Chapter 6 chapter Five

More than a decade had passed since Lieutenant Blackmoore discovered an orc baby, and at the same time found the answer that might make his dream come true.For Thrall's master, and for people in general, these years have been fruitful and happy.Edras?Blackmoore, a former lieutenant and now a lieutenant general, was laughed at when he initially brought back his "orc pet", especially when it seemed that the unfortunate little thing would never survive.Thank goodness for Mrs. Foxton and her ample tits.Blackmoore couldn't imagine any human female willing to nurse an orc, and while the offer made him look down on his servant and his family even more, it did Blackmoore a great favor.That's why he didn't spare them any possessions, food, or education for their child, even if she was a girl.

It was a sunny day, warm but not hot.Perfect weather for gladiators.The awning reflects Blackmoore red and gold and provides comfortable shade.Colorful banners and slogans danced in the soft breeze, and laughter floated into his ears.The smell of overripe fruit, fresh bread, and roasted game teased his nostrils.Everyone here is in a good mood.After the fight, some people would not be in such a good mood again, but now, all are elated and hopeful. Blackmoore's young ward, Callam?Lord Langdon lay beside him in the carriage.Langton has thick brown hair, dark eyes, a muscular body and a languid smile.He's also fully committed to Blackmoore, and was one of the people to whom Blackmoore once revealed his ultimate plans.Though he's much younger, Langston shares a lot of ideas with Blackmoore and doesn't hold back.They are a good pair.Langdon fell asleep in the warm sunlight, snoring softly.

Blackmoore reached out to pick up the barbecue, took another bite, and then took a sip of the red wine in the glass, sending the meat into his belly. The wine was as red as the blood that was about to spill over the arena. Life is good, and it gets better with every challenge Thrall meets and passes. After each game, Blackmore always left with a full bag.His "orc pet", once the joke of the castle, is now his pride. Of course, most of Thrall's opponents are nothing more than humans.Some are the meanest, strongest, cunning human beings, but still nothing more than human beings.The other gladiators are brutal, cold-blooded felons hoping to win their bettors money to escape prison.Some did and won their freedom.The vast majority found that they were just in another prison, a place with embroidered walls and women in beds, but it was a prison.Not many punters want to see their cash cow go free.

But some of Thrall's enemies aren't human, which makes things exciting. Blackmoore's ambitions were not thwarted, even though all the orcs were now a beaten and trampled rabble, not the fearsome and feared army they had been.The war has long passed, and mankind has won a decisive victory.Now the enemies were taken into special detention camps, as simple as herding animals into pens after a day of grazing.Those camps, Blackmoore smiled smugly, were completely in his hands. At first, his plan was to raise the orc into a well-educated, loyal slave and fearless warrior.He'd let Thrall beat his own people, if "people" applied to these brainless green thugs, and once they were defeated, use that broken clan for Blackmoore's own ends.

But before Thrall had even tasted combat, the Horde had been defeated by the Alliance.At first, Blackmore's heart was sour.But he had another idea, about how to use his pet orc.That requires patience, some Blackmoore only needs to spend very little, but the return is far beyond what he can imagine.Behind-the-scenes feuds have spread across the league.Elves laugh at humans, humans look down on dwarves, and dwarves don't believe in elves.A stubborn and skeptical triangular struggle. He stood up from his stool and watched as Thrall defeated one of the tallest, most fearsome-looking humans Blackmoore had ever seen.But this human warrior is no match for the unstoppable green beast.There were thunderous cheers, and Blackmoore smiled.He waved his hand, let Tamis?Foxton came, and the servant hurriedly obeyed.

"My master?" "What number is that today?" Blackmoore knew his voice was muffled, but he didn't care.Tamis had seen him more drunk.Tammis had served him to sleep, so drunk. Tamis' neat, tense face looked more concerned than ever. "What number, my lord?" He glanced at the bottle, then back at Blackmoore. Suddenly, anger welled up in Blackmoore's heart.He grabbed Tamis by the front collar and yanked him inches from his own face. "Count the bottles, you pathetic failed man".He hissed and continued to lower his voice.Many of his threats to Tammis are embarrassing in public, and even if Blackmoore is drunk, he doesn't want to go too far.But he does so often, as now.In his blurred vision, he vaguely saw Tamis pale.

