The trek up the mountain wasn’t too long, but Horn still arrived winded. As he approached the fortification, he saw their imperfections. The wall wasn’t complete leaving several feet of passage, there were no firing slits nor any cover from the top, and he was sure that under a barrage of any siege machinery, it’d fall apart. Goran was up there, commanding a score of warriors, mostly lightly armored, only a few of the heavy variant.

Goran himself was wearing a full plate armor save the helmet that dangled at his belt. In his hands, he held a massive two-handed warhammer. As he noticed them approaching, he frowned, then his eyes widened. He dismissed the dwarf he was talking to and quickly walked their way.

“Chieftain? What’re you doing in my dream?” The captain asked,

“Not a dream. That’s part of the final challenge. I already lived through Ingrid’s last day. Now it seems it’s your turn.” Horn replied,

“A challenge?! Is this failure a challenge? The gods mock me even now!”

Horn was surprised. He opened and closed his mouth a few times. Goran didn’t seem to notice, his face red with anger, spittle flying as he cursed at Gods, Soul wells, and all that holy. Finally, they were interrupted by a shout from the wall. A wounded dwarf with an arrowhead still in the wound came through, speeding toward Goran. This seemed to wake him from the outrage. He asked, “Balin, what’s the news?”

“Captain, an orcish clan found the passage. Their scouts engaged us, and I saw thousands climbing the trail. They’ll be upon us in half an hour top.”

Goran nodded as he expected this news. This wasn’t the first time. He barked a few commands, and the idling warriors took their places. A dozen formed at the gap in the wall, with a few more climbing on top of walls with crossbows. Horn took this time to heal the wounded dwarf. As the preparation finished, he caught Goran, “I know that’s unfair. You’ve suffered through this once. You’ve helped your people. Now you have a new clan, help them. Let’s win this. This is the past. We need to secure the future!”

The older dwarf just sighed. He nodded and turned, slowly walking away. However, Horn heard him whispering something that made him wonder about his companion, “… to many deaths, every night this shame follows me…”, “…why was I elevated?”

The sound of drums from the other side of the wall broke him out of stupor. The battle would begin soon. He saw a ladder leading up the wall and wanted to see the enemy with his own eyes. A few moments later, he stood on top. The view was beautiful yet terrifying - A large vista of a steep hill, beyond it a green plains, with rivers and farmlands mixed into them. However, he didn’t sightsee. Instead, he focused on a sea of orcs and goblins climbing the hill. The pathway was narrow and spiraling towards their position, but there were thousands of them.

Horn hopped down and found Goran again. The dwarf was talking with their only other healer. Horn stood by until they finished, then asked, “How did it go last time?”

“Not good,” Goran replied, turning towards the upcoming horde, “They just kept coming, hundred after hundred. They were tired after the hike, but they seemed endless. We fought and fought, hour after hour, until no one could raise their arm anymore. Orc after orc died, but it was all in vain. In the end, they just wore us out. My soldiers, my friends kept dying one by one, and I couldn’t do a thing about that. The King entrusted me this command, he counted on me, and I’ve lost. The orcs flooded the valley, cut down hundreds of thousands, and attacked King’s troop from behind and I –“He paused for a moment, “And I saw it all. The orcs didn’t notice I was still alive, my throat was cut, but I didn’t bleed out. I just laid there under corpses, unable to move, unable to speak, but seeing it all.”

The old veteran had tears in his eyes. The burden of this lost battle, no matter how impossible, was just too much for him. Horn just said, “We won’t let it happen again. We’ll find a way. Not all is lost.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Goran answered, then wiped the tears. He added, “Chieftain, no matter what we do today, it already happened, and nothing can change that. I’m old and tired, and I just want it all to finish, one way or another.”

“Goran, I cannot fathom what you lived through, but there are always things worth living for. Don’t give up. Let’s show these greenskins that they cannot do that again. We’ll find a way.”

“Whatever you say,” Goran dismissed him.

Horn was angry, not at his champion. He was mad at the game. Even if Goran wasn’t real, there was no justification to treat him like that. The pain in his voice felt real, so were the tears. The mighty dwarf, proven already so many times in combat and advice, was reduced to this pitiful state, and for what? A stupid quest?

Furious, he got back to the top of the wall. The horde kept advancing, closer and closer. Horn went through any strategies coming to his mind, but none seemed to have even the slimmest chance to succeed. They had too few men; greenskins were too numerous. Despite suitable terrain, there was just no chance to win. He turned back, watching the main battle in the distance.

It seemed to be locked in a stalemate. Dwarfs were fighting from a good position, with massive fortifications spread through the whole pass. They defended their ground while an endless horde threw themselves at them. Artillery pieces kept firing; rocks, arrows, and barrels of some kind of explosives were flung through the battlefield: each hit and spread death and destruction. Rows of crossbowmen just mowed the enemy ranks. Hundreds of riders charged and turned back after a brief skirmish. Here and there, magic flared, mighty fireballs exploded, or rocks detached from mountain peaks raining down on orcs.

