The Remnant, capital ‘R’, is the single most impressive reminder of the prowess and technology of pre-System Earth – and yet it is also a lie. That is to say, it did not exist in such a form before the Wasted War. While pre-War depictions of Los Angeles, as it was then known, are very rare, they universally fail to include a single structure rising well over a mile from the ground, towering over everything nearby.

  Perhaps the Remnant is an amalgamation of the idea of the so-called ‘skyscraper’, for surely, no construct built by man today could reach so near the heavens.

  - Rufus Veres, Level 29 Prolix Historian, Oddities of the System

  The view from the edge of the cliff was breathtaking. I stopped in shock as my gaze rose from the river gorge cutting through the valley to the hills beyond. Raylan nearly ran into me from behind, cursing, but I barely noticed. In the distance, I could see a monumental thing reaching into the sky. Around me, the others stumbled to a stop as well, joining me in staring. It has to be the Remnant. The Fucking Remnant sounds better… It’s huge! There’s no way people could build something that big, is there?

  It didn’t loom over us the way the Angel’s Spine did, but instead reached into the pale blue sky like a finger of steel and glass. Parts of it reflected the late-morning sun back brilliantly, shining like no building I’d ever seen before. Other parts of it were dark, giving it a patchy, diseased look.

  The ancient structure, more than four hundred years old, was a breathtaking sight. I had thought the bridge we’d crossed into East Bank had been impressive, but it was nothing on the scale of the Remnant.

  I looked at Raylan, who was standing there with his arms crossed, pretending he wasn’t affected by the sight too.

  “I’ve seen it before,” he shrugged, and then dodged as I attempted to punch him in the shoulder.

  “It’s even more impressive the closer you get,” Block added, his tone unusually serious. “A mile and half tall, if you can believe it,” – and I could, looking at the thing – “we’re around thirty-five miles away, and yet you can’t miss it.”

  “That’s the center of the quarantine zone?” I asked curiously.

  ”It’s not the actual center of the QZ, and no one knows if it has anything to do with the QZ itself, or if it just happens to be nearby. Either way, no one has ever been inside it and made it out to tell the tale. The mana levels around it are extremely high, and there are hundreds, maybe thousands of high-Tier undead you’d have to fight through to get there. Not to mention the countless thousands of low-Tier undead surrounding them,” Mason told me seriously.

  “And the undead just stay there? All by themselves?” I asked.

  “The Army has a network of watchtowers all the way around it, with the exception of the north which is blocked off by the Griffin Range. If they spot any undead wandering out, they sortie from the towers and destroy them, but some occasionally get through.”

  “Remember what I told you about undead?” Hassan asked. “Our main protection comes from the fact that the strong ones get weaker if they travel too far away from the high-Tier mana near the center of the QZ. It gets really dangerous if some of that mana drifts far enough south towards the city, because then the undead can get closer without losing their strength.”

  “Does that happen often, Archer Hassan?” Zaire asked.

  “Let’s just say that Lost Angels used to be about fifteen miles further north when it was first established after the Wasted War. The undead destroyed it once, forcing people to move south away from the Remnant.”

  Between us and the Remnant, the river cut through the land, narrow strips of green plants lining both sides. The water level was still well below the height of the land around it, but the gorge wasn’t nearly as deep as at East Bank. Directly below us was a good-sized town. We could see right down into it from our position as if we were standing on the town walls, except much higher up. The actual walls of the town, wrapping around the two sides that weren’t already protected by the cliff and the gorge, looked about the same size as Sunland’s.

  Beyond the town walls were farms, surrounding the town in an arc to the east and south. They were significantly greener and richer than Sunland’s farms. The town itself was similar in construction to the others I’d seen so far, with a mix of one and two-story stone buildings. Finally, to my left, the Eastern Range rose off into the distance. It looked more comparable to the Shadow Hills than to the Angel’s Spine in size, but I didn’t know much about how big it got the further you went.

  “Where’s the city?” I asked Vale, who happened to be the closest to me.

  “It's too far t’ see, we’re about seventy-five miles still,” she said, pointing roughly in the direction the river was flowing. Slightly disappointed, I followed the others down the steep, stone path that snaked back and forth several times before depositing us in the town. It was well past noon, and we were all hungry, so while Mason headed off to speak with the Mayor, the rest of us headed into the inn.

