The sow was dead.
The Goblins had advanced with spears shaking, and the trapped piglets were squealing and thrashing in the vine loops.
The sow, seeing Marcus, broke free from a snare and lunged.
Marcus didn’t dodge like a human duelist.
He stepped to the side, let her tusk graze his leg, and brought his massive choppa down like a guillotine.
*THUNK.*
The head fell.
Blood, hot and stinking, jetted from the neck, spraying Marcus from chest to knees.
The 800-pound body collapsed, legs still kicking.
“Hahaha!
See!
Dat’s strategy!
Ya don’t fight pig head-on!
Ya chop da head off!”
The Goblins stared, then screamed “WAAAGH!” because their boss was covered in blood and looked bigger.
Counting quickly – twelve piglets, all alive, hogtied and furious.
Plus the dead sow.
A bountiful harvest.
> **DING!
QUEST COMPLETE: CATCH DA PIGGIES ALIVE!**
> Caught 12/5!
Overkill!
Good lad!
Boar Boyz are Orcs riding war boars.
Goblins are too weak, boars eat ’em.
Orcs only.
Raise these piglets on fungus beer and Squig meat, keep ’em near da WAAAGH!, in 6 months they be big enough to ride!
> Reward: Boar Boy Training Method Unlocked.
The system was blunt: wild boars can only be ridden by Orcs.
Goblins can’t control them, they’ll be eaten.
Right now, Marcus only had one Orc – himself.
No cavalry yet.
But he would raise them.
When his fungus fields started spitting out real Orc boyz, not just Goblins, he’d have mounts ready.
He had the Goblins butcher the sow on the spot.
No part wasted.
They used sharp stone flakes to open her up, baskets to carry meat.
He even kept the offal – heart, liver, intestines.
Orks eat everything.
He had them use thorn spears as poles to carry the twelve trussed piglets, which took four Goblins each, squealing and biting the whole way back.
The line of green-skins marched back into the valley at sunset, singing a tuneless war chant, blood up to their elbows.
In the tribe’s open area, Marcus pointed to a flat spot near the mushroom fields, but not too close – boars would eat fungus.
“Iron Egg!
Take Gobbos!
Build pen!
Strong pen!
Use thick logs, deep holes!
If piggies escape, I eat YOU!”
He didn’t trust Goblin construction, so he said he’d inspect it himself after.
A Goblin-built fence falls over if you look at it funny.
Next, the feast.
First, hygiene.
Orks stink, but Marcus, with his human soul, couldn’t stand it anymore.
He ordered everyone to the river.
The Goblins refused.
Goblins hate water.
They hissed.
Annoyed, Marcus grabbed two and threw them straight into the river.
*SPLASH.* They screamed like they were being murdered.
Seeing their boss was serious, the rest waded in, shivering, washing mud off themselves and their ragged loincloths and rat-skin cloaks.
The once-clear river turned brown-black in minutes.
Marcus had to go upstream to wash himself and the meat.
Then, bonfires.
Six bonfires in the central pit.
All the tribe came running at the smell of blood.
Even the five Dwarfs from the quarry came down, attracted by the smell of roasting meat – Dwarfs will tolerate a lot for a good roast.
The feast began.
A whole Tusk Boar sow is a lot of meat.
The lean meat and offal were roasted on thorn spits.
The rest was mushrooms – for Snotlings and Goblins, mushrooms are still the staple.
One pig was not enough for 700 greenskins, but everyone got a bite of real meat, which for Goblins is like a holiday.
Marcus, as boss, ate his fill – a whole haunch.
The Dwarfs got a bigger share too, because Marcus needed them happy.
After they ate, it was dark, but work wasn’t done.
Marcus sat by the fire with his best carvers.
He kept the sow’s skin.
Wild boar skin is incredibly thick, almost armor by itself, not good to eat.
Goblins would chew it anyway, but Marcus had a better use.