The greenskins weren’t passive either. They released massive beasts on the dwarfs. Shot thousands of arrows in the air, and their shamans or mages threw astonishing amounts of mana into the air. Ice blizzards formed over dwarven lines, lightning struck from the skies, and swats of dwarves were hit with tendrils of black goo, rotting their bodies where they touched.

However, nothing seemed to change out there. For every fallen goblin or orc, another one took place. Similarly, for every dwarf, another one ran out of the tunnel, heading to join the main army. If Goran’s story was true, the battle would continue for another day or so. The scale of this was astonishing, tens of thousands of warriors on both sides, the action taking days to resolve. It was both scary and inspiring. Horn, for a heartbeat, allowed himself to dream about leading such an army. If this was within game scope, he’d do it one day.

Turning back to the incoming horde, he tried again to think of something. Yet again, he came out empty. The distant orcs become much closer. He finally got a good look at one. They weren’t exactly green, more like grayish with a hint of green hue. At eight feet tall, muscular, and with a lot of body paint, they looked fierce. They were bald, even without eyebrows or any other facial hair. Their eyes and noses were almost humanlike, lips with two fangs sticking out and pointy eight-inch ears filled the picture. But mostly, what convinced him they were the clear-cut fantasy orcs was the look of hatred and violence painted on their faces.

But nothing helped him. Horn still had no idea how to win this. It was just like Kobayashi Maru in Star Trek, wholly stacked against you. He knew, just like Kirk, that he had to cheat but had no idea how to do this. His abilities would undoubtedly help in combat, especially the new buffs, but that didn’t change the math. He looked again at the hill. If he had some flammables, he could slow them down in the tight pathway or explosives to blow part of the mountain off, but there wasn’t anything like that, and surely the King’s army wouldn’t be thrilled to part with their supplies or mages. If they could, there would be a much stronger garrison out here.

As the crossbowman started shooting at approaching Orcs, he knew it was time to join the main group. He started towards the ladder when he realized. Why the rush? The battle would take hours, and it was a fantastic opportunity to grind some spells. His mana sitting comfortably at hundred and four was finally somewhat suitable for a prolonged engagement. On top of that, his Fire strike cost fifteen after his Battle caster bonus.

A column of fire erupted in the front lines of greenskins, burning and raising yells of anguish. Then, the frontline of dwarves exploded in golden light as Inner fire engulfed them. Then another three fire blasts scarred even more enemies. Horn kept shooting until he ran out of juice. He saw a notification waiting for him already and wanted more. His regen was at thirty-four per hour, so it’d take a while to launch another salvo, but at least he released some frustration. If he didn’t count the endless horde incoming, he reached the ladder in a better mood.

He was about to step on it when an arrow from the crowd below rose and struck him dead center in the chest. The impact threw him off a ten-foot wall. He landed on his back, air rushing out of his lungs. His back hurt, but even more, the surprise got him. He laid there for a moment, trying to gather his senses. A week ago, a fall from ten feet, maybe not life-threatening, would probably end with him being rushed to ER. Now, he just lost breath. It amazed him. But then, he noticed something. As he lay on the ground, he saw something up the hill. He swiped his sight to another place, not to scare the fleeing thought as the beginnings of the plan hatched up.

“Fucking ideas, fucking mountains, and fucking weather!” Horn shouted as he grabbed another piece of rock while climbing. He was already around a hundred feet over the battlefield, but he had at least another two hundred left. The weather turned ugly, with dark clouds covering the sky. The first drops of rain began a few minutes earlier, and now it was just a downpour. The already challenging climb turned almost impossible.

His idea was a simple one. He couldn’t win by fighting, so he had to win by denying the battle altogether. After laying on his back, he noticed that the peaks seemed scarred, like something exploded there long ago. The boulders seemed barely holding together, with a lot of smaller lose ones scattered around. So he decided to make a little landslide. The steep slope should create quite an event if he could just start it, but he had to climb and climb high to do so.

He hefted himself another foot, thinking, “Only a hundred eighty remains.” The idea seemed crazy now, it seemed almost impossible from the beginning, and now it was just suicidal with the downpour. But – he couldn’t stop. Every time doubt crept into his mind; Horn remembered the pained look on Goran’s face. If he dies, so what? He’d just respawn. Clenching his teeth, he pushed onwards.

Step by step, one outcropping after another. Horn pushed. He lost the passage of time in his climb. The only things he knew were the damn raindrops and the loose rocks coming off time after time. There were so many close calls, dropping down a few feet as he slipped. A stone came off as he put his weight on it, leaving him dangling in the air. On top of that, his stamina was quickly draining. It turned out that climbing on slippery rocks was quite tiring. Only thanks to his new strength and endurance was he making progress.