  I stopped suddenly in the doorway, causing Alex to run into my back with a muffled curse. Flushing, I stepped quickly aside, staring in shock at a group of orcs sitting around a table covered in empty plates and pitchers of beer. I abruptly noticed that I was holding my gun, and I quickly vanished it back into my Inventory, hoping no one had noticed. From the way Vale was looking at me, I’d failed.

  This is so fucking weird! They’re sitting around, drinking and talking like everyone else, and I know I should treat them just like people, but fuck… the only orcs I’ve seen before were the ones in the dungeon, and they tried to kill me. Repeatedly.

  There were eight of the huge, green skinned creat – people. Sitting around a table that could probably seat a dozen humans, they made it look awkwardly small, like it was a table for children being used by adults. They were talking in loud, deep voices, seemingly in good spirits. Wearing a variety of armors, like any group of combat Classes, they looked rugged and intimidating. I focused on the largest one, sitting at one end of the table. Identify.

  Name: Korgath Ironhide

  Class: Chieftain

  Level: 37

  The mighty Korgath earned his name Ironhide after slaughtering the Black Fang goblins. Their weak weapons were no match for Korgath’s thick skin, and shattered on his mighty thews. So many fragments of metal were embedded into his arms that the broken blades of his defeated opponents became unto his own armor. Look upon mighty Korgath and know the power of the Ironhide clan!Stolen from RoyalRoad. Support AzureInk by reading the original.

  What in the Wastes?! Did he put that in his public profile? I can’t decide if that’s stupid or… kinda awesome? Either way, I’m not messing with this guy!

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  As I was standing there reading Korgath’s life story, he looked up from his huge tankard of beer and directly at us. His mouth opened wide in what I desperately hoped was a smile, considering how many sharp teeth filled it. He shoved back his chair abruptly and stood, towering over everyone. He had to be half a head or more taller than even Mason, who I was suddenly wishing was with us.

  “Ho! Delvers!” His voice boomed out loudly enough to momentarily silence all the other conversations in the room. A few people stared, then quickly turned back to what they were doing. Kicking his chair out of the way, the massive dark-green skinned Chieftain stomped towards us.

  His head was mostly shaved except for a long, flowing ponytail of black hair growing straight out of the top. Small yellow eyes beneath heavy brows caught my own gaze and I shivered. Korgath was wearing a heavy steel cuirass over his massive chest, while a fur cape flowed down his back. His thick legs were shrouded in more fur, but his arms were bare, showcasing the meaning of the name Ironhide.

  I could see what looked like metal scales embedded in the skin of his bulging arms. Some of them were flattened, while others jutted out like small spikes. Suddenly his story seemed completely believable to me. To my surprise, it was Block and not Hassan who stepped forward to greet the enormous orc.

  “Chieftain Ironhide! I am Block, son of Block, and a Delver!”

  They clasped arms, Korgath’s massive fingers encircling Block’s entire armored forearm. I swear I saw the metal of Block’s plate flex under the strength of the grip. Block’s gauntleted hand, by comparison, barely covered half of the orc’s huge arm as he returned the grip with all of his strength.

  “I greet you in peace, son of Block! I am Korgath Ironhide, first of my name, and it is a happy chance to encounter the Delver’s Guild here. Tell me, do you know of the one called the Black Razor? I am awaiting his arrival!”

  The Black Razor? The one I’ve heard Bards sing about in the saloon, who died saving his team from a dragon in a dungeon? He’s real? I thought he was just a made-up hero. And he’s alive?!

  I was very confused. My confusion turned to shock as the door opened behind me and Mason strode into the common room. Korgath released Block’s arm and immediately dropped to one knee, slamming his fist over his heart in a salute that boomed through the room.

  “Bl- “ Korgath started to say something, but then Mason was right in front of him, hauling the huge orc to his feet with seeming ease before clasping his hand as Block had done.

  “I am Mason Whitmore, son of Marcus. It is a pleasure to see you again, Chieftain Ironhide!”

  The orc’s eyes narrowed for a moment, before he replied. Korgath was indeed taller than Mason and far broader, but it was obvious from his actions that he considered Mason to be much stronger than him.

