Snak dragged the wooden post across the dry earth, leaving a shallow groove behind him. Sweat dripped from his green forehead. He planted the post in the ground and stepped back to look at the empty field. This would be his training ground. Young orcs needed a place to learn how to fight properly. Too many died in their first real battle because no one taught them right. He would change that. His thick fingers curled into fists. The work would take months, maybe years. But every orc who survived because of his training ground would make it worth the effort. He walked to the far edge of the field where stones marked the corners. Here he would build the main structure. A bunker with thick walls, brownish burgundy in color, strong enough to withstand any attack. The roof would hold harpoon launchers so the young ones could practice real weapons. Inside, they would learn hand-to-hand combat, weapon handling, and battle tactics. Snak picked up a large stone and carried it to the first corner. The foundation needed to be solid. He set the stone down and wiped his brow. One stone at a time, one wall at a time, one building at a time. This training bunker would be the first of many structures across his compound. Young orcs would come here weak and leave ready for war. Days of hauling stones turned into weeks. The walls rose higher each morning. Snak mixed clay with water to seal the gaps between rocks. His hands ached, but he kept working. When the walls reached above his head, he started on the roof supports. The harpoon launchers would go up there once the structure held firm. Inside the bunker, he set up a training dummy shaped like an avian raptor. Its feathers looked real, its talons sharp and threatening. Young orcs would strike it again and again until their arms grow strong. They would learn where to hit, how to hit, when to move. Snak stepped back and looked at what he had built. The training ground was taking shape. Soon the first students would arrive, and he would forge them into warriors who knew how to survive. Outside the bunker, Snak rolled heavy stones across the field. He arranged them in a circle near the entrance. Young orcs would lift these stones to build their strength. They would move them, carry them, push them until their muscles burned. Fighting required more than just knowing where to strike. It required the power to break through an enemy's defense. Snak placed his hand on the bunker wall. The brownish burgundy structure stood solid against the sky. His training ground was ready. When the young ones came, they would leave stronger than they arrived. That was his promise to every orc who walked through his gates.

Snak stood in front of the bunker and crossed his arms. The walls were up. The roof was solid. Now he needed to figure out what came next. He walked inside and looked around the empty space. The training dummy stood in the corner, ready for strikes. But one dummy wasn't enough. Young orcs needed more than just something to hit. They needed to learn balance, timing, and how to move under pressure. He stepped back outside and scanned the field. The lifting stones sat in their circle, waiting. His training ground had bones, but it needed muscle. Weapons came first. Snak walked to the far side of the bunker where flat ground stretched out before him. He started hauling stones again, stacking them into walls. The forge would sit in the center where he could hammer out practice blades and shields. Young orcs broke training weapons all the time. He needed a place to fix them and make new ones. The brownish burgundy stone rose higher as he worked. When the walls reached his chest, he built a roof and set up the harpoon launchers he had promised himself. The armory bunker took shape beneath his hands. Inside, he would craft everything the trainees needed to learn their trade. He set up a sharpening station outside near the entrance. Two warriors could work there between drills, keeping their practice weapons ready. Snak tested the grinding wheel with his thumb. It spun smooth and fast. Young orcs would learn that a warrior maintains his own gear. No one else would do it for them. He placed whetstones on the bench and stepped back. The station was simple but it would teach them discipline. Snak walked to the edge of his training ground where water pooled in a natural depression. He dug deeper, widening the space until it could hold several orcs at once. The mineral water beneath the surface bubbled up, glowing puce green in the fading light. He ringed the pool with brownish burgundy stone benches. After brutal drills, the young ones would need somewhere to soak their tired muscles. Snak sat on one of the benches and looked back at what he had built. The bunker stood strong. The forge waited for its first blade. The recovery pool would ease their pain. His training ground was ready to receive its first students.

