Chapter 34: The Test

If Orgrun was saying this, then it was going to happen.

He wasn’t just the clan’s chief. He was its shaman as well, a seer whose visions had guided their people through countless disasters.

Time and again, his foresight had saved the clan when death seemed inevitable, and because of that, Talia had long since learned not to dismiss his warnings.

The thought of one day clashing with the dwarven goblin slayer sent a ripple of unease through her.

Her people were strong, fierce, and hardened by countless battles, but the goblin slayer was something else entirely. Relentless. Cunning. Merciless in war.

Before she could sink any deeper into those thoughts, Orgrun’s voice drew her back to the present, gentle but carrying the quiet authority that had led the clan for decades.

"That is why I say this again," he said. "Try to convince him. With his strength, he could become one of our greatest assets."

Talia’s breath caught in her throat, and her jaw slowly tightened. "Convince Sylas?" she echoed, unable to hide the disbelief in her voice.

After everything he had said... after everything she had witnessed...

She couldn’t imagine changing his mind.

Orgrun gave a slow nod, his steady amber eyes never leaving hers.

"He may not think like us, and he may never share your vision of peace," he admitted. "But if he can be turned... if he can fight alongside us instead of against us... then he may become the weapon our people need."

His words settled heavily over the room.

Talia felt her stomach twist as conflicting emotions churned inside her.

She hated this.

Hated that Orgrun, her chief, the tribe’s shaman, and the one who had guided her since she was young, seemed willing to place more faith in a half-feral outsider than in the people who had stood beside him for decades.

She hated that, despite everything she had said, Orgrun still believed Sylas was their greatest hope. Hated that even with the brute’s bloodthirsty ideals clashing against everything their tribe had struggled to become, the old chief refused to abandon his faith in him.

And yet...

Deep down, she knew he wasn’t wrong.

If Bodrek was truly drawing near, if the infamous Goblin Slayer was really coming for their tribe, they would need every advantage they could find.

Even if that advantage came in the form of a wild, battle-hungry warrior who treated bloodshed like a sport.

With a quiet grunt, Orgrun pushed himself to his feet, his old joints popping as he straightened to his full height.

The years weighed heavily on his body, but not on his resolve. His expression softened as he looked at her, though the conviction in his eyes never wavered.

"Please, my daughter," he murmured, resting a heavy, reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Try."

Talia froze where she stood.

Orgrun rarely called her daughter. It was not a word he used lightly.

He reserved it for moments that truly mattered, moments when he wanted her to stop arguing and listen, to understand that every word carried the weight of experience and responsibility.

This was one of those moments.

Before she could fully gather her thoughts, Orgrun continued, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable firmness.

"And if you’re feeling generous... if you truly want to confirm whether he is the Chosen One, then give him the Doom Axe."

Talia’s head whipped toward him so quickly that a strand of hair fell across her face. Disbelief flashed across her eyes.

"The Doom Axe?" she repeated, her voice rising in shock.

That wasn’t just another weapon.

It was a sacred relic, a legendary blade that had been passed down through generations, one that only the greatest warriors of their people had ever been worthy enough to wield.

Talia squared her shoulders, her jaw tightening as she met Orgrun’s gaze.

"You know we can’t just hand that weapon to anyone."

Orgrun didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, he looked at her with quiet understanding before asking, "Is that the case, or are you simply afraid he’ll be able to wield it?"

The words struck harder than she expected.

Talia’s fingers twitched involuntarily, and her heartbeat quickened inside her chest.

She wanted to deny it, to insist that wasn’t what this was about, but the lie refused to leave her lips.

Because deep down... it was.

Talia let out a sharp breath through her nose before lowering her gaze for a brief moment.

"I am," she admitted quietly. "I’m afraid of what he’d do with it."

"Talia..." Orgrun’s voice was gentle but carried the quiet authority of a father trying to reach his daughter.

She immediately cut him off.

"Don’t be absurd, Father." Her fists clenched at her sides as resolve hardened in her eyes. "That weapon can’t be given to just anyone."

The conviction in her voice left no room for debate.

Whether Sylas was worthy of the prophecy or not, she would never allow him anywhere near the Doom Axe.

She simply refused.

Before Orgrun could respond, Talia turned on her heel and strode toward the entrance of the hut.

With one swift motion, she pulled the heavy fur curtain aside, and the cool night air washed over her, carrying with it the familiar scents of roasted meat, burning wood, and the lively sounds of the village beyond.

Outside, the feast was still in full swing.

Goblins roared with laughter as they drank, traded stories, and shoved one another in playful challenge, their massive hands slamming against broad backs loudly enough to compete with the crackling bonfire at the heart of the celebration.

At the center of it all sat Sylas.

A broad grin stretched across his face as he laughed with the others, looking as though he had always belonged there, as though he had been part of their clan from the very beginning.

Talia watched him for a moment before her sharp gaze drifted over her shoulder toward the dimly lit hut behind her, where her father remained seated in thoughtful silence.

Her lips slowly pressed into a thin line.

Without another word or a moment of hesitation, she turned and strode straight toward him.