  “The honor is mine, Swordmaster Mason! Come, let me introduce you to my children! I believe they will be joining your young comrades at your Academy, no?”

  I felt dizzy as too many thoughts churned around my brain, colliding into each other like charging trihorns.

  How does Mason know this orc? Orc children are going to DGA with us?! And most importantly, what the FUCK?! Is Mason actually the Black Razor?!

  I swallowed hard, thinking back to the times I’d seen Mason under moonlight, seemingly drained of color, half-man, half-monster, half-shadow. Dead fucking gods, I think he must be… why did he never tell us?

  Before my thoughts could spiral out of control, all the orcs had stood up and were being introduced. I quickly lost track of their names as they gathered around Mason. All of the orcs were huge, but two of them stood out as being a bit smaller, younger and less muscular than the others. Those two quickly abandoned the discussion with Mason and walked over towards the recruits – towards me, in fact.

  One was male, a bit shorter than Mason, with short cropped black hair. The other was female – only slightly shorter and slimmer in the shoulders, she still towered over me – but her features were slightly softer, with a less prominent brow. Her leather armor bulged over modest – for her size – breasts, and her bare arms were only two or three times as thick as mine. She had longer black hair, tied back but hanging down to her shoulders. Neither of them had the metal-studded arms of the older orcs. I Identified them.

  Name: G’hala, daughter of Korgath Ironhide

  Class: ShamanStolen from RoyalRoad. Support AzureInk by reading the original.

  Level: 3

  Name: H’ruk, son of Korgath IronhideStolen from RoyalRoad. Support AzureInk by reading the original.

  Class: Warrior

  Level: 3

  There was something off about H’ruk’s profile, but I didn’t have time to worry about it as they came to a stop in front of me. H’ruk reached out and clasped my arm, his huge hand engulfing me. I felt my vambrace flex as he squeezed, but thankfully he stopped short of hurting me. I did my best to crush his meaty forearm in return, but my hand was too small to get much of a grip. He seemed satisfied, however.

  “I am H’ruk, son of Korgath. I greet you in peace.”

  “I am Ashley Zimmerman, but my friends call me Az. I, uh, greet you in peace, son of Korgath.”

  I repeated the greeting ritual with G’hala, then they each greeted Zaire, Raylan, and finally the twins. Once the introductions were complete, H’ruk turned back to me.

  “Daughter of Zimmerman, you and your companions are to attend the Academy?”

  “Yes, but please, call me Az or Azure.”

  “Azure?” G’hala asked, sounding interested.

  “It’s my Delver callsign, or, uh, it will be once I’ve officially joined the Guild. Mason gave it to me, because of my eye.” I pointed to my right eye and H’ruk’s fanged mouth dropped open in surprise.

  “You have already received a Delver name? From the Black Razor himself, no less?! What an honor! And I see the mark of mana upon you, at such a low Level! Amazing!”

  “Well, it’s funny you say that, because he never bothered to tell us that he’s the fucking Black Razor!” I complained, to their surprise and amusement. Within a few minutes, all of the recruits – including, apparently, our new orcish members, were seated at our own table while the older orcs and senior Delvers sat down together.

  We – mostly Raylan – were soon regaling the orcs with the tale of our dungeon adventures and training under the legendary Black Razor. We ordered food for the humans while the orcs claimed a pitcher of beer from their previous table, having already eaten.

  I felt off-balance, confused by how normal H’ruk and G’hala were – for the most part. There were some interesting cultural differences, however. According to the orcs, what we called mana corruption they called the mark of mana, which apparently was believed to be a sign of strength. G’hala explained that it was because you had to survive great dangers in order to receive the mark.

  Apparently, it was quite unusual for someone in Tier 0 to have ‘earned’ the mark honestly – though some tried to cheat their way into it, by entering a higher-Tier zone and wounding themselves to let the mana in. This was greatly dishonorable, according to H’ruk, who sounded offended just talking about it. Instead, you had to earn the mark of mana on your own, then you could participate in the tribe’s rituals of cutting and implanting metal into your arms to mark yourself as a true Ironhide.

  Korgath Ironhide