The Ancestors’ Tombs (1)
The battle was over almost as soon as it began.
As soon as one of the Sanctuary Guardians was captured, the chieftain ordered an immediate retreat, pulling back his forces.
Perhaps he realized that the element of surprise had been lost, and continuing the fight would only lead to a costly war of attrition with little gain.
Or maybe he feared that if Dalen and Felber fully joined the fray, they might lose all the ground they had gained.
“Today, seven chieftains have left our side.”
Despite the retreat, the High Orcs suffered significant losses.
There were twenty-three tribes of High Orcs nestled in the Teeth of the World mountain range.
In a single day, a third of them lost their strongest warriors and leaders—their chieftains.
“We will remember our friends.”
Standing among the gathered bodies of the chieftains and other warriors, Tarum declared solemnly.
Dalen watched Tarum’s eyes tremble slightly and let out a silent sigh.
‘It was indeed a tough battle.’
The Sanctuary Guardians who attacked the chieftain’s meeting numbered around thirty.
Each was a collection of sorcery, crafted from the bodies of warriors at the fifth rank or close to it.
Though they couldn’t wield the power of their domains, they retained their strength and skills from life, enhanced by the advantages of being undead.
They felt no pain and wouldn’t die until their sorcery cores were destroyed.
Even for chieftains who had mastered their domains, it was a struggle to hold their ground against such monsters, especially when outnumbered.
The surprise attack only added to the disadvantage. No one expected a bloodbath at a chieftain’s meeting, not even those who lived for battle.
“Thank you, Dalen. Thanks to you, our tribe’s losses weren’t too great.”
Tarum approached after the funeral, extending a hand as large as a cauldron lid in gratitude.
“We can rebuild the stone houses and replant the burned fields. The chieftains died fulfilling their duty in battle, but our tribe’s High Orcs survived, thanks to you and your friends.”
“No need to thank me. Friends help each other. Besides, I got a meal out of it.”
“You’re a clever warrior. A good human.”
“Don’t cry. A warrior doesn’t cry over things like this.”
“I’m not crying! Something just got in my eye!”
Tarum shouted, tears welling up, and Dalen chuckled, shaking his hand.
As Tarum said, the tribe’s losses were minimal. A few warriors had died, but most of the damage was material.
The attackers had focused their efforts on the chieftains, and Dalen’s group was more than capable of handling a few Sanctuary Guardians.
Felber, Lucia, and the others were already hard at work, repairing the village and restoring what had been damaged.
“Elle—Maialin.”
“Amazing! The stones move on their own!”
“Blink, and a stone house is built! The old wizard is smart! The young wizard friend too!”
Felber and Tommy, both earth mages, were naturally unmatched in construction work.
“I feel strength surging through me!”
“Whoa! I feel like I could fly!”
Lucia, with her battle prayers, was boosting the High Orcs’ spirits, making the arduous work seem easy.
“Thanks to them, we’ll have everything fixed by tomorrow. But now… the hardest part remains.”
With a deep breath and a sigh, Tarum began to climb the hill leading to the cliff.
Dalen followed silently.
It was time to interrogate the captured Sanctuary Guardian, bound by Arvor’s chains, holding a fragment of the chieftain’s consciousness.
[You’ve kept your guest waiting for quite some time.]
On the cliff, in the ruins of Tarum’s shattered stone house, the Sanctuary Guardian was bound in blue chains, surrounded by the surviving chieftains.
Crack.
The air was thick with tension, the chieftains’ eyes gleaming with murderous intent, their teeth grinding audibly.
Despite the palpable anger directed at him, the chieftain, projecting his consciousness through the Guardian, remained unfazed.
[Not even a drink or a chair for your guest? Is this how I taught you?]
“Spare us the nonsense, chieftain.”
Thud.
A tattooed High Orc emerged, stepping over the rubble. It was Tarum, the owner of the ruined house.
“Today, you’re not a guest but a prisoner. You’d better have a good explanation for what you’ve done.”
[What I’ve done… I’m not sure what you mean. Doesn’t the chieftain have the right to punish rebellious chieftains?]
“Rebellion? That’s a stretch. Then why did you summon demons to the Sanctuary?”
[Why do you assume I allied with demons?]
The dark-skinned High Orc smirked, nodding towards Dalen.
[Did that northern barbarian tell you I allied with demons?]
“Yes.”
[Unbelievable. Have you ever heard of a High Orc chieftain allying with demons? If anything, I’d like to ask: who are the ones who’ve historically allied with the demons of Sume? Isn’t it the barbarians beyond the Frost Plains, waiting for gods who will never return?]
Some chieftains glanced at Dalen, who simply stared at the Guardian, expressionless.
’…Something’s off.’
He’d felt it from the first encounter.
The Guardian had the chieftain’s memories, but something felt different, like he was speaking to someone else entirely.
’…Why is this guy so smooth-talking?’
Now he understood the source of his unease.
The chieftain was supposed to be straightforward and simple-minded, despite his strong convictions.
[And these chains binding me are the power of Calcas, a servant of Enaxagus. Did you use that demon to borrow Calcas’s power, northern demon worshiper?]
[Th-thick as a brick, you say…!]
Arvor, maintaining the chains from a corner of the ruined house, bristled. The chieftain chuckled as if to say, “See?”