He wasn’t sure how or when, but then he reached the top. The peak looked even more devastated from up close. It couldn’t be a natural thing. The rock was blackened despite the even had to happen years ago. It looked like someone blew a truck of C4 up here. He took a moment to look around. The explosion started in the middle. The closer he went, the stranger the effect was. Parts of the rock were turned into glass. From others, crystal sprouted. The coloring changed from black into deep violet.

In the middle, he found something entirely out of place. An altar made out of black obsidian stood there as nothing had happened. It was spotless, shining like a mirror. On top of it was a shattered staff, made out of the same obsidian, broken in half with a hole where once a crystal or a gem had to be. He slowly approached it, focusing on Lore, but got only strange feedback from it,

Broken staff – unknown.

The altar itself didn’t give out anything. Horn crept closer, looking around watching for any signs of danger, but nothing happened. He slowly touched the staff, but again nothing happened. Shrugging he gathered all the pieces and strapped them to his back, with smaller pieces going into his pouch. He took a look at the crystals around the site, and they gave up a prompt.

Arcane crystal – Rare – Superb – A mature crystal that absorbed enormous quantities of mana. Crafting component.

All around him, he saw them growing. Greed flashed in his eyes. He hefted his axe and began chopping them off. A few minutes later, he gathered as much as he could hold, even throwing out food rations and other unimportant bits and pieces.

Done with looting, he looked around but didn’t find anything else interesting. He remembered the plan and went looking for a good-sized boulder. It took a while, but he finally got one. The thing was a bit bigger than he planned for, but beggars can’t be choosers. It was located in the ideal place, near the ledge, just over the advancing horde.

Horn hoped that pushing that one would start a chain reaction, sending a landslide that’ll clear the passageway and hopefully bury it under tons of rocks, closing off the valley at least temporarily. Even the weather seemed to work in his favor finally. The heavy downpour made the small gravel and dirt looser. He paced his back against the boulder and pushed, and pushed, and pushed - Nothing happened. The rock didn’t move an inch.

Then he tried creating a lever with his axe, but it was much too short. Then he took out the staff he just picked up, it worked a bit better, but the rock barely moved. He just wasn’t strong enough. Going through his abilities, he smiled. He didn’t have time to use the last one he got, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. He launched into the cast, mystical words coming out, despite never learning them. He felt energy building up, second passed, and finally, with the last words “Blessing of might!” it erupted in him.

He felt his body shrink and then flex with a newfound strength. He felt like moving mountains! A chuckle escaped his lips as he realized what had just gone through his mind. A quick look at his stat sheet told him his Might just increased by five points, almost a quarter increase. His mind started already planning a thousand utilities for this power. Yet, he realized there was still work to be done. He grabbed the staff and pushed the end below the boulder. Then mobilizing his strength, he pushed.

Not believing his eyes, he watched as the rock slowly started moving. Inch by inch, it edged closer to the ledge, then just like in a movie, it stopped, balancing over the chasm. After a heartbeat that seemed to take an hour, it finally fell. Horn scrambled to the ledge, looking down. He saw the boulder hitting another one below, and both started rolling, then two more and another one. Not even fifty feet later, half of the mountain seemed to let loose. The avalanche began.

It hit greenskins without any warning. The thunders of the storm above, the roars of orcs, and the sounds of combat covered the thundering rocks. A cloud of dust, blood, and dirt shot into the air. A few minutes later, it began clearing. Not a single enemy remained on the pathway. The road itself was nowhere to be seen, and it was covered in boulders and gravel. The avalanche continued downwards, slicing the twisted path several times more. Finally, it stopped somewhere at the beginning of the plains. Horn watched with astonishment the power of nature at work. There were only a few orcs still at the pass itself. Other than them, there was no sign of the massive horde that had assaulted a mere moments before.

“We’ve done it,” Horn said to himself, thinking about Goran. The old dwarf finally got his win, and hopefully, that’ll cheer him up. The battle was finished, and just as he felt that a bright light erupted in front of him.

He blinked several times, trying to get rid of the afterimage, and almost dropped dead from a shock. He was standing in an open walk-in closet. The room in front of him was shocking. A massive wooden bed with bedposts carved into dragon figures, a thick red carpet, nightstands out of marble, and an enormous chandelier hanging from the ceiling. However, what shocked him, was a familiar figure leaning over a dead dwarf lying in bed. She was clad in dark leathers, with a hood currently off and a bandana on her face. A bloodied dagger in her hand left him no illusion of what just transpired there.

She spotted him the second he moved an inch, and with panic in her eyes, asked, “Chieftain, what you’re doing in here?”

He just stared back at her, “Sigrid, what the hell?”