed finger toward the Dark Elves gathered behind me.

“And you—Dark Elves. Have you finally come to your senses? Have you grown tired of hiding in your cursed woods? Is this what you’ve decided—to crawl out of the dark and kneel to me?”

The Dark Elves hissed under their breath, disgust contorting their faces. Their silence was heavy, their glares sharp enough to cut stone.

I took a slow step forward, planting myself between the Dark Elves and Gorrak’s gaze. My aura began to rise, pressing outward, coiling like a predator ready to strike.

“Careful, Gorrak,” I said, my eyes narrowing. “I was told you took very good care of my people during your raid. Maybe I should return the favor.”

The pressure of my killing intent rolled outward, pushing at the battlefield. Dust rose in swirls around my feet.

And then—

Nothing.

Gorrak’s grin didn’t falter. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t so much as blink.

My intimidation had landed with all the force of a puff of wind.

There was a pause—then Yoruha burst out laughing.

“Pfft—fufufu—ahaha! Tengen-sama, really?” she said, clutching her stomach. “That was supposed to be intimidation? Hah, my lord, you’re better off glaring at Dravel-sama when he steals food. That at least makes him sweat.”

Dravel tilted his head back and let out a loud, mocking laugh. “Tengen-sama, you should have seen your own face! You looked like a child holding in a sneeze! Scary? Hah, not even close!”

Even Shirina smirked behind her hand, though she tried to hide it, and Zeril’s shoulders trembled with silent laughter.

My eye twitched. Great. Just great. Aura farming: critical failure.

Meanwhile, Gorrak roared with laughter of his own. “This is the ‘lord’ the Elves call stronger than me? This weakling? This child? Are you being controlled, elves? Did he twist your minds to bow to him? If so—what a poor joke it is!”

The Dark Elves glared daggers, but their silence spoke louder than words.

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to regain composure. My aura receded, but my resolve did not.

I forced my aura back down and let out a sharp breath. The battlefield had gone silent again—though the laughter of my companions still lingered in the air like salt on an open wound.

Gorrak’s grin was wide and cruel. He was enjoying this.

I turned, shifting my gaze toward the Lizardman Chief. His scaled jaw tensed under my stare.

“Tell me,” I said, voice cutting through the heavy air, “are your people planning to take over this forest the way the Ogres tried to? Is this just another bid for supremacy?”

The chief raised his head, shaking it firmly. “No. That is not why we fight. The Ogres’ brutality is the reason we stand here. We do not seek to rule the forest—we only seek to stop them from crushing it.”

His words rang honest, firm enough that even his warriors behind him stood taller.

I studied him for a moment, then nodded once. “I see.”

My gaze slid back to Gorrak, whose massive frame still radiated arrogance like a bonfire.

“Then let’s make this simple,” I said, my voice carrying across the battlefield. “Gorrak. I challenge you. A duel. An all-out brawl—fists and feet only. No magic, no skills, no weapons. Nothing but strength.”

Gasps rippled through the gathered armies. Ogres, Lizardmen, Beastkin, even the Dark Elves all stared at me in disbelief.

I stepped closer, my words deliberate. “If I win, the war ends here. Your army retreats. If I lose, the Dark Elves and I will submit. We’ll join you—and help you conquer this forest.”

The air went dead still.

The retainers of the Ogre Princess hissed, alarmed. Even the Divine Tigers beneath us let out low growls, their golden eyes flickering as if to say are you serious?

The first to break was the Princess herself. She rose shakily to her feet, stumbling forward despite her retainers trying to stop her.

“Tengen-sama!” she cried, her voice trembling. “Please—do not make such a reckless challenge! My father is strong… as strong as you, perhaps stronger. To face him alone is madness. It cannot be done!”

She stepped forward desperately, her hands clenched in front of her chest. “I acknowledge your power, Tengen-sama. I do. But this is not the way—”

The Lizardman Chief joined in, his voice steady but urgent. “I agree. Tengen-dono—challenging him in such a way is dangerous beyond reason. Even if you are strong, Gorrak is no common foe. Do not take this path lightly.”

I stopped, my eyes narrowing as I turned toward them both.