Mentioning demons, the chieftains’ gazes shifted towards Dalen. The murmurs suggested they were swayed by the chieftain’s words.
Dalen shrugged and replied.
“He’s my slave. Is there a problem?”
[Laughable! A human claiming a demon as a slave? Even a passing goblin would laugh!]
The chieftain’s laughter abruptly stopped.
With a furrowed brow, he spoke in a serious tone.
[I propose we hold another chieftain meeting, staking my position as chieftain. All chieftains present must attend.]
The murmurs grew louder, the chieftains torn between their anger at the chieftain who had attacked them and the authority his position held for over a thousand years.
Then Tarum, who had been silent, stood up. The chieftain turned to him.
[Do you have something to say, Chieftain Tarum?]
“Yes.”
[Very well. But remember, you are my successor. Consider the weight of your words as a candidate for the next chieftain. I trust you’ve learned well from me.]
“I know, chieftain. Your teachings have always guided me.”
Tarum nodded, stepping forward. The massive double-headed axe on his back swayed with his steps.
“And I remember the most important lesson.”
[…What is it?]
“When there’s a problem, you hit it. Hitting fixes it.”
Thunk.
The tattooed giant halted before the dark-skinned Orc. The Orc’s lips twitched slightly.
Anxiety. Confusion. A hint of unease.
If it weren’t for the empty shell of a body, a cold sweat might have trickled down. But the chieftain suppressed his tremor, speaking calmly.
[I don’t see what the problem is. Are you sure you understood my teachings…?]
“You talk too well. Just like a demon.”
Whoosh—
With a rough motion, Tarum drew his axe.
The massive hunk of metal sliced through the air.
“Chieftain, if you can still hear me, hold on a bit longer! I don’t know what trick the demon played on you, but I’ll fix it!”
Tarum’s black eyes flashed purple for a moment.
Crack—!
The Sanctuary Guardian, bound in chains, was cleaved cleanly in two.
Clang.
The shattered sorcery core fell, the black body crumbling and scattering as it lost power.
Tarum, exhaling a frosty breath towards the sky, planted his axe in the ground and spoke.
“As the chieftain’s successor, I command.”
His voice resonated through the ruins.
“Tomorrow. We attack the Sanctuary.”
The preparations for the expedition were swift.
The next day, after sending the chieftains back to their tribes, the High Orc army gathered in the designated valley by dusk.
“The tribe that lost its chieftain in this incident has been excluded from the expedition. Losing their best warrior means they’ll need time to regain their strength.”
“Well done.”
“It’s such a shame! I couldn’t show a smart warrior like you the full might of the High Orcs!”
Tarum furrowed his brow in frustration. Dalen didn’t respond immediately, instead turning his head to glance down the valley.
“Food! Hunt! Food! Hunt!”
“Fight! Fight! But where are we going?”
“To the sanctuary! They say the great chieftain has betrayed us!”
“Betrayal? What’s that?”
“It means he stabbed us in the back!”
The valley echoed with the booming voices of the High Orcs, their green forms with white markings filling the space between the cliffs.
”…Just seeing this is impressive enough. I don’t think there’s any need to show more.”
“Is that so? I’m glad! I knew a smart one like you would understand!”
Tarum beamed with joy at the brief compliment. Of course, it wasn’t just a comforting remark.
Even though seven tribes were excluded from the expedition, the High Orcs gathered in the valley still had the power to lay waste to a small kingdom.
With a hundred warriors from each tribe, the total force numbered sixteen hundred.
If all the tribes had gathered, would the valley have even been able to contain them?
“Remarkable. To gather such a large force in just a day without any formal procedures for conscription and command.”
Lucia, too, looked down at the valley with eyes full of admiration. Having spent a long time with the Order of the Holy Knights, the sight before her was all the more impressive.
Even for a knightly order acting under a single creed and discipline, commanding a force of over a thousand was no easy feat.
The difficulty of conscripting troops scattered across mountain villages and assembling them in one place overnight was beyond words.
“By the way, how do you handle supplies?”
Lucia tilted her head in curiosity.
High Orcs were as obsessed with food as they were with fighting.
In any military operation, supply lines are crucial, and for a race so fixated on food, the challenge would be even greater.
“I heard you plan to reach the sanctuary in three days. That’s too short a time to establish supply lines, and I don’t see anyone carrying provisions… Do you have another plan?”
Her blue eyes sparkled with interest, a testament to her qualities not just as a formidable warrior but also as a capable leader.
In many battles, Lucia had led the remnants of the Holy Knights against the apocalypse until the very end.
Tarum’s expression turned serious at her question, and he spoke cautiously, which was unlike him.
”…What’s a supply?”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t understand difficult words.”
“No, I mean, you need food to fight, right?”
“Oh, you mean food! We’ve got plenty of that! Didn’t you see when you came to our village? This mountain range is full of food, especially those dim-witted Orcs piling up everywhere!”
The heir to the great chieftain declared proudly, leaving Lucia bewildered.
“Those dim-witted Orcs…”
“That’s right! The ones without tattoos! They’re not our kin! The meat’s a bit tough, but it’s fine! The goblins will cook it well!”
”…”
That day, Lucia realized why this race, with warriors each as strong as ten men, had never thought to expand their power beyond the mountains in over a thousand years.