"You rent out your own wife to feed that monster, do you still dare to secretly think that I have many weaknesses?" Blackmoore felt a wave of disgust at the man's pale face before him, and he pushed Tamis away. "I wonder how many games Thrall has won." "Oh, yes, sir, of course. Six games, in a row." Tamis paused, looking terribly distressed. "That last guy, out of all considerations, is putting him through the roof. Are you sure you want him to play three more games?" idiot.Blackmoore is surrounded by idiots.When the sergeant looked at the order of battle this morning, he did the same, objecting to Blackmoore, saying that the orc needed at least a few minutes' rest, and could they change the battle list so the poor, pampered creature could rest.

"Oh no. Thrall's chances of winning increase with the number of fights he takes part in. He'll never lose, not even once. Of course, I'd like to stop and give all the well-wishers their money back. ’ He shooed Tamis away in disgust.Thrall is impossible to defeat.Why not strike while the iron is hot? (Original text: drying grass while the sun is drying.) Thrall won the next fight, but even Blackmoore could tell that the creature was struggling.He moved the stool to get a better view.Langton followed suit.The next match, the eighth of nine for the Orcs, saw something happen that Blackmoore and those present had never seen before.

The mighty orc was worn out.The opponents now are a pair of mountain lions, caught two weeks ago, imprisoned, tortured, and barely fed until now.No sooner had the doors to the arena opened than they charged at the orcs like fired cannonballs.Their creamy brown fur blurred in quick uniform movement, and the lynx pounced on Thrall, pinning him under the fangs. There was a horrified cry from the audience.Blackmoore jumped up, and had to hold on to the chair so he wouldn't fall.all the money... Then Thrall rose to his feet, snarling angrily, throwing the huge beasts away from him as if they were little squirrels, and swung the two swords allotted him for the fight with speed and skill.Thrall was agile, the blade gleaming in the sun as it spun and slashed.A large cat was dying, its long, lithe body nearly split in two by a single powerful blow.The remaining one, stimulated by the death of its companion, became more and more furious, and attacked even more violently.Thrall didn't give it a chance this time.Thrall was ready when the mountain lion leaped, roaring and clawing.His sword cut left, right, then left again.When the mountain lion fell, it was four bloody pieces.

"Did you see that?" Langston said cheerfully. The crowd shouted in admiration.Thrall, who normally greeted the cheers with his fists raised high and his feet stomping as if the ground was shaking, just stood there with his upper body bent.He was breathing heavily, and Blackmoore saw that the two mountain lions had left their marks, several deep, bleeding scratches and bites.As he stared at his victorious slave, Thrall slowly turned his ugly face and looked straight at Blackmoore.Their eyes met, and in the depths of those eyes Blackmoore saw pain and exhaustion... and an unspeakable pleading.

