High Orcs (3)
“Human. What brings you here?”
Was it because the meal was over, or perhaps because his subordinates had returned home? The chieftain’s voice, now calm and steady, carried a power that even his loudest shouts couldn’t convey.
Dalen could gauge the chieftain’s level. At the very least, he was a seasoned fourth rank, possibly even higher. Excluding the power of the Red Spear, which wasn’t fully his yet, Chieftain Tarum was a formidable opponent, easily matching Dalen’s own strength.
“A smart warrior deserves respect. That’s why I fed you first. But it’s rare for a human to come this far. If they do, it’s usually for one of two reasons.”
In the darkness, the chieftain’s black eyes, reflecting the flickering firelight, briefly flashed a deep purple.
“Shiny things. Or a fight.”
“For trade or hunting orcs, you mean.”
“Exactly. But you don’t seem to be here for shiny things. You understand why I might be suspicious of you.”
Dalen nodded. High Orc leather was a luxury item, traded at high prices among the nobility, especially those in the Empire who looked down on non-human races. The leather was incredibly tough and durable, maintaining its shape for decades without any special treatment. While it was an excellent raw material, its value as a lavish decoration was even higher.
“It’s because of the High Orcs’ war paint.”
The war paint was the defining feature that set High Orcs apart from regular orcs. The natural white tattoos on their skin were more than enough to satisfy the twisted aesthetic tastes of the Empire’s nobility. Some would preserve the leather’s shape to hang as decoration, or cut and stitch multiple pieces into rugs to flaunt their wealth.
In that context, the chieftain’s wariness was understandable. Even these remote northern mountain-dwelling non-humans couldn’t completely escape the greedy reach of the nobility.
“Hunting regular orcs is one thing. But those who hunt High Orcs, we tear them apart. Shiny things or a fight. Which is it for you, human?”
“Neither.”
Dalen chewed on the remaining meat on his plate before continuing.
“I’m here to visit the sanctuary.”
”…The sanctuary?”
“Yes. The place your great chieftain guards. The ancestral tomb hidden among the high peaks.”
“Hmm…”
Tarum let out a deep, contemplative hum at the unexpected answer. He drained his cup and scratched the back of his neck as he spoke.
“Sorry for the misunderstanding, human. But unfortunately, visiting the sanctuary won’t be easy.”
“Why not? I’m ready to prove my worth.”
Dalen asked, and Tarum shook his head with a bitter expression.
“It’s not about worth. We haven’t been able to enter the sanctuary ourselves for two months now.”
“Two months?”
The great chieftain I know wouldn’t let that happen. Only the wisest and strongest of the High Orcs could become the great chieftain. The current great chieftain was an exceptional warrior, one Dalen had fought alongside many times in past cycles. A hero who sacrificed everything to protect his people to the very end.
“Damn it.”
A foreboding feeling crept up Dalen’s spine. The subtle warnings he’d experienced since arriving in this land made him frown unconsciously.
“You seem to know a lot about High Orcs. About the sanctuary and the great chieftain. So you must be as confused as we are.”
Tarum nodded as if he understood Dalen’s thoughts. The wooden cup in his large hand creaked and splintered.
“It seems something has happened to Great Chieftain Stumpa.”
“When I saw you arrive, I figured something was about to happen… and it seems I was right this time too.”
Watching Felber chuckle as he kneaded clay, Dalen couldn’t help but twist his lips slightly.
“Even you, old man? I don’t understand why everyone treats me like a harbinger of doom these days.”
“Heh, but isn’t it true? Wherever you go, you perform feats that defy common sense. Which means, wherever you go, adversaries that defy common sense stand in your way.”
The path of a hero has always been a difficult one. Muttering this, Felber began shaping the clay figure, pulling a small carving knife from the bag slung over his shoulder.
Scritch, scratch—
The old man’s thin fingers moved with near-acrobatic precision as he carved.
Dalen turned his head to gaze out the window.
Three days had passed since the dinner with the High Orc chieftain. That night, Chieftain Tarum had declared with a heavy heart:
“I will convene a chieftains’ council.”
A grand meeting of all the High Orc chieftains from the Teeth of the World mountain range. Normally held once a year, it could be convened urgently in times of crisis. Of course, doing so would place significant political pressure on the one who called it.
“It was something that needed to be done eventually, human. The fact that you came seeking the sanctuary in these circumstances… it might be the ancestors intervening to make us realize the crisis we’re facing.”
Tarum’s light sigh, filled with contemplation.
Dalen shook his head. There was no need to overthink it. His purpose here wasn’t to meddle in the internal politics of the High Orcs.
“Wow.”
