Panic tore through the fortress the second the first bomb hit. The entire settlement was thrown into chaos, followers scrambling for the exits, tripping over each other in their rush to escape. Dwarves, elves, orcs, goblins—every faction's followers, who'd been bickering and fighting among themselves for months, scattered like ants, no one stopping to organize a defense.
Outside the walls, Korg the Void Ape King stared at the line of trebuchets, his brow furrowed with dissatisfaction. The power was too low. Too slow. The materials they'd had to work with were holding them back.
He turned to Gromm the Lizard King, his eyes sharp and determined. "Hey, old lizard. How long do you think this'll take to wrap up?"
Gromm puffed out his chest, his scales glinting in the moonlight. "An hour, tops. We'll be done before dawn."
Lirael the Elven King stepped forward, his gaze sharp as he scanned the fortress walls. "An hour's more than enough time for their reinforcements to show up. We don't have that long. We need to end this fast. This fortress has 5,000 followers, but half of them are untrained civilians, the rest are soft from a year of luxury. We've got 500 of our best warriors. One of us can take ten of theirs. The advantage is ours."
Gromm nodded, slamming a fist into his palm. "Right. We need to blow the gates first. Any ideas how?"
Korg grinned, a mischievous, wild glint in his eyes. Before anyone could stop him, he grabbed Gromm by the tail, spun around in a full 360-degree circle, and hurled him straight at the fortress's central keep.
"THIS IS HOW!" He yelled, cackling. "You're the toughest of us! You can break the gate open for us!"
Mid-air, Gromm flailed his claws, sending a flurry of panicked telepathic messages to the others. He'd lived for ten thousand years, fought void beasts, survived the collapse of his realm, and he'd never once been thrown like a damn cannonball.
---
Inside the keep, the orc leader of the fortress had just gotten the report. The moles. The cowards who'd hidden underground for a year had actually attacked. He'd been stunned at first, then furious.
"Those insolent rats! How dare they attack us?!" He roared, slamming his fist on the table. "Bring me my sword! I'll fight them for three hundred rounds if I have to!"
The other faction leaders stared at him, their eyes wide with awe. This fortress held followers from six different gods, all of them bickering and fighting for months, none of them willing to take orders from anyone else. And now, their leader was stepping up, ready to face the moles' top warriors, even with his own Rank 2 power against their Rank 3 peak.
He was a hero. A real one.
They wiped tears from their eyes, cheering as he strapped on his armor, grabbed his sword, and marched out to face the enemy. This was their moment. With a leader like him, those moles didn't stand a chance.
One of the elven followers turned to the orc elder who'd been bickering with him for months, grinning. "See that? I thought the boss was just a lazy, food-obsessed layabout. Turns out he's a hero! What do you think of that, old green?"
He blinked, frowning. The orc elder was gone.
He looked around. None of the orc followers were there.
The room went dead silent.
Wait. Had they… had they all run off? No way. The boss had just given that heroic speech, right?
Before anyone could process it, a young elf sprinted into the room, his face pale with panic. "Bad news! The boss! He grabbed all the horses in the stables, and took all 500 of the orc followers, and ran out the west gate! He left us!"
The room exploded into shouts and curses. They'd been played! The orc had used their hero worship to buy time to run!
Before they could even react, one of the elves frowned, tilting his head. "Wait. Do you hear that? Something's falling from the sky?"
Everyone froze, staring up at the ceiling.
A deafening *CRASH* split the air. The ceiling exploded inward, and Gromm the Lizard King landed right in the middle of the room, crushing three of the faction leaders into paste before they could even scream.
Gromm spat a chunk of stone out of his mouth, growling and rubbing his head. "That damn ape. Threw me like a cannonball. Next time, I'm gonna beat him so hard he'll be picking his teeth out of the dirt for a month."
He looked up at the terrified, frozen followers, and bared his sharp teeth in a cold, menacing grin. The bloodline runes on his scales flared bright red, and the door to the keep slammed shut behind him.
"So. I heard it was you lot. The ones who threw perfectly good bread on the ground, stepped on it, just because it didn't have jam?"
The screams echoed through the fortress, cut off only by the roar of the fire spreading through the halls.
Ten miles away, the orc leader galloped through the forest, his horse's hooves pounding against the dirt. He glanced over his shoulder at the burning fortress, and sighed.
