The eastern barrens were a graveyard of bad decisions and worse weather.
The Mercenaries of Mayhem trudged through it with empty stomachs, sunburned necks, and enough sarcasm to kill a lesser group.
"I'm just saying," Marcus muttered, "when we said 'travel light,' I didn't mean 'travel with literally nothing.'"
"You said we wouldn't be out here long," Bam grumbled.
"I also said Bob shouldn't pack a grappling hook made of sausage links, but here we are."
"I ate those," Bob added helpfully.
Derek said nothing, eyes scanning the lifeless terrain ahead. They'd seen no signs of Kain. No villages. No rivers. Just twisted trees and rocks that looked like they wanted to mug them.
Then—smoke.
Faint, gray, curling over the next ridge. The group dropped low.
"You think that's him?" Bam whispered.
"Too much smoke," Derek muttered.
Cautiously, they crept over the hill—only to freeze.
An orc camp.
Dozens of them. Hulking, green-skinned, tusked monsters, armored in scraps and bones, laughing and grunting around massive bonfires.
Marcus leaned in. "They look like someone crossbred a cactus with a brick wall."
"They're armed," Derek noted. "And loud."
"Smell like fermented socks," Bam added.
"I like them," Bob said.
Then, without hesitation, he walked into the camp.
Ten minutes later, the mercenaries were eating mystery meat and drinking something that might've been soup or weaponized sludge.
Because somehow—Bob made friends.
Again.
He'd wandered straight into their circle, handed the biggest orc a shiny rock he picked on the way, and accidentally performed an act of sacred diplomacy.
Now he was an honorary "Rock-Brother."
"They gave me this necklace," Bob said proudly, holding up what might've been a spine.
Marcus sipped from his crude wooden mug, grimacing. "This tastes like regret."
Across the fire, a particularly massive orc dropped beside them—the chieftain. One eye was covered with a cracked metal plate, and his left tusk was missing. But his voice was gravelly and sharp.
"You strange," the chieftain said, looking them over.
"Thanks?" Bam offered.
"You remind me of someone," the orc continued. "Another human we meet. Not long ago."
The group leaned in.
"Black hair," the chieftain said. "But had white streak. Carried a staff with glowing rune. Eyes—silver-blue. Looked like snow."
Derek sat up. "That's him. That's Kain."
The chieftain nodded. "He came. Was cold. But respectful."
"What did he want?" Marcus asked.
"Trade," the orc said. "He give us… cold food."
The group blinked.
"…Cold food?" Bam repeated.
"Yes," the orc said, eyes gleaming. "Ice. Cream. Sweet. Cold. Magic. We love it."
There was a pause.
"He bribed you with ice cream?" Marcus said, bewildered.
The orc nodded with reverence. "We give food, furs, water. He very polite. Said he not stay long."
Derek stood. "Where did he go?"
The chieftain pointed with a giant hand. "Far east. Past the stone claws. Into deeper wild. Where big monsters live."
"Did he say why?" Bam asked.
"No. Just said… 'needed time.' Looked tired. Cold inside."
The fire crackled. The group exchanged glances.
"Time to move," Derek said.
They stood, shook hands with a dozen orcs, and Bob got three hugs and a gift skull for the road.
"Rock-Brother come back!" one shouted.
Bob grinned. "You guys are the best."
And with that, they headed farther east—toward danger, monsters, and a man with a stolen artifact and a strangely good dessert recipe.