Renan came bursting out from behind that enormous calcified skull like a knight hellbent on impressing the King's daughter.
Every Middle Orc in the crater whipped their heads around at once. These beasts weren't the scrawny runts they'd just killed back in the hills.
These bastards were built wrong. They were tall as teenagers but twice as heavy, with green muscle stacked so thick it looked like it hurt to move, and bones like rebar under the skin.
Their iron axes and spiked maces were already coming up, and the black iron of their ancient armor glinted dully in the smoky light.
Renan wrapped both hands around the grip of his longsword. He wasn't afraid, not when he had Grace pouring into him like hot oil, lighting up every nerve.
He twisted at the hips and swung the blade from the left to right. Silver gale ripped out of the steel.