At that moment, Akasha, in the form of a boy, plopped down onto Dalen’s lap.
The boy stared intently at the scene of Felber crafting the figure, his small mouth slightly agape, his dark eyes sparkling with interest.
Anyone unaware would never guess that this boy was the true dragon who had laid waste to the southern continent in countless cycles.
“Heh heh heh.”
Felber chuckled warmly at the boy’s innocent demeanor, his hands working even more diligently.
Scritch, scratch—
As he infused the clay figure with magic, sharp carving strokes sent bits of clay falling away. The clay softened just enough to be cut when the knife touched it, then hardened immediately after the blade passed, holding its shape.
The mastery of an earth mage at the peak of his craft unfolded in his hands, breathing life into the once-blunt form.
“Even though I half-jokingly called it a retreat, it seems living here is truly beneficial.”
The fact that Felber could perform such delicate work with such agility was proof of his physical prowess reaching a significant level. As a grand mage at the fifth rank, looking even higher, he was developing a body capable of handling the immense power within his mind.
“Fifth rank, huh.”
The level where one could overlay a part of their domain onto reality. It was the threshold that distinguished those who transcended their natural limits.
Dalen recalled the brief moment when he had touched that uncharted path during the clash between the ever-changing face and the witch of vines.
“If I try just once more, I feel like I could fully grasp it.”
He was certain. What remained for him wasn’t a matter of ability but of perception. The minimum conditions had long been met.
He reminisced about the faint echoes of that time, hoping to revive the sensation.
Watching a mage with exceptional perception manipulate magic, capable of directly intervening in the timeline, he felt he might be able to recapture that feeling—
“Here. Take this.”
—Thunk.
The mental image scattered as a small statue was tossed onto his lap. The boy’s eyes widened slightly.
“Is this for me?”
“Of course. Consider it a gift from an old man.”
“A gift… Thank you!”
Akasha, overjoyed, snatched up the clay figure and dashed off to show it to Lucia, running down the hall with excitement.
Felber watched the boy’s retreating figure with a fond gaze and spoke.
“Don’t be in such a hurry.”
Though his eyes were on the hallway where the boy had disappeared, it was clear who his words were meant for.
“From the first time I saw you, I knew you were destined for greatness. Even as you faced transcendent foes, your inner calm remained unshaken.”
”…More cryptic words.”
“Simply put, there’s no need to rush. Overlaying your perception onto reality is just another step in your journey.”
Felber’s eyes crinkled with a gentle smile.
“Accept yourself as you are. If forming a small domain is a breakthrough achieved by reflecting on the past, then entering the stage of opening a grand domain is a power that comes from your perspective on the present.”
”…”
Creak.
Instead of responding, Dalen pressed his lips into a line and sank deeper into his chair. The resilient wood creaked under his weight but held firm.
Impatience, huh. Perhaps it had been that way for a while.
At first, he was caught up in the satisfaction of preemptively crushing the elements of doom, but as the evil gods began to act in earnest, the situation reversed.
To fend off their relentless assaults, he found himself scouring the continent alone.
Wasn’t this journey meant to break that cycle?
While it was crucial to completely repel the onslaught on the Kingdom of Char, Dalen’s focus was more on building his own strength.
By retrieving the body of the martial artist, capable of toppling hills with a single strike, from the High Orcs’ sanctuary.
“A perspective on the present, huh.”
The question Felber left behind was not entirely unrelated to such a journey.
Why had he embarked on this path? What did he hope to gain at its end?
The primal reasons and desires etched into him from the very beginning still lay dormant deep within his heart.
Once he steadied his momentarily scattered thoughts, he noticed Felber pulling out another lump of clay. The wizard spoke.
“Would you like one as well? I’ll craft it with special care just for you.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
The wizard chuckled softly and began to skillfully work the carving knife. Dalen watched him for a while before setting down his cup and rising from his seat.
He sensed the presence of the High Orc warrior chief who had come to summon him from outside.
After three days, the chieftains had finally gathered.
Three days later, Dalen visited the chieftain’s house.
On the first floor of the stone-built mansion was a large meeting room, spacious enough to accommodate dozens of grown men.
Yet, even such a large room felt slightly cramped once about twenty High Orcs had entered.
Dalen, attending as a guest representative, chewed on some jerky while observing the chieftains of each tribe.
The High Orcs were straightforward with their emotions, making it easy to gauge their feelings.
About half seemed indifferent, while the other half wore expressions of discomfort.
Some were so angry that they didn’t even glance at the assortment of snacks piled on the large stone table.
“Why the sudden chieftain meeting, Chieftain Tarum?”
