"Every human secret hoarded while orcs develop superior techniques becomes a disadvantage we can never overcome."
"Superior techniques." Heldrik's laugh carries bitter amusement. "What can orcs teach humans about warfare that we haven't known for centuries?"
"Mountain combat. Desert survival. Siege engineering. Metalworking. Beast handling. Scouting. Logistics. Should I continue?"
"Primitive methods suited to primitive minds."
"Methods that work. Results that save lives. Techniques that win battles."
He's losing ground.I can see it in his posture, hear it in his voice. The absolute moral certainty that drove him to draw steel is cracking under the practical considerations. Military commanders live and die by results, and the results don't support his ideology.
But cornered animals are the most dangerous.
"Even if temporary cooperation provides tactical benefits," he says slowly, "it cannot justify betraying fundamental principles. Human loyalty belongs to humanity. Human strength serves human interests. Human honor demands human victory."
"Human honor." Ressa's voice drops to deadly quiet. "What honor is there in butchering civilians? What loyalty exists in abandoning allies? What strength comes from refusing to learn?"
"The strength that comes from maintaining clear lines. From knowing who we are and what we stand for. From refusing to compromise our nature for momentary advantage."
"Our nature." She shakes her head slowly. "You think hatred and fear represent human nature?"
"I think survival and dominance represent natural law. The strong rule the weak. The clever exploit the foolish. The ruthless eliminate the merciful."
"And love?" The question emerges quietly, but it fills the tent like thunder. "What place does love have in your natural law?"
Love.The word is impossible to ignore or dismiss. Everything that's developed between Ressa and me—trust, loyalty, affection, desire—reduces to that single syllable.
Heldrik's expression hardens into absolute disgust. "Love is weakness. Love is compromise. Love is the luxury of those who can afford sentiment over survival."
"Love is strength," Ressa says firmly. "Love is choosing someone's welfare over your own comfort. Love is fighting for something beyond immediate self-interest."
"Love is delusion. Romantic fantasy disguised as philosophy."
"Then I choose delusion over your version of reality."
Ressa steps forward, moving closer to me and further from her uncle, making her choice visible to everyone in the tent.
"I choose cooperation over conquest. I choose growth over stagnation. I choose hope over hatred." Her voice grows stronger with each word. "I choose Kaelgor Ironspine over everything House Vaelmark represents."
She chooses me.The words resonate in me like struck metal. Not just tactical alliance or temporary cooperation, but a personal commitment that transcends politics and practicality.
"You choose to betray your bloodline for an animal."
"I choose to honor my principles over my bloodline's prejudices."
Heldrik's face contorts with rage so profound it looks like physical pain. The blade in his hand quivers with barelycontained violence, and I see the moment he stops caring about consequences or witnesses or maintaining any pretense of civilization.
"Then you die a traitor's death."
The sword moves faster than thought, angling toward Ressa's chest with killing intent. She's too close to dodge, too surprised to block, too committed to her declaration to step back.
But I'm already moving.
My blade intercepts his inches from her heart, steel ringing against steel with enough force to send shock waves up both our arms. The impact staggers him backward, but he recovers quickly, following through with a slash aimed at her exposed side.
This time I don't just block—I attack.
My sword sweeps his aside and continues in a rising arc that would split him from hip to shoulder if he didn't throw himself backward. The movement saves his life but costs him his balance, and he stumbles into one of the tent's support poles.
