Ruiz glanced behind and around him. His two knights had already departed, leaving only him and the shaman standing before the tent.
Without a word, the orc woman moved. She used her staff to pull aside the curtain that served as a door and slipped inside, holding it open from within as she waited for Ruiz to follow.
Ruiz gave a short nod, accepting the silent invitation. He entered, his hand resting clearly on the hilt of his sword for all to see. The shaman noticed—but didn't seem to care.
"Well then, young prince," she said, gesturing toward a cushion near the fire, "please, take a seat. As you can see, my adoptive daughter, my niece, the current acting chief, is here with us. She has earned her place through bloodline and by the tribe's will."
Ruiz raised an eyebrow. He hadn't expected such formality from a race often seen as wild and blunt. Still, it pleased him to see the orcs attempting to show him the respect his status deserved—at least this once.
His gaze swept across the interior of the tent. It was dimly lit, the fire crackling softly at its center. Beside it sat another figure—a younger orc woman, cross-legged and silent, her expression unreadable in the flickering light. The only thing that struck him as out of place was her bare body. Her green skin glistened with warm red hues from the fire, as if oiled to a gentle shine. There was a distinct charm in her presence he hadn't expected.
Ruiz's eyes lingered on her face. Unlike any orc woman he had encountered before—even those in the village—she had a strikingly beautiful face.
"I see the attraction," the shaman said. "She is half-orc. Her mother was human. Her father—my brother—was the previous chief. She carries the best of both bloodlines. But I suppose even that may not be enough to convince you to help us."
Ruiz raised an eyebrow. He wanted to know exactly what kind of help was being asked of him, but he also couldn't ignore the mention of the "previous chief." As for the offer itself—a village of orc women—he found it less appealing in terms of combat capability. Even if their strength surpassed that of an average knight, they lacked the raw, overwhelming power of the he-orcs, who were said to possess triple the strength of a man. Fierce and battle-oriented, those males could take on a bear in direct combat and emerge victorious without much trouble.
"I know that look, young prince," the shaman continued. "It's true—we won't offer much in close combat. But I have personally trained everyone in this village. Each one has been blessed by a beast. If given enough time to cast, we can defeat any orc male. We are all shamans here, and we are ready to give our life essence if that's what it takes to free ourselves from the tyranny that will follow with the new chief."
Ruiz settled himself in front of the girl. She nodded at him slightly—somewhat reluctant—but the gesture revealed her unusually meek demeanor, a trait rarely seen among orcs. The contrast piqued Ruiz's curiosity; it was like encountering a hare that walked upright instead of following its nature to hop away on four.
"Do tell me," Ruiz began, placing his sword to the side so he could sit more comfortably on the simple cushion offered, "why did you send the chief away, and what exactly happened here?"
"A few days ago," the shaman began, "my brother—the previous chief—was challenged to a duel. The challenger, Murafak, a young warrior, sought to take his place as leader of the village. But he wasn't alone. Some unknown force aided him. His sword tore through my brother—through armor, flesh, and bone—without pause. And then he came to me, demanding the Rite of Leadership… the ritual that would name him our new chief."
Her voice trembled with restrained anger, cracking slightly under the weight of her grief. The girl beside her—her niece—sat in silence, head bowed so low her expression was unreadable. Ruiz couldn't tell whether she was mourning or containing her fury, but he understood that the pain ran deep.
"And so you sent him away, fought the guards, and took control of the village," Ruiz said, leaning forward slightly. "But tell me, why are all the women shaman, there usually isn't more then three or four, correct?"
His gaze drifted—lingering briefly on the young woman's figure: her curves and features, her large bosoms left in bare and their cute pink peaks, the canyon underneath formed by her smooth legs that seemed to be hidden by the shaded of sunset cast by the fire.
He tried to suppress the sound of his gulp as he waited for an answer to his earlier question.
"As elder shamans, we are granted insight—visions of what may come, and what must be," the shaman began. "I have long known that a dark force would one day arrive to claim what we hold dear. So I prepared... and waited for your arrival. Now we must act before sunset. There is only enough time for the union of my new lord and our new tribal leader."
The shaman placed her staff on the ground. Ruiz instinctively tensed, one hand drifting toward his sword, but all that appeared was a barrier.
"Speak—what are your intentions, Shaman?" Ruiz said, his voice firm. He kept his hand on the hilt of his blade, still sheathed, but clearly showing his displeasure at the unexpected use of magic.
"A simple sound barrier, my lord. Nothing more," she said calmly. "It is only to ensure privacy. Now, proceed. I must bear witness to the union. Trust in my discretion—for this is a sacred ritual, one that all orc chiefs must undergo. A witness must be present to confirm that a future heir of our village is conceived."
"What are you—" Ruiz began, but his words were cut short.
The girl, who had remained silent until now, suddenly stood. It was as if she had been waiting for this very moment. Ruiz opened his mouth to speak again, but paused when he saw her clench her fists, a look of quiet determination hardening her features. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and then, without hesitation, stepped forward and seated herself on the prince's lap.
All Ruiz had time to do was release the grip on his sword. His heart pounded in his chest as he let her move as she wished, the ritual beginning without another word.