Tanned properly, it would make tough leather boots.
He’d been going barefoot for two months, feet cracked.
And the fat.
Two full wooden buckets of white fat, four fingers thick on the sow’s back.
The Goblins wanted to eat it raw.
Marcus stopped them.
“Not for eating, ya grots!
Dis is useful!”
Fat is gold for a primitive tribe.
Rendered into lard, it keeps bowstrings from snapping.
Mixed with wood ash lye, it can be made into crude soap – which Dwarfs would appreciate.
It can be made into candles.
It can even waterproof leather.
Not explosives – that’s nonsense – but still incredibly valuable.
A group of Goblins gathered around, rendering fat over a low fire, the smell rich and heavy, and tanning the hide with wood ash and boar brains, the old way.
The ash loosens hair, the brains soften the leather.
By the time the moon was high, they had a bucket of clean white lard and a huge hide spread on a flat rock to dry, staked down with thorns.
Only then did Marcus let them sleep.
Dawn.
Marcus was woken by a *DING* that was louder than usual.
> **SYSTEM ALARM: WAAAGH!
ENERGY LOW!
BUILD DA IDOL!**
> You have quarry, lumber camp, fungus field, but no idol of Gork and Mork!
No WAAAGH!
without Gork and Mork!
Build da statue!
> Reward: System Upgrade!
The idol.
Not a Mao statue – a statue of Gork and Mork, the Twin Gods.
In Warhammer, an Orc settlement without an idol is just a camp.
With an idol, it becomes a place where WAAAGH!
energy gathers, where Boyz get bigger and meaner just by being near it.
Marcus had been avoiding it because it gave no immediate reward like teeth or weapons.
But the system now said it would upgrade the system itself.
“What crap system,” he muttered, rubbing his green face.
“Other novels’ systems give little people and tons of resources.
Mine gives me teeth from my own boyz’ mouths!”
The system replied instantly, in text that looked annoyed.
> Building Idol = More WAAAGH!
= More Spores = Real Orcs, Not Just Gobbos.
More WAAAGH!
= Better Quests.
Complete all construction tasks, system upgrades.
Level too low, that’s why mushroom fields only produce Gobbos.
Marcus jumped up.
Real Orcs!
Not just Goblins!
“Damn!
Why didn’t you say so earlier!
Like I know how to leave the starting village!”
He kicked his door open.
Iron Egg was already waiting outside with mushrooms.
“Gather everyone!
All Gobbos!
All Snotlings!
TODAY WE BUILD FOR GORK AND MORK!”
A short while later, a chaotic mob blocked his doorway.
He raised his hand for silence.
They didn’t understand at first, until he grabbed two unlucky Goblins and beat them with a stick.
Then they understood: hand up = shut up.
He climbed on a rock and roared.
“Gork and Mork above!
My little gitz!
Today is big day for Ironhead tribe!
Why?
Today we build huge stone statue for Gork and Mork!
Da Twin Gods!
Who works hard today gets meat!
MEAT!”
At the word “meat” and “Gork and Mork,” the Goblins cheered wildly, a deafening, screeching WAAAGH!
that made the Dwarfs cover their ears.
He ordered Iron Egg to lead them to the quarry to haul stones.
“What?
No blueprint?
Use your fungal brains!
Gork is brutally cunning, Mork is cunningly brutal!
Make one big and mean, one sneaky and mean!”
All that was left was to wait for the idol to be finished.
Marcus himself grabbed his choppa and went to the open field to train his fifty spear Goblins.
He practiced his only chop – simple, brutal, overhead hack – then led them in laps, then in tight formation charge practice.
The Goblins with bows were still in the forest hunting, he let them work.
Ork bodies are freakish.
Marcus had trained all day, only drinking fungus beer water, eating nothing else, and still felt full of power, his muscles pulsing green.
In the quarry, the sound of stone hitting stone echoed.
The statue of Gork and Mork was rising.