“Why,” I asked quietly, though the weight of my voice pressed like a mountain, “do you think I would lose?”

The words were soft, but the air grew heavy. The Lizardman Chief froze. The Princess’s lips quivered.

The pressure rolled off me again, not like the killing intent from before, but something sharper—an oppressive weight that forced even seasoned warriors to tremble.

They both shook under it.

“Do you truly believe,” I said, my tone cold, “that I would challenge him if I didn’t intend to win?”

Neither dared answer.

Then, slowly, a deep laugh rumbled across the battlefield.

“Good!” Gorrak roared, his tusks glinting as his grin stretched wider. “I like your spirit, boy! I’ll accept your duel. No weapons. No magic. Just fists. Just blood.”

He slammed one massive hand against his chest, the sound booming like a drum. “And I won’t need anyone else. Me alone is enough to crush you.”

His laughter carried over the battlefield, sending shivers through even his own troops.

Far away, in the shadow of a crumbling ruin, unseen eyes watched.

The shady man’s teeth ground together in frustration. “That brat again,” he hissed. “Who the hell is he? Where did he come from? Why do those tigers let him ride them? Nothing about this makes sense.”

His fists clenched, nails biting into his palms. “He’s ruined everything. But fine. I’ll wait. I’ll watch. Let’s see how long this arrogance lasts.”

The challenge had been spoken.
The terms accepted.
And now, the battlefield held its breath.

Neither Gorrak nor I moved as we stood opposite one another, separated by no more than thirty strides of churned earth. Between us stretched not just distance, but the will of thousands who now looked on with wide eyes and tense hands.

The Dark Elves gathered behind me remained still, but their silence was not fear—it was trust. They had seen enough of me to know I did not make boasts lightly. Though Gorrak mocked, though his presence towered like a mountain, their gazes were steady. They had entrusted me with their future, and they would not waver.

On the other side, the Ogre Elites stood like carved stone. Thurg, Blade of Gorrak, rested one hand on his hilt but did not draw; Druvak, the Shield, stood grim and silent, his eyes narrowed; Krasha, the Howl, grinned, anticipation flashing in her sharp teeth; Varrg, the Black Flame, smoldered with restrained fire; Jukra, the Maw, cracked her knuckles eagerly; Renak, the Quiet, leaned on his spear, his gaze unreadable.

None of them moved to interfere. None would dishonor their lord by questioning his claim to fight alone. But in their eyes—pride warred with unease.

The Ogre Princess had retreated to her retainers, but her gaze never left me. She clutched her hands together, knuckles white, lips moving silently as if praying to gods long forgotten. Her retainers whispered anxiously, yet none dared try to pull her away.

The Lizardman Chief stood rigid, sweat dampening the scales at his brow. He knew what it meant to signal the start. His warriors shifted nervously behind him, uncertain whether they should be proud or afraid. To them, the duel was madness, yet the conviction in my words had bound them to silence.

Even the Divine Tigers rumbled, low and guttural. Their golden eyes flickered with something primal. Though they had no stake in this war, they too felt the weight of what was about to unfold.

The air thickened. Every heartbeat stretched into eternity. Dust floated, hanging in the sunlight as if unwilling to fall. The armies that had come to clash were united now in stillness, not by peace but by the awe of two presences preparing to collide.

Gorrak rolled his shoulders, each motion cracking the air like breaking stone. His tusked grin was wide, his gaze locked solely on me. “I’ll enjoy this, boy. You’ll learn what it means to stand before the might of Ogres.”

I said nothing. My body stilled, every fiber of me tuned to the moment.

The Lizardman Chief swallowed hard. His clawed fingers rose, hesitating at the air. For an instant, his eyes flicked toward me—searching. Did I truly mean this? Did I truly have the strength?

I did not waver.

He drew in a breath, then thrust his claw downward.

“Begin!”

The word cracked like thunder across the battlefield.

Gorrak surged forward, each footstep sending tremors through the earth.

And I moved to meet him.

The duel had begun.

The instant the word “begin” left the Lizardman Chief’s throat, the battlefield erupted—not in noise, but in force.