Snak walked beyond his training ground to where the land dropped into valleys and rose into jagged peaks. Young orcs would need to learn more than what his bunker could teach. The mountain passes to the north would forge their endurance. The rocky cliffs would teach them to climb under fire. He studied the terrain and saw a dozen training opportunities. This world would make them strong if they were willing to push through the pain. He turned back toward his compound and stopped. The training ground sat ready, but no one knew it existed yet. Young orcs wouldn't just appear because he built walls and set up training dummies. He needed a way to call them here, to let them know when training began. Snak walked to the forge bunker and searched through the supplies he'd gathered. His hand closed around a long curved horn. Bone formed the mouthpiece, worn smooth from use. Green crystalline ridges ran along its length, catching the light. He carried it outside and tested the sound. The blast echoed across the valleys and bounced off the mountain walls. Any orc within miles would hear that call. He gripped the war horn tighter. When the time came to start training, he would blow it at dawn. They would come, or they wouldn't. But at least now they would know where to find him. The war horn would bring them, but they needed something else once they arrived. Something to show them that the training here meant something real. Snak hauled a massive stone pillar from the quarry near the western edge of his land. The brownish burgundy stone stood taller than him. He set it upright near the entrance to the training bunker. Green crystal veins ran through the rock, glowing soft in the daylight. He would carve names into this pillar. Every orc who completed his hardest challenges would be marked here forever. Young ones would see those names and know that warriors had stood where they stood. They would know that this training ground produced fighters worth remembering. Snak ran his hand across the smooth surface. The pillar would fill with names over time. Each one would push the next student to work harder, to prove they belonged among those who came before. Warriors needed more than training and honor. They needed a place to gather after the work was done. Snak began construction on a tavern at the far end of the compound. The curved brownish burgundy stone walls rose quickly under his experienced hands. He shaped archways and hung glowing vines across them, their soft light welcoming in the evening. Inside, he mounted battle trophies on the walls. Broken enemy weapons, torn banners, shields marked with claw strikes. Young orcs would drink here after brutal training days. They would share stories of their progress and their failures. They would build bonds that held strong in real combat. Snak set the last stone in place and stepped back. The training ground was complete. He had built a place where young orcs could become warriors. Now he just needed them to show up.

Snak sat on a stone bench near the recovery pool and watched the steam rise. The compound was finished. Every wall stood solid. Every weapon rack waited empty. But something felt wrong. He had built a place for warriors to train, yet no warriors walked these grounds. The silence pressed against him. Young orcs wouldn't just stumble onto his training ground by accident. They needed to hear about it first. Word would have to spread through the clans—stories of a place where fighters could become something more. Snak stood and walked toward the tavern. Maybe it was time to leave the compound and find the first students himself. He stopped halfway across the yard. A ruined structure stood in the distance, its brownish burgundy stones scattered across the ground. The broken walls reminded him of old territorial battles, the kind his father used to describe. Warriors had died defending that building. Snak walked closer and ran his hand across a fallen pillar. The stone felt cold and rough beneath his palm. This ruin held stories that young orcs needed to hear. Stories about what happened when warriors weren't properly trained. He could bring students here during their lessons, show them what failure looked like when it was carved in stone. The walk back took longer than expected. Darkness settled over the compound as Snak approached the main gate. Golden light traced the pathways ahead of him. He crouched down and examined the vines growing along the brownish burgundy pillars. They glowed with a soft luminescence, their tendrils coiling around the stone. The light was strong enough to see by but not harsh enough to hurt his eyes. Young orcs would need these pathways lit when they trained after sunset. Snak tested his grip on the pillar. The vines held firm and didn't tear away. They would last through seasons of hard use. He crossed into the training yard and looked up at the dark canopy stretching overhead. The thick material hung from posts he'd driven into the ground weeks ago, providing shade during the brutal afternoon sun. Snak sat beneath it and felt the temperature drop. Young orcs would push themselves too hard without proper shade. They would collapse before learning anything useful. He had built everything they needed—protection from the elements, light for night training, and reminders of what happened to unprepared warriors. Now he just needed to walk into the settlements and tell them about it. Tomorrow he would leave at first light.

