Chapter 55: Shift Lord of the Orcs

  The return to the Orc Stronghold was unlike any other time before. No bandit attacks, no assassin ambushes, not even a hungry beast desperate enough to test its luck. The road was eerily calm.

  Marcus had come to expect trouble, but this time, fate—or perhaps his growing reputation—seemed to have granted him a moment of peace.

  Yet, as they crossed through the stronghold’s gates, they were met with an entirely different kind of chaos.

  The entire Orc settlement was alive with movement. Orcs bustled about, hauling crates of raw materials, smiths worked overtime forging weapons, and warriors drilled in larger numbers than before. Even the air smelled different—metallic with iron, rich with burning wood, thick with sweat and determination.

  Boruk frowned, scanning the activity. "What in the Ancestors' name is happening here?"

  Ragn adjusted his axe, eyes flicking over the sudden industrial surge. "Looks like they’re preparing for something."

  Vira took in the scurrying orc workers, her sharp gaze narrowing. "No. They’re building."

  Marcus exhaled, watching a massive wooden structure being framed near the stronghold’s heart.

  The orcs weren’t just preparing for war. They were preparing for something much bigger.

  Inside the great war hall, Chieftain Miran and his council of orc leaders were deep in discussion over a massive wooden table, covered with hand-drawn maps, trade route plans, and infrastructure designs.

  Unlike past meetings where warriors debated battle tactics and land disputes, this discussion was about the future.

  As Marcus entered, Miran’s sharp gaze immediately snapped to him.

  "Marcus! Just the man I wanted to see."

  Marcus approached, exchanging a glance with Boruk, who simply shrugged.

  Miran folded his arms, expression unreadable. "Things are moving fast."

  He gestured toward the detailed schematics sprawled across the table.

  "The resource dungeon has changed everything. We’re no longer just surviving, Marcus. We’re expanding. This stronghold will become a true power in the region."

  Marcus nodded slowly. He had already seen how the guilds, the Thane, and even the Beastfolk Nation were taking notice.

  Miran continued. "And that change includes you."

  There was a weight behind those words. Marcus could feel the shift before the next sentence even left the Chieftain’s lips.

  **"Marcus Elder, from this day forward, you are granted the honorary title of—Shift Lord."

  The room fell silent.

  A few orc elders nodded in approval, while others exchanged cautious glances. This was no small honor.

  Marcus blinked. "Shift Lord?"

  "A title reserved for those who shape the fate of the stronghold," Miran explained. "With it, you have the right to use our resources, lead initiatives, and act in the stronghold’s interest as you see fit. So long as your actions benefit the Orcs, your authority is unquestioned."

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  Before Marcus could fully process what that meant, Stem’s voice echoed in his mind.

  System Notification: Unique Title Granted - "Shift Lord", Honorary

  Effects:

  +10% to all stats when in a party comprised of Orcs

  Increased influence over Orc leadership and resource allocation

  Recognized as a leader within the stronghold

  Marcus let out a slow breath. "Huh. The system even recognizes it."

  Boruk grinned, slapping his back. "You’re one of us, lad. Been that way for a while."

  Vira gave him a knowing smile. "This is a big responsibility, Marcus."

  Marcus rubbed his temples, sighing. "I was hoping to relax, maybe have a few drinks before getting into politics."

  Miran laughed heartily. "No rest for those who make history, Shift Lord!"

  The war hall erupted into discussion, as the orc leaders laid out their ambitions for the stronghold’s future.

  They spoke of fortifications, reinforcing their borders to prevent outside interference.

  They spoke of economy, forging trade alliances now that they had wealth to bargain with.

  They spoke of recognition, how soon Xenor, Astoria, and the Beastfolk Nation would have to acknowledge them as a true power.

  They spoke of threats, knowing that with wealth came enemies who would seek to take it from them.

  At the peak of the conversation, Miran turned to Marcus.

  **"Tell me, Shift Lord—what shall we build in your honor?"

  The room leaned in.

  Marcus, without hesitation, grinned.

  "A boxing gym."

  Silence.

  Boruk, Vira, and Ragn immediately facepalmed.

  Miran raised an eyebrow. "A… boxing gym?"

  Marcus nodded. "A proper one. Heavy bags, striking drills, sparring arenas—the works."

  One of the orc elders scoffed. "Why in the Ancestors’ name would we need a gym when we have battlefields?"

  Marcus crossed his arms. "Because warriors who only train for battle die in battle. Fighters who train for mastery? They win."

  Miran stroked his beard, considering it. Then, his grin widened.

  "I like it. It shall bear your name."

  Far beyond the stronghold, in the grand city of Xenor, the Thane sat in his private chambers, his thick fingers gripping a quill as he penned a letter that would set wheels into motion.

  The candlelight flickered over his scowling face, his heavy brows furrowed as his frustration bled onto the parchment.

  A resource dungeon, secured through Marcus Elder’s claim, had become the foundation of the Orc Stronghold’s rapid rise.

  The Orcs were growing too strong.

  For years, the Thane and his predecessors had ignored the Orcs—letting them fester in their isolated, hard-won land, struggling against the shift dungeon they so recklessly delved into. The dungeon's unpredictable nature had always been a death sentence for those foolish enough to claim it, keeping the Orcs in a constant cycle of survival and attrition.

  But now?

  Now, they had wealth. They had stability. They had power.

  And worst of all, they had Marcus Elder.

  A troublemaker. A wildcard. A fighter whose name was already traveling far beyond Xenor’s walls.

  The Thane’s grip tightened on the quill, nearly breaking it in his hand. He finished the letter, signing it with a flourish before carefully sealing it with his official crest.

  He strode toward the griffon courier roost, his armored boots clanking against the stone floors. The beast—a large, sleek-feathered griffon bred for long-distance travel—tilted its head as he approached, sensing the tension radiating from its handler.

  The Thane tied the letter securely to the griffon’s leg, then stepped back, his expression grim.

  "Fly to the Beastfolk King. He will want to hear of this."

  The griffon shrieked once, then launched into the air, its powerful wings carrying it into the night sky, toward the distant Beastfolk Capital " Canindrus".

  The Thane watched it disappear into the horizon, a cruel smirk forming on his face.

  "If I cannot claim the dungeon, then perhaps the Beastfolk King will."

  He turned, striding back toward the grand hall of his estate.

  The Orcs thought they had secured their place. They thought Marcus Elder had won them sovereignty.

  But they would soon learn that power attracts danger.

  And Xenor was not the only force watching.

  Later that night, Marcus and Miran sat beside a roaring bonfire, discussing their next steps.

  "We need a proper name for the dungeon," Miran mused. "Something to mark its place in history."

  Marcus thought for a moment..

  Then—

  Stem’s voice hummed in his mind.

  "Rebirth."

  Marcus smirked.

  "Rebirth."

  Miran nodded approvingly. "A fine name. It fits."

  The system immediately registered it, finalizing the dungeon’s title.

  Marcus suddenly felt a strange sensation in his mind—like an unintelligible noise, a burst of static, but… happy.

  "Stem… was that you?"

  No response.

  Marcus chuckled, shaking his head, he could feel it,

  Stem was genuinely proud of something.

  As the fires burned late into the night, Marcus looked around—at the thriving stronghold, at the Orcs who had become his family, at the path he had carved out for himself.

  Tomorrow, there would be new challenges, new threats, and new enemies who sought to take what they had built.

  But for tonight?

  Marcus let himself enjoy the victory.