Then Thrall, the mighty warrior, fell to his knees.The crowd rang again.Blackmoore even seemed to hear sympathy in the voice.Langston said nothing, but his blue eyes were on Blackmoore. Damn Thrall!He is an orc who has been fighting since he was six years old.The vast majority of matches today are played against humans, powerful fighters no doubt, but nothing compares to the strength of the sarnafi.It was just the condiment before the final round, which Thrall knew would be the toughest.Selfish, stupid slave.Want to go back to his cozy cell, read, eat, don't you?Well, Blackmoore has two lessons for him. At this time, the sergeant ran into the factory. "Lord Blackmoore!" he cried, trumpeting his bearded mouth with his hands. "Are you giving up this last game?" Blood welled up in Blackmoore's face.How dare a sergeant do this, in front of everyone.Blackmoore, still standing staggeringly, had a firm grip on the back of the chair with his left hand.Langdon wisely came to see if he needed help.Blackmoore extended his right hand straight forward, then placed it on his right shoulder. No. The sergeant stared at him for a moment, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.Then, he nodded, indicating that the final contest was about to begin. Thrall struggled to his feet, looking as if he had a ton of stone on his back.Several people ran into the arena, removing dead mountain lions and discarded weapons.They gave Thrall the weapon of the game: a bola, a spiked metal ball chained to a thick wooden club.Thrall took up his weapon, trying to put himself on the alert.Even at this distance Blackmoore could see him trembling.Typically, Thrall stomps his feet before every game.That unwavering cadence both excites people and prepares Thrall for a fight.Today, however, he just seemed to be struggling to find his footing. Fight again.This guy can handle it. The door opened, but after a while, nothing burst out of the darkness. Then it came, the thing's two heads babbling incoherently, its pale body towering over Thrall as Thrall towered over a human.It had only one weapon, like Thrall's, but for this fight it had the advantage - a long, deadly looking spear.With the length of the arm and the length of the spear, the ogre can strike Thrall from a great distance.Thrall has to get close enough to attack, that's the only way to win. It's not fair! "Who gave that spear to the ogre?" Blackmoore growled at Langston. "At least it should be the same as Thrall's!" Blackmoore apparently forgot that Thrall has always used a broadsword or a spear, while his human opponent can only deal with him with a short sword and an axe. The ogre walked into the amphitheater like a war machine rather than a living, breathing being.It thrusts forward with its spear, one end toward the audience, the other toward Thrall. Thrall had never seen the creature before, and for a moment just stood and stared at it.Then he regained his strength, stood up straight, and began to swing the meteor hammer.He threw his head back, his long, tangled black hair brushing his back, and answered the ogre's growl with a howl. The ogre charged forward with its spear raised.It moves without any finesse, only brutal force.Thrall easily dodged the clumsy dash.Thrall dodged past the ogre's defenses from below, swinging the bolas hard.The ogre let out a cry, slowed down, and the spiked iron ball hit it firmly in the upper abdomen.After one blow, Thrall spun to attack again. Thrall hit the ogre in the back before it could turn.The ogre knelt down, dropped the spear and reached for his back. Blackmoore laughed.There was no doubt that the blow had broken the unlucky man's spine.These fighters don't need to kill their opponents—in fact, killing opponents is frowned upon because it reduces the number of good fighters—but everyone knows that near-death situations are very likely in the ring.Neither the healers nor their ointments helped.Besides, Blackmoore had no sympathy for that ogre at all. But his joy did not last long.Just as Thrall began to spin the bolas again, gathering strength, the ogre suddenly grabbed the fallen spear and staggered to its feet.Thrall swung the bolas at the guy's head.To everyone's surprise, and beyond Thrall's expectations, the ogre easily stretched out a big hand, knocked down the iron ball, and pushed the spear forward at the same time. The meteor hammer flew out of Thrall's hand, and he lost his balance due to the impact, unable to stand firm in time.As he writhed desperately to get to his feet, the spear struck him squarely in the chest, a few feet from his left shoulder, and he screamed in pain.The ogre continued to push the spear forward, and it now penetrated Thrall's body completely.He fell backwards, pinned to the ground.At this time, the ogre was on top of him, beating the poor orc crazily, making terrible grunts and roars. Blackmoore watched in horror.The orc was being beaten up like a helpless child in the face of bullies.The Gladiator Ring, an exhibition hall where the mightiest fighters in the country compete for strength, skill, and wit, is now literally a place where a weak monster is being beaten to a pulp by a bigger monster. How could Thrall let this happen? People rushed to the arena.They poked at the ogre with sharp clubs, trying to drive it away from its victim.The beast left Thrall, covered in blood, to run after the crowd.The other three threw out an enchanted net, which immediately shrank, engulfing the enraged ogre, forcing its arms to stay by its sides.It was being dragged away like a fish out of water, and people, without a doubt, dragged the guy onto a cart and out of the ring. Thrall was also carried out, but much more gently. Blackmoore's ward vowed, but Blackmore realized that because of this battle, he had lost all the money that had