Gorrak thundered across the ground, every footfall cracking stone, his colossal frame bearing down like an avalanche. His tusked grin split wider, teeth bared as his fist swung forward with the weight of a boulder crashing down a mountain.

I surged forward to meet him, my own fist cutting through the air.

The two blows collided.

BOOOOM!

The shockwave tore outward, a ring of raw force that flung dirt, dust, and shattered stone high into the air. Warriors on both sides staggered back, shielding their eyes as the ground split in jagged lines beneath our feet.

For a heartbeat, our fists locked, neither yielding. Then both of us leapt back, only to surge in again.

BAM! A kick from Gorrak, his leg like a swinging log, whistled through the air. I twisted, blocking with my forearm, the impact rattling my bones but leaving me standing. My counterpunch drove toward his gut—he caught it with his elbow, snarling as sparks of raw force burst from the collision.

Every strike shook the battlefield. Every movement sent cracks racing through the earth.

The armies gawked in disbelief.

“This… this isn’t human,” a Beastkin warrior whispered, eyes wide.

“No… this is beyond even Ogres,” muttered a Lizardman.

The Dark Elves, however, stood calm, their gazes unwavering. They had seen Tengen-sama before. They had placed their faith in him. Where others saw impossibility, they saw inevitability.

“Do you see it?” one of them murmured to another. “That’s why we follow him. That’s why he is our lord.”

Gorrak roared, his massive arms swinging again, fists blurring as they pounded toward me in a flurry. I ducked low, weaving through the storm, then rose with a rising knee to his ribs.

The impact echoed like a drum. Gorrak staggered half a step, growling, then slammed his forehead toward mine.

Our skulls met with a thunderclap, stone cracking beneath our feet from the sheer rebound.
Blood trickled from his brow. A line split my skin. Neither of us slowed.

We broke apart, only to hurl ourselves forward again.
The ground cratered under our combined force.

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
Punches, kicks, elbows, knees—every strike faster, heavier, more savage than the last. Dust cloaked us, obscuring our forms until only flashes of motion could be seen: the glint of tusks, the blur of fists, the sharp arc of a kick.

The armies held their breath. They were not watching a duel anymore. They were watching gods in mortal skin clash.

Gorrak roared with laughter even as his fists bruised and bled.
“Good! GOOD! You’re no weakling, boy—you’re a monster just like me!”

I didn’t answer. My focus sharpened. His brute force was overwhelming, yes—but my martial arts flowed sharper, faster. He swung like a hammer; I struck like a blade.
And little by little, the tide began to shift.

The world shuddered beneath every blow. Stone split like glass, dust storms swirled in suffocating clouds, and each collision of fist and foot cracked the air like thunder.

I slid under a swinging arm the size of a tree trunk, my palm striking upward against Gorrak’s jaw. His head snapped back, tusks flashing as spittle flew. He snarled, stomping down hard enough to crater the earth, then brought his knee up toward my ribs.

I twisted, absorbing the impact along my forearm, and countered with a spinning kick that hammered into his side.

BOOM!
The shockwave rippled outward, toppling nearby warriors who were too close. Even Gorrak’s elites stiffened at the sight, though none dared move.

“This is… madness,” muttered Druvak, the Shield, his eyes narrowing.
Krasha, the Howl, licked her lips, her grin wide. “No. This is glorious.”

The other elites said nothing, but their silence was heavy.

On my side, my companions watched calmly.
“Look at him,” Yoruha said softly, her violet eyes following my every motion. “Every movement—perfect. Every strike—deliberate. This is Tengen-sama’s true art.”

Dravel leaned back on Garfield’s fur, chuckling. “Hah. Told you he’d be fine. Gorrak’s swinging like a drunk giant. Tengen-sama’s cutting him to ribbons with precision alone.”

Shirina’s lips curved in a faint smirk. “Efficiency. No wasted motion. He’ll break Gorrak down piece by piece.”

Zeril only gave a thin smile, his fingers tapping idly on Garfield’s side. “It’s already over. Gorrak just doesn’t realize it yet.”

But the one who struggled most was the Ogre Princess. Her nails dug into her palms as she watched.
“Tengen-sama…” she whispered.

