Keeping Your Enemy Close!

In the heart of the hunting ground stood a small manor, flanked by a row of tightly packed warehouses. Under the cover of night, Harry approached the manor, moving with purpose. He reached for the door of one of the warehouses and pushed it open.

Inside, a vast expanse of grain was revealed, gleaming softly in the dim light. Marlo, who had been standing nearby, stared in astonishment.

The hybrid group had been lurking in these woods for ages, struggling to survive in the shadows. They were too weak to confront the local lords or to challenge the orc tribes, so they scavenged for food wherever they could find it. The sight of such an abundant stash was almost overwhelming.

"After this, you can come and take a supply every so often," Harry said casually, gesturing at the grain. "I'll make sure it's prepared for you. In return, you'll need to do something for me."

Marlo's expression was resolute, without a hint of hesitation. "What do you need us to do?"

He had anticipated this condition when he pledged allegiance to Harry. It was clear that there had to be a purpose behind Harry's willingness to keep them around.

"Don't worry," Harry reassured him with a smile. "It won't be anything difficult. Once you have food, I want you to start recruiting more of your kind. Strength in numbers, you know?"

Marlo nodded, understanding the strategy. "You know where to find more, don't you?"

"Exactly. Bringing in those scattered orcs will be vital for your tribe's future growth."

"Good," Marlo affirmed.

Harry then gestured toward a corner of the warehouse. "There are some weapons over there as well. Feel free to take those too."

Marlo blinked in surprise. Weapons too? Gratitude welled up within him. He understood that Harry had plans for their cooperation, but the chance to enjoy such provisions felt almost surreal. They would be able to step out of their dark caves and find a new path, armed and ready for development. This was the kind of treatment they had only dreamed of in the past.

"You plan to move out of the cave soon?" Harry asked, his tone curious. "Have you thought about where you want to go?"

Marlo shook his head. "I haven't decided yet."

"Then let me guide you," Harry suggested. "I know of a location with great terrain, seldom visited by others, flat, and suitable for growing crops. As the owner of this hunting ground, I can grant you that land. Each adult will receive a portion, and in return, they'll need to fight for me and contribute a share of their food."

Marlo's eyes widened in disbelief. "My lord, you're serious?"

He was taken aback by Harry's calm demeanor, which was both commanding and generous. Granting land, imposing taxes, and centralizing authority, Harry was not merely treating them as tools; he was treating them like subjects under his care.

Why wouldn't he? Half-orcs, caught between two worlds, had never truly belonged to either. If someone was willing to accept them, what would it hurt to surrender?

As he pondered these thoughts, a sense of determination filled Marlo. Perhaps this was a chance for a brighter future, a chance to carve out a place for his people in a world that had long rejected them.

Noticing the change in Marlo's expression, Harry couldn't help but chuckle lightly.

"Don't stress so much," he said gently, his voice warm and encouraging. "Things may be tough now, but they will improve with time. Believe in yourself and in us."

He extended his hand toward Marlo, offering a handshake, a gesture of camaraderie that transcended their differences.

Marlo hesitated, taken aback by the unexpected courtesy. For a half-orc like him, this was a novel experience, one that made him question his previous assumptions about servitude. Maybe, just maybe, submitting to someone like Harry wasn't such a terrible idea after all. After all, despite his own goals, Harry treated him like a person, with respect.

Gathering his courage, Marlo reached out and grasped Harry's hand. Their hands clasped firmly, sealing a newfound bond.

As the days turned into months, life in the hunting ground settled into a rhythm. Harry diligently patrolled the area, clearing out invading orcs and dealing with any thieves or bandits that dared to encroach on their territory. He regularly reported the prey and supplies to Reggie, earning the noble's satisfaction and trust.

However, trouble loomed elsewhere.

"Another orc attack on the caravan?" Reggie muttered in frustration, scanning the latest report in his hands. "How many times has this happened this month?"

"This is the fifth time," a servant replied, anxiety creeping into his voice.

"Five times?" Reggie shook his head in disbelief. "The orcs are one thing, but when did those half-orcs become so brazen?"

"Perhaps they've escaped from somewhere else," the attendant suggested after a moment of thought. "With wars raging everywhere, orcs from various regions are being driven here."

"Can't we catch them?" Reggie's brow furrowed, frustration etched on his face. "Where's Captain Simba? What's he doing about this?"

"Captain Simba has been doing his utmost," the attendant reassured him. "Each time we receive word of an attack, he rushes to the scene. But these orcs seem to know the terrain well, they disappear quickly."

"According to Simba, it's possible some of them have awakened special abilities," the attendant added cautiously.

"Is that so?" Reggie's frown deepened. He understood the challenges of capturing these elusive orcs. The hunting ground was dense with forests, making it an ideal hideout. Once they attacked, they simply slipped away into the underbrush, leaving no trace behind.

"Simba can't go chasing after them alone," Reggie said, concern knitting his brow. It was troubling that after so many attacks, not a single orc had been captured. Something felt off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Meanwhile, in the shadows, Harry was orchestrating the very attacks that Reggie sought to prevent. The orcs causing the trouble weren't outsiders; they were Marlo and his warriors, under Harry's command. Unlike ordinary orcs, who had no knowledge of the caravan routes or the terrain, Harry had the inside scoop. With his guidance, Marlo led successful raids, only to vanish into the thick woods after each strike.

What could raise suspicion? The hunting grounds flourished under Harry's watch. The submission of prey and taxes was consistent, and merchant caravans faced minimal threats. Who would ever think to question his authority?