The valley stretched out before the Stonehooves Tribe like a sea of chaos.
There were countless Valley Orcs—pig-like creatures with brutish strength, leathery skin, and tusks protruding from their mouths—surrounding the tribe.
These Orcs, known for their mindless savagery, snarled and snorted, but they didn't advance.
None of them dared to move forward.
It wasn't because of the warriors of the tribe or the barriers set around the camp.
No, it was something far more primal that kept them at bay.
The Minotaur stood at the entrance to the valley, its hulking form towering over everything around it.
Muscles rippled beneath its thick hide, and its massive horns gleamed under the dim light of the overcast sky.
The air around it seemed to hum with tension.
The Orcs, who typically feared nothing, hesitated.
They seemed to recognize the beast that now stood in their way.