He was a human. Young, unscarred compared to her war-hardened father. By all rights, he should have been broken beneath that first strike. Yet every time Gorrak swung, Tengen-sama met him blow for blow, faster, sharper, heavier than any human had a right to be.
And worse—he was smiling.

Not cruelly, not arrogantly—just calm. As though every strike was inevitable.

Gorrak’s grin, however, had begun to crack.

With each clash, with each collision, his laughter grew more strained. His muscles burned, his fists ached, and yet still I pressed him. My martial arts dismantled his rhythm, redirected his power, punished every opening.

A straight punch to his gut drove the air from his lungs.
A low kick buckled his knee, forcing him to stumble.
An elbow to his ribs made him snarl in pain.

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

His crimson eyes burned brighter, fury rising to drown out doubt.
“You—damn human!” he roared, spittle flying. “You dare make me struggle?! I am Gorrak! Lord of the Ogres! My fists break mountains!”

He swung wildly, faster, harder, throwing caution to the wind. Each blow cratered the earth, each miss sending shards of rock flying. The armies ducked behind shields, covering their faces against the storm of debris.

But reckless power only left more openings.

I slid past his guard, my fist smashing into his face. His head snapped to the side, blood spraying from a split lip. I drove a knee into his stomach, lifting him from the ground before slamming him back down with a crushing kick.

The earth cracked beneath him.
Gasps tore through the battlefield.

The Princess clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. Her father—the warlord she had always thought untouchable—was being beaten back.

Gorrak staggered to his feet, chest heaving, blood dripping from his brow. His grin had returned, but now it was tight, forced.
“You… you’re strong,” he admitted, his voice rumbling low. “Stronger than I thought. But don’t think you’ve won yet. I’ll crush you even if it tears my body apart!”

And with a roar that shook the heavens, he charged once more, fists blazing like falling meteors.

The battlefield remained hushed, the silence so deep it swallowed even the wind. Dust drifted lazily through the air, settling on broken stone and bloodstained earth.

Every ogre eye was fixed on me. Their lord—Gorrak, the indomitable, the mountain-breaker—lay beaten, his body heaving, his fists limp at his sides. The sight struck deeper than any blade could.

The Elites shifted uneasily.
Druvak’s shield sagged, his jaw clenched tight.
Krasha’s lips parted as if to laugh, but no sound came.
Varrg’s flames guttered out, leaving only smoke.
Renak’s spear tapped once against the ground, then stilled.

They had never seen this before. No one had.

Across the field, Garfield rose to his paws, fur bristling, his golden eyes gleaming with pride. Yoruha exhaled softly, her smile serene, as if the outcome had been inevitable. Shirina’s smirk deepened, though her gaze sharpened with respect. Zeril leaned back, arms folded, as calm as ever—yet the faintest glimmer of satisfaction lingered in his eyes.

And Lireath…
The Princess’s shoulders trembled as she fell forward, hands pressed against the earth. Her heart felt like it was being torn in two. The father she had adored was broken before her eyes. And yet, she could not look away from me. From the boy who had stood where no human should, and triumphed where none dared dream.

I turned my gaze toward Gorrak.
The Ogre Lord’s chest still rose and fell, shallow but steady. His crimson eyes, dimmed by exhaustion, still held the fire of defiance, but it was a fire guttering in the wind. He had not yielded—but his body had.

I lowered my fists.
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Then, slowly, I spoke. My voice cut through the stillness, calm and absolute:

“Your reign of strength ends here.”

The words carried across the field, reaching every ear, searing into every heart. Not a shout, not a boast—just truth.

And with that truth, the battlefield shifted. The ogre warriors who had stood proud now stared at the ground, trembling. Some dropped their weapons. Others fell to their knees.

Because in their hearts, they knew.
The mountain had fallen.
The monster had been unmasked.
And a new one stood in his place.

The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of crimson and gold. Shadows stretched long across the ruined field, and in that dying light, one truth burned brighter than all:

The Ogre Lord was broken.
And I, Tengen, had taken his place as the strongest beneath the heavens.

The duel was finished.