Page 53 of The Orc Protector's Secret Baby
She lunges at me once again and I easily dodge her attack. It’s so easy to get her angry and make her lose focus on me.
I kick her in the back of her knees, making her tumble to the ground. She accepts defeat, laying there.
“Checkmate,” I offer my hand to help her up.
Sharog rolls her eyes. “Please. I let you win. Think of that as your wedding gift.”
“Ah, well in that case, thank you so much for your gracious gesture.”
We laugh heartily and share a quick embrace. Finally, life feels back to normal.
Our lighthearted moment is suddenly interrupted by the sound of angry shouting nearby. I turn towards the commotion, instantly on alert.
There, in the training pit, two male orc recruits are facing off, circling each other aggressively. Though they are new recruits who I haven’t become acquainted with yet, the rage burning in their eyes is unmistakable.
They are young and powerfully built, muscles bulging beneath their leather armor. One is broader while the other is a bit taller and slim, but they seem evenly matched in strength and volatility.
The larger orc is barking heated words, jabbing his finger accusingly. The other shoves his hand away with a snarl, yelling something in retort.
Their movements are tense, hands curled into fists at their sides. It seems a physical confrontation could break out at any moment. They are like coiled springs ready to unleash their aggression without warning.
As I quickly size them up, their body language screams hostility and wounded pride. Whatever sparked this rage between them runs deeper than a random dispute.
They continue circling, posture threatening. Their voices are too distant and muffled for me to decipher their words. But the tone carries clearly on the air—these are not idle threats being exchanged.
Something dangerous brews here beneath the surface. The two recruits are moments from losing control, like wild beasts ready to tear each other apart.
I can't make out everything over the din, but manage to pick up heated phrases between curses:
“I saw you! Don't try to deny it!” the larger recruit shouts, jabbing his finger into the other's chest.
“I did no such thing,” the other yells back, swatting his hand away.
More shoving follows as their voices rise.
“You spoke with her, I know you did!”
“Lies! I never went near her!”
“Ha! So you admit you know exactly who I'm talking about,” the larger recruit crows triumphantly.
“I admit nothing,” comes the furious reply. “You know not what you speak of!”
Another exchange of violent shoves nearly knocks them off balance.
“Enough with your deceit,” the larger growls. “I know what I witnessed!”
“You witnessed nothing but your own delusions!” His retort cuts like a knife.
The incoherent yelling resumes as they circle each other. The confrontation seems mere moments from turning into an all-out brawl. Fists are clenched, muscles tense—violence brews beneath the surface, ready to explode at the slightest spark.
Their anger is palpable as curses fly faster. The shouting fades to background noise as I focus on keeping them apart. But I've heard enough to know this dispute is far from over.
I ask Sharog, “Any idea what this is about?”
She sighs. “Some dispute over a new arrival. That's all I know.”
The shouting rises as tensions boil over. One recruit throws a punch and the fight turns physical.