In the depths of the forest, where shadows twisted and sunlight struggled to penetrate the dense canopy, a young Orc named Gromak played with his friends. The sounds of laughter echoed through the trees, mixing with the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves. In those innocent days, life was simple, filled with the joy of childhood.
Gromak was a sturdy child, with green skin and tusks that protruded slightly from his lower jaw. He lived in a small village nestled by a river, where his people fished and foraged for food. Gromak and his friends would often race each other to the riverbank, their laughter ringing like bells as they splashed water on one another. For a brief moment, Gromak knew nothing of the struggles that awaited him.
But as they grew, the laughter slowly faded. The village elders began to speak in hushed tones about the food shortages that plagued their lands. Crops were failing, the river's fish became scarcer, and a thick, oppressive fear settled over the village. Gromak's mother often returned from foraging empty-handed, her shoulders slumped in despair.
"Mother, why can't we find enough food?" Gromak would ask, his youthful innocence clashing with the harsh realities around him.
"We must be patient, my son. The land will heal," she would reply, though her voice lacked conviction.
But as months passed, it became clear that patience alone would not fill their bellies. Hunger gnawed at the villagers like a relentless beast, driving some to desperation. Gromak watched as his friends became shadows of their former selves, their laughter replaced by worried whispers and hollow stares.
In his heart, Gromak felt a growing anger, a fierce determination to protect his people. One day, while wandering the woods, he encountered a stranger—an unusual figure dressed in colorful rags, with a smile that seemed out of place in the grim surroundings.
"Why do you look so glum, young Orc?" the stranger asked, his tone playful and mocking.
"I don't have time for games," Gromak snapped, frustration bubbling over. "My people are starving!"
The stranger's smile widened. "Starving, you say? Well, then you must do something about it! Why not take what you need?"
Gromak's eyes narrowed. "You think stealing is the answer? That's wrong!"
"Is it wrong to fight for your people? To take back what is rightfully yours?" The stranger's words were like fire, igniting a flame within Gromak. "You could be a great leader, but you must embrace your strength!"
From that day forward, the stranger—who called himself Jorak—became a shadowy advisor, whispering schemes and plans into Gromak's ear. Under Jorak's influence, Gromak's anger transformed into ambition. He began to gather the Orcs, rallying them to take action against those who hoarded food and resources.
"Together, we can take what we need!" Gromak would roar, his voice echoing across the village, igniting a fierce loyalty in his people. "We will not suffer while others feast!"
The first raid was a chaotic frenzy. They stormed a nearby human settlement, seizing livestock and grain. The taste of victory was intoxicating, filling the Orcs with a newfound sense of power. Gromak's rise was meteoric; he became the Orc Lord, leading his people with a mixture of fear and fervor.
As time went on, the initial euphoria of conquest began to fade. War ravaged the lands, and the more Gromak fought, the more blood stained his hands. Though his people were fed, it came at a cost—friends turned into foes, and families were torn apart in the chaos of battle.
Each victory felt like a hollow triumph, for with every human life extinguished, Gromak felt the weight of guilt grow heavier. He had traded one form of hunger for another—this time, it was not just food, but the hunger for power and dominance.
Years passed, and the once vibrant youth became a hardened warrior. He ruled with an iron fist, fearing weakness in himself and his people. But deep within, the echoes of laughter from his childhood haunted him. Was this the legacy he wanted to leave behind?
The breaking point came when Ainz and his forces decimated half of his army. The day began like any other, with Gromak preparing his warriors for yet another battle. But as they clashed with the forces of Ainz, he realized too late that this was not a fight they could win.
The undead surged forth like a tide, swallowing his warriors whole. The air was thick with the sounds of clashing swords and the cries of the dying, and Gromak stood at the forefront, watching his dreams crumble around him.
In that moment, he felt it—an overwhelming sense of helplessness. The weight of his decisions pressed down on him, and he understood that his ambition had led him to this moment of ruin. When he finally saw Ainz unleash his full power, slaughtering Orcs like mere ants, despair settled in his heart.
It was then that Rimuru approached him, offering words of peace. The sincerity in Rimuru's voice struck a chord deep within Gromak. Here was a being who had fought and bled, yet still stood before him, ready to offer mercy rather than death.
As Rimuru spoke of honor and compassion, Gromak realized he had lost sight of his true purpose. It was never about conquest or power; it was about protecting his people, ensuring their survival. But in pursuing strength at any cost, he had lost everything he had once cherished.
"I've fought long and hard," Gromak admitted, his voice breaking as the weight of his failures washed over him. "But I see now that I cannot win this war. I cannot protect my people through violence alone."
With the burden of his past heavy on his shoulders, he accepted Rimuru's offer for a peaceful death, knowing it was time to lay down his arms. As the warmth of the light enveloped him, Gromak closed his eyes, surrendering to the embrace of peace.
In his final moments, he saw visions of his childhood—of laughter and innocence, of days spent playing by the river. As he faded away, he whispered a silent apology to his people, hoping they would find a better path in the future, one that did not lead to bloodshed and suffering.
And so, the Orc Lord's reign ended not in a blaze of glory, but in the quiet acceptance of his fate—a testament to the complexity of power, the struggle for survival, and the fragile line between strength and compassion.