"Uncivilized orcs are shitting everywhere. In the tribe, the smell of shit is not breathed. If you solve this trouble, I'll give you the guide that teaches you how to move fast."

The Bookworm, who was waiting for a task from his master to prove his courage and bravery, did not know whether to be happy or sad.

He immediately ran to the chief's tent, picked up the books on the floor, and looked for a place where he could think calmly.

"Nafız, what is the reason for the treatment you have done to my daughter among the orcs?"

Seeing that her daughter was not in a life-threatening condition, Alyon yelled at Nafız; as if by foaming at her mouth.

"If you're looking for an answer, you can think of it as repayment for what you did to my slave!"

Although Miloş was tasked with training the tribe's warriors, he was a slave to Nafız. The incident attacked his authority since the chief appointed him to replace Miloş Nafız, whom he tried to kill without question.

He had emerged from the position from which he had been demoted in front of all the warriors, even if it was the chief who did it, leaving his daughter to death.

This incident was a powerful message to the tribe; it meant that anyone who wronged me would be punished.

Alyon thought for a while and understood very clearly what was meant in the short sentence he heard. "I think you're satisfied; please stop messing with my daughter," he said as he retreated to his tent, calmed down.

"It's not just humans that turn big men into monkeys when they have daughters. Look at the bear-like guy, how he has softened."

Nafız, who took a rest while muttering to herself, was longing for a few quiet days.

Life went on silently for the ten solstices, as it was in her heart. Meanwhile, Bookworm was doing various experiments, trying to solve the problem given to him.

Even though the tribal people disliked their practices, a scene came to mind when they would protest. The ferocious female orc was looking at themselves with piercing eyes as she said to the Bookworm she held, "His words will be like my words."

"Master, I have completed my mission. Please come check it out!"

The Bookworm, who came running to Nafız with his clothes dirty, was about to mouth touch his ears.

"I didn't expect him to be back so soon. I hope you didn't come near me with something ridiculous. "

"Not; I've been thinking about this day and night!"

Bookworm's confident speech made Nafız wonder. Quickly exiting her tent, she found a group of orcs squirming and waiting.

Who are they? Why do they look so weird?

He was also answering the question asked while guiding the skinny orc master with his hand.

"Sir, I'm keeping my friends waiting in this situation to show the system I made in practice. When you're ready, they'll start shitting at your command."

Not knowing what to say, Nafız started walking quickly.

"Come on, show me what you have to show. Look at these; if they burst, we'll be smelling shit for six months."

As the group climbed five hundred paces from the tribe and came to the river's edge, dozens of wooden huts above the running water caught their eye. As they approached these structures, the Bookworm jumped forward excitedly.

"Master, in the cabins you have seen, the orcs will take care of their needs. Thanks to these structures, which have a large hole in the bottom, the excrement will mix with the river water and away from the tribe."

When Nafız looked at the work done, the solution seemed quite logical to her. Since modern sewers could not be installed in an orc tribe, it was wise to use the stream for this purpose.

Considering that there were scumbags pouring sewage into the inland sea even in the twentieth century, this solution could be an excellent invention for orcs.

"How are you going to prevent the mixing of clean drinking water and dirty water? What if someone gets lazy and tries to do this job in the upper part of the river?"

Nafız, who soon had an idea of the nature of the Orcs, wondered how to force the barbarian creatures into order.

"Sir, if you approve, I will build hundreds of cabins. Despite this, if anyone still wants to see their needs elsewhere in this area, I'm thinking of skinning them alive."

The Bookworm, who offered a precise and violent solution as if he had read Mora's books and the notes he took, would get full marks from his master.

"Good idea, speed up construction and inform the orcs in the tribe. It's not open to abuse; make sure everyone understands it thoroughly."

Concluding her words, Nafız saw a mechanical carrier pigeon flying towards the tribe as she lifted her head and stretched to inhale the fresh air. She was about to take her whip from her wrist and catch the pigeon when a whistling arrow pierced her head and knocked the flying instrument down.

He smashed brand new mechanical equipment. What am I going to do with this Sangre?

In the evening, the council met in the chief's tent. The tension between Miloş and Sangre did not go unnoticed at the meeting, which was also attended by the department heads. As Alyon reads the parchment in his hand, his face takes on different shapes; he is suddenly inconsiderate, suddenly happy.

"Chief, what does the message say? Any good news?"

When Pigtail couldn't stand it and asked the chief about the message, Alyon happily replied.

"The expected news has arrived. Prepare for war; we will take over a territory of the Orc Steppes. "

It was none other than the Gulag who sent the message. The City Lord under his control had descended upon the orcs like a nightmare, leaving no room for compromise. With the help of the tribe's response, the fighting escalated, and finally, the forces of the city of Nikonya began to advance with an army to the orcs' location.

"Pigtail, what is the current status of the jobs I gave you? I hope there was no glitch?"

"Sir, the equipment you want to be manufactured from the materials you have given has been obtained as a result of the non-stop work of the quartermaster."

While answering Nafız's question, the de facto chief did not neglect to puff up his chest with pride. Pigtail, who would officially become the chief of the tribe after the war, continued to work hard not to miss this opportunity.

"Miloş, you will stay here and ensure the safety of my children. If any of the quartermaster orcs to be left behind attempt to disturb the order, the penalty is death."

Alyon started to divide the works from Miloş, who would ensure the safety of his children. Just as he was about to continue from where he left off, Nafız suddenly interrupted and interrupted him.

"Miloş, Bookworm will do amazing work every day. Don't let anyone get close to him!"

While Alyon suddenly turned to him in the face of what he had heard, Nafız settled back into his place as if she was not interested.

"Pigtail and Sangre, you two will line up the troops and wait for a signal from us where I showed you on the map before."

"Chief Alyon, wouldn't we be more profitable if we could quickly take control of the other tribe and resist the people with great force?"

Sangre voiced the idea he had had in mind for a long time after the chief's order.

"My blood warrior, the situation of the other tribe is not much different from what our tribe used to be. It may not be as easy as it seems for the orcs who have established order there; to disrupt it and come under our yoke."

"Then, should we prepare ourselves to commit a mass murder?"

Seeing that Sangre's ideas were in a stalemate, Alyon would again take control of the discussion.

"The workforce of the orcs in that tribe will help us tremendously in reaching our goal. When it comes to resignation, let them decide for themselves what choice they will make when they understand what absolute despair means."

In the meeting that lasted all night, every issue was discussed in detail, and the most logical solutions were put into effect as a plan. While the tribe started a new day out of their routine with war preparations, two orcs were coming out of the secret passage and advancing towards the target of the Nikonya army.

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Those who are educated like slaves can only be governed like slaves.

Bernard Shaw