"Sorry, guys. Nothing personal. Gotta keep my head on my shoulders, right? I'll tell the War God all about how you fought to the death, bought me time to escape. You'll be heroes. I promise."
He was so busy patting himself on the back, he didn't notice his horse tripping over a root, sending him flying face-first into the dirt. He spat out a mouthful of mud, ready to curse the blacksmith who'd made his horseshoes, when he looked up.
And found himself staring up at Korg the Void Ape King, who was standing over him, his massive frame blocking the moon, a cold, angry grin on his face.
The orc froze. His throat went dry.
"Uh. Boss. I surrender. Can I surrender? I'll give you all the gold, all the food, everything. Just don't hurt me."
The only response he got was a fist the size of a cauldron slamming into his face, and a scream that faded into the night.
The next morning, the Conquest Legion's reinforcements arrived at the fortress, their faces tight with rage. They'd gotten the emergency message the night before, and ridden all night to get there.
What they found made their blood boil.
There was no sign of a large battle. No sign of an army. Just a burned-out, shattered fortress, the walls blown apart, the ground littered with frost and ash. Every single crate of food, every chest of weapons, every scrap of supplies was gone. Not a single grain of rice was left.
The pigman scout leading the reinforcements stared at the empty fortress, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. "Those damn moles! They actually attacked us! They robbed us blind!"
He roared, his voice shaking with fury. "From this day forward, we declare all-out war on the moles! We will make them pay! They will learn what happens when they cross the Conquest Legion!"
Back in the underground fortress, Korg, Lirael, and Gromm sat around the stone table, cackling as they went over the haul.
They'd cleaned out the entire fortress. Tons of grain, crates of meat, rare seeds they'd never seen before, even a few crates of fancy wine. They'd loaded it all into the tunnels, hauled it back to their fortress, and hidden it away before anyone could even spot them.
That night, the mess hall was more crowded than usual. For the first time in months, every follower got an extra slice of meat, a single egg, and an extra bowl of rice as a reward for the raid. The lizard clan even got a few extra bowls, as a reward for Gromm's… unique way of breaking into the keep.
The three clan leaders even cracked open a half-bottle of the sweet potato wine they'd stolen from the orcs, clinking their mugs together in a toast.
After the laughter died down, Lirael leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "Well. We've burned the bridge now. We're officially at war with the Conquest Legion. What's the plan from here?"
Gromm waved a hand, grinning. "Relax. They're too busy fighting the Tide Pact to focus on us. They think we're just a bunch of moles hiding in the dirt. They won't waste their time on us, not when they're fighting over the coast. We just sit back and watch."
Lirael nodded, tapping the map spread across the table. "Exactly. We've got the tunnels, remember? We can pop up anywhere, hit their supply lines, and vanish before they can react. We'll let the two big alliances beat each other to death, and then we'll pick up the pieces. Classic guerrilla warfare, just like the Overgod taught us."
Everyone nodded, grinning, and raised their mugs again. They'd won. They'd robbed the richest faction in the tournament blind, and they'd gotten away with it.
In her private viewing box, Laia Hayes stared at the scrying screen, her mouth hanging open, the cream puff she'd been holding frozen halfway to her mouth.
She'd spent the last twelve hours eating pastries, flipping through her oracle scrolls, minding her own business. She'd assumed her followers were down there, quietly farming, building their tunnels, hoarding supplies, being the good little moles they'd been for the last year.
And they'd… they'd started a war. Over bread. They'd attacked a fortress of 5,000 followers, robbed them blind, burned their city to the ground, all because they'd wasted bread.
She stared at the screen, then at the empty tray of pastries, then back at the screen.
"Are you kidding me?" She mumbled, her voice shaking. "I told you guys to lay low! I told you to stay out of trouble! And you went and started a whole war over a loaf of bread! Now I'm gonna have the entire Conquest Legion after me! The War God's gonna be mad! I just wanted to win the tournament prize money for my sandwich shop! What the hell is wrong with you guys?!"
She buried her face in her hands, groaning.
Of course. Of course this would happen. She'd told them to stay hidden. To not make trouble. And they'd gone and started a war. Over bread.
She really needed to stop teaching them physics. It was only a matter of time before they invented a nuke.