As the sound of chewing subsided, one of the High Orc chieftains seated around the stone table stood up.
He was the one with the most twisted expression, and the reason was easy to guess.
“Isn’t it over half a year until the next chieftain meeting? Did you get the Grand Chieftain’s permission to hold this? Surely you’re not challenging the Grand Chieftain?”
“The Grand Chieftain is not attending, Chieftain Chanchanbala,” Tarum replied.
“I have no intention of fighting my mentor, the Grand Chieftain. Like you, I sent him an invitation, but even after three days, there’s been no response.”
“Then it’s a refusal. This is the first chieftain meeting without the Grand Chieftain. What could be so urgent? Speak, Chieftain Tarum.”
Chanchanbala, the High Orc chieftain, said this and sat down. Tarum nodded and continued.
“This meeting was called for two reasons. One is the request of this friend sitting next to me. He wishes to visit the sanctuary of our High Orcs.”
“That’s not difficult! It’s recorded in the laws of our ancestors! Share a meal, win a fight against three chieftains, and get the Grand Chieftain’s permission!”
One of the chieftains, who had been gnawing on a lamb shank, stood up with a booming voice. He was one of those with a nonchalant expression.
“Thank you, Chieftain Uldukap. But as you know, the Grand Chieftain has refused to participate in the chieftain meeting. The invitation also mentioned this friend, but there was no response.”
“So what are you trying to say, Chieftain Tarum?”
Chanchanbala frowned, his protruding tusks making his already fierce face look even more menacing.
Tarum stood up with a serious expression. He spoke.
“I believe something has happened to the Grand Chieftain.”
“That’s nonsense!”
Crash!
Several chieftains, including Chanchanbala, jumped up from their seats. Dalen almost reflexively threw his axe, stopping mid-chew on his jerky.
‘Damn it.’
All the High Orc chieftains present were formidable warriors in their own right.
While none seemed to surpass him in skill at a glance, the sheer number of over twenty meant he had to be somewhat on edge.
The High Orcs were simple-minded enough that even an outsider like him could become a friend with just an invitation to eat.
Which meant that during a tense meeting like this, fists might fly before words.
“Calm down, everyone. I follow the Grand Chieftain as much as you do. But even the Grand Chieftain is not invincible. Didn’t our ancestors return to earth and wind after death?”
”…If you put it that way, I’ll hear what you, a candidate for the next Grand Chieftain, have to say.”
The High Orcs, who had been growling as if ready to draw weapons, gradually calmed down at Tarum’s composed words.
It wasn’t just because they were a simple race.
It was a testament to the authority and trust Tarum held among the chieftains.
“Thank you, Chieftain Chanchanbala.”
“But I can’t agree with you. The current Grand Chieftain is too young to die of old age. And as long as the Grand Chieftain is in the sanctuary, the sanctuary guardians protect him. How could he be in danger?”
“That is…”
Tarum, about to say something, closed his mouth. Dalen also paused his jerky chewing once more.
”…”
A chill ran over his skin.
An instinct warning of impending danger.
Crash!
The moment he realized it, a dozen spears burst through the stone wall. Some chieftains skillfully drew their weapons to deflect them, but others were not so fortunate.
“Argh!”
“It’s an attack! We’re under attack!”
The High Orc chieftains leapt to their feet. Dalen remained seated, focusing entirely on his senses.
His hand hovered over the axe at his waist, vibrating as if begging to be thrown.
His heightened senses absorbed the information of the entire stone mansion and its surroundings.
His eyes, piercing through the mystical veil, analyzed every detail with his heightened intelligence.
They had breached the defenses of dozens of seasoned warriors.
An impossible feat under normal circumstances.
To have evaded the senses that missed not a single breath or heartbeat meant one of two things.
Either they possessed overwhelming power, beyond the fifth rank—
‘Or they are entities so close to non-living, with no life force to conceal, reconstructed through sorcery.’
Crash—
The ceiling collapsed. Through the gap, a dark figure descended.
Despite being clearly visible, its presence was faint.
Lacking even the most basic life force, it was practically indistinguishable from a rock or corpse to the heightened senses of a warrior.
Thud—
As the dark mass landed on the stone table, all eyes in the meeting room focused on it.
Swish— Crack!
The smooth handle of an axe embedded itself in its forehead, and the figure toppled backward as if its strings had been cut.
Boom!
The massive form crashed through the stone table.
A towering figure over three meters tall, resembling a High Orc.
The chieftains, recognizing the dense tattoos on its blackened skin, widened their eyes.
Tarum drew his sword and shouted.
”…It’s a sanctuary guardian! The Grand Chieftain has attacked us!”