been bet on Thrall today.So did many of his companions, and he could feel their angry, searing gazes as they pulled out their pockets to pay. Sal.Sal.sal... Thrall lay panting on the straw that would be his bed.He had never been in such pain, never been so exhausted.He wished he could lose consciousness, it would be so much better. Still, he doesn't let the wonderful darkness overwhelm him.Healers were coming soon; Blackmoore always sent them after Thrall was wounded in battle.Blackmoore always came to visit, too, and Thrall eagerly awaited words of comfort from his master.True, he lost the fight, the first time, but Blackmore should be commended for how valiantly he fought nine rounds in a row.It was unheard of, Thrall knew.Thrall also knew that if he encountered this ogre in the first game, or the third game, or even the sixth game, he could defeat it.But no one wants him to win after a record-breaking eight fights.He closed his eyes, the pain had almost dried him out.The heat burning in his chest was unbearable.Where are the doctors?They should have come by now.Thrall knew he was hurt badly this time.He reckoned he had broken ribs, a leg, several sword wounds, and of course the fatal hole in the shoulder where the spear had penetrated.They must come quickly.If Thrall still plays tomorrow. Thrall heard the lock unlocked, but couldn't lift his head to see who had entered his cell. "The doctor will come," came Blackmoore's voice.Sal tensed up.There was contempt and neglect in the voice.His heartbeat started to speed up.Please, not at this time...not now... "But they won't be here anytime soon. I want to see you tortured, you plague-ridden bitch." Thrall gasped in agony as Blackmoore's boot kicked him in the stomach.The pain was unimaginable, but nothing compared to the burning shock of betrayal that shuddered through the body.Why was Blackmoore hitting him when he was so badly injured?Didn't he see how heroically Thrall fought? Thrall raised his head, looking at Blackmoore through blurred vision, though the pain was forcing him to gradually lose consciousness.The man's face was contorted with rage, and as Thrall looked him in the eye, Blackmoore slammed Thrall across the face with his chain-gloved fist.The whole world went dark immediately, and after a while Thrall heard that Blackmoore was still scolding. "Losing by thousands, did you hear, thousands! What's wrong with you? It's just a trivial game!" His fists were still raining down on Thrall, but Thrall was dying.He felt like his body didn't belong to him anymore, and every kick Blackmoore gave sounded more and more like a funeral horn.He felt blood sticking to his face. Blackmoore saw it, he knew how tired Thrall was, watched him gather strength again and again for eight out of nine wins.No one could have expected him to win that fight.Thrall fought as hard as he could, then failed fairly and honorably.But that wasn't good enough for Blackmoore. Finally, the beating stopped.He heard Blackmoore's footsteps leaving, and another sentence: "It's the turn of the others." The door was not closed.Thrall heard more footsteps.He couldn't lift his head again, even if he tried.Several pairs of black military boots appeared in front of him.Thrall now understood what Blackmoore had just ordered.A boot was thrown back slowly, then forward, kicking Thrall in the face. His world turned white, then black; then nothing. Thrall woke up with a burst of warmth, the pain that seemed to be his companion forever stopped.Three healers were healing him, applying their ointments to his wounds.Breathing much easier, he thought his ribs had healed.They were rubbing the honey-like, sweet-smelling stuff on his shoulder; apparently that was the worst wound to heal. Despite the lightness of their movements and the effectiveness of their ointments, no real sympathy could be felt in these men.They treated him because Blackmoore paid them to do it, not out of a real desire to save lives.Once, he was very naive and sincerely thanked them for their help.One of them looked up, shocked by the words. A sneer appeared on his lips. "Don't be so self-righteous, monster. Once the money bag is gone, and these ointments are gone, it's best not to lose." He used to be upset by the mean words, but they wouldn't bother Thrall now.Sal understood.He understood many things.As if his vision was once clouded, the thick fog suddenly dissipated.He lay peacefully until they finished, got up, and left. Thrall sat up, surprised to see the sergeant standing there, his hairy arms folded across his broad chest.Thrall didn't speak, wondering if a new round of torture was coming. "I drag them away from you," the sergeant said quietly. "But not before they do. Blackmoore has...something...he gotta talk to me. I'm so sad about it, man. You shocked me in the ring today. Blackmoore should be proud of you, should You are welcome. Not…" His hoarse voice trailed off. "Well, I want you to know that you don't deserve what he did to you. You did a great job, man. Really good. Better go to sleep." He seemed to want to say something more, then nodded and left.Thrall lay back, absent-mindedly noticing that they had changed the straw.Fresh and clean, no longer clotted with his blood. He thanked the sergeant for what he had done, and believed in the man.But that was too trivial, too late. He wouldn't let himself be driven like that again.Once, he flattered and vowed to do better, to do something to earn the love and respect he so desperately craved.Now, he knew he would never be found here, and as long as Blackmoore had him, he wouldn't be able to have him. He won't sleep.He will use this time to plan.Sal finds the clipboard and pen in the package and writes to the only person he trusts: Teri. On the night of the next dark moon, I am ready to escape.