Snak left the compound at dawn, heading toward the nearest orc settlement. He found three young warriors arguing over a broken training dummy outside a rundown fighting pit. They stopped when they saw him. He told them about his training ground—the climbing walls, the weapon racks, the honor pillar. One of them laughed. Another asked if the training was real or just talk. Snak grabbed a nearby practice sword and sparred with all three at once. He disarmed them in under a minute. When he walked away, they followed. The three young orcs arrived at the compound by midday. Snak led them straight to the dining hall. The brownish burgundy stone walls rose high above them, and harpoons hung from the roof beams. Banners lined the walls, each one waiting to display the names and achievements of trainees who proved themselves. One of the young warriors touched a banner and asked when his name would go up. Snak told him to earn it first. He showed them the tables where they would eat after training. He showed them the space where they would gather and learn from each other's mistakes. The hall felt empty now, but it wouldn't stay that way for long. Outside, Snak walked them to the raised fighting ring. Two of the young orcs climbed onto the platform and began sparring without being told. Their movements were rough but eager. The third one watched from below, studying their footwork. Snak let them fight until they were breathing hard. He stepped up onto the ring and corrected their stances. He showed them how to keep their balance when an opponent pushed forward. They tried again, and this time their strikes landed cleaner. When they finished, Snak pointed to the posts near the bunker. Colorful flags hung between them, bright against the stone. He told them those flags would mark their progress. Every technique they mastered would be celebrated here. The young orcs stayed through the evening. They asked questions about the training schedule and the combat drills. Snak answered each one and watched their faces. They weren't laughing anymore. They wanted to prove they belonged here. He had built this place for warriors, and now the first students had arrived. The training ground wasn't empty anymore. It was starting to work.

The first three students left after two weeks. Snak woke one morning and found their bunks empty, their training weapons abandoned in the dirt. No explanation, no farewell. He stood in the silent compound and felt the weight of it settle in his chest. He'd pushed them hard—maybe too hard. Or maybe not hard enough. He walked to the dining hall and saw the banner one of them had touched, still blank. The tables sat empty. The weapon racks waited unused. He had built everything right, but something in his teaching had failed. Snak sat on the stone bench and stared at the compound he'd worked so hard to create. Warriors needed more than walls and training equipment. They needed a reason to stay, and he hadn't given them one yet. He spent the next three days building new training obstacles. If the drills were too simple, the students got bored. If they were too hard, they got hurt. Snak constructed a platform with spiked metal spokes around the edges, anchored by aged cables he'd found near the ruined structure. The surface rotated when weight shifted on it, and burgundy moss covered the metal in slippery patches. He tested it himself and nearly fell twice before catching his balance. Young orcs would hate this thing. They would also need it if they wanted to survive real combat. He set up a practice target near the dining hall—a stone figure already cracked and scorched from whoever had used it before. The damage would show students what happened when defense drills went wrong. Snak walked to the edge of the compound and found a small cascade spilling over dark burgundy stones. The water looked lime green in the fading light, dripping into a quiet basin below. He sat down and watched it for a while. The sound was soft, almost peaceful. He thought about the three students who left and wondered if they'd found another teacher. Maybe they'd gone back to their clans and forgotten about training altogether. He rubbed his face with both hands. This place was supposed to make warriors stronger, but all he'd done so far was drive them away. He stood and walked back through the compound. The rotating platform waited in silence. The cracked target stood ready. The small waterfall continued its steady drip. Everything was here—everything except students who believed in what he was trying to build. Snak picked up one of the abandoned training weapons and turned it over in his hands. He needed to change his approach. Walls and obstacles weren't enough. Next time, he would teach them why they were fighting, not just how. The compound felt empty tonight, but Snak wasn't ready to quit. Not yet.