The Good Orc

The orc Keurungen Kaba claimed to be a strong warrior. Many orcs had disputed that claim before, and every one of them had their skull split by Kaba's axe, so it wasn't exactly wrong.

Within the tribe, his valor and toughness were increasingly recognized, and as a result, Kaba had been assigned to the five-strong search party looking for Kakula Basha, the youngest son of the great chieftain Kakula, who hadn't returned even after the day had passed. Setting out to find the chieftain's rotten son wasn't particularly difficult or frightening, but Kaba couldn't help feeling dissatisfied.

This unknown land was too damn cold, and just leaving the fire was enough ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to make irritation spike.

"Damned white soil. I just can't get used to it."

The Great Grassland had winter too, so it wasn't the first time he'd seen it, but not like this. Sky-soil pouring down until the whole world turned pure white? The shamans had raised a ruckus, calling it a sign that Chieftain Kakula was walking the path of a great chieftain, but Kaba couldn't bring himself to like this awful cold and the white soil.

It melted and vanished the moment it touched you, yet it made your flesh cold. As if it meant to turn you into a frigid corpse.

"Strong Kaba! Can't find any tracks!"

At the shout from another orc in the search party, Kaba's expression twisted further. That was his second reason for hating this land's cursed white soil. The sky-soil that had poured down as if to swallow the world had swallowed every footprint and every trace whole.

"Nothing for it! We've got no choice but to keep moving, looking for the trees we've hacked."

"He's probably dead anyway. It happened because Basha was weak. Why do we have to go through this?"

As he kept his feet moving, an orc grumbled as if he couldn't understand at all. Kaba briefly debated whether he ought to smash one of that orc's fangs or just let it go.

Honestly, it wasn't wrong, but Basha was the sole son that Chieftain Kakula had barely managed to get after seeing ten daughters and refusing to give up. No matter how stupid and weak he was, he couldn't help cherishing him. Even if it had been Kaba himself, he clearly wouldn't have been able to cast the boy out.

Having judged so, Kaba promptly swung his fist and cleanly snapped off one of the mumbling orc's fangs with a crack.

"Only weak cowards curse from behind, Kuan! If you've got a complaint, run straight to Kakula, wager your spirit, and swing your axe!"

"Ugh! Kaba's words are right. I lost my mind for a moment."

"This is all because of the white soil. It makes your body cold like a corpse, so a warrior's spirit keeps slipping out of the body, and it makes you do things unworthy of an orc. We've got to keep our wits sharp!"

The orc called Kuan, despite suddenly taking a straight punch to the face, nodded at Kaba's words as if he'd just had a great realization and refocused on the search. Fortunately, Kaba's words seemed to have had their effect: whenever a complaint looked ready to burst from their lips, the orcs would startle, desperately attempting to heat their bodies by swinging their axes with all their might.

Before long, that behavior twisted into a strange form where the intent had shifted to "we're training while searching," and it escalated to the point where every single one of them was swinging his axe. Watching this, Kaba was deeply satisfied.

So the search that had been going on since morning showed no sign of ending quickly, until the sun dropped and the short twilight began, and only then did it finally reach its end.

If they had swung their axes less, they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could have finished sooner, but to orcs, that sort of hypothesis was meaningless. It was obvious Basha was dead anyway, so what mattered was that the time flying by uselessly while searching for a corpse had been spent valuably.

But once they actually found a fellow orc's corpse, they couldn't help the mood sinking.

"Kaba. It's Basha."

"...He's dead."

He was dead so definitively there was no need to say it. Worse, he wasn't just dead; he was laid out like a frog, tongue hanging out pathetically, his body gone cold and blue. Kaba let out a deep sigh in front of Basha's corpse.

"Father of the Great Grassland..."

He wasn't offering a prayer to the god. It was simply a lament because it was far too obvious how Chieftain Kakula would react to Basha's death.

And he'd died in such a pathetic state too? How on earth could anyone look at that and call him the youngest son of the great Chieftain Kakula?

"He died even though two of them attacked together. It was a strong enemy."

Listening to Kuan's words as he examined the corpse, Kaba saw that it was indeed so. Even if Basha was an orc who couldn't properly pull his weight, the orcs who had been with him were capable enough. The fact that Basha was still an orc despite his shortcomings, yet had fought alongside one of them and still lost, gave Kaba a small measure of relief.

"Still, he must have fought a battle he won't be ashamed of before the ancestors in the Heavenly Great Grassland."

But that frog-like tongue was a problem. First, just to retrieve Basha's corpse, he approached and tried pushing the tongue back into the mouth, but it wouldn't stay in and kept poking out insolently.

"Hrrgh. He's in a worse state than a dead frog. If Kakula sees him like this, the blood might reverse in his veins and he could collapse on the spot."

"It won't even go in properly. What do we do, Kaba?"

It truly was a dilemma. Even if they somehow shoved it back into his mouth, it would be pointless if it popped out again while they were carrying him. The five orcs were all putting their heads together and groaning when Kuan suddenly leapt up as if struck by a thought and pulled something from his waist.

Unlike the strong and magnificent axes of the orcs, it was a human weapon—infinitely small and frail-looking.

"Kaba! I have a small knife that humans use! How about cutting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the tongue off with this?"

"Are you a shaman?! You're clever!"

Amid thunderous applause and admiration from the four orcs, Kuan cheerfully handed the dagger over to Kaba. Holding the dagger, Kaba briefly debated where to cut, then decided to pry the mouth open as wide as possible and slice the tongue from as deep inside as he could.

If a half-cut piece stuck out, Kakula would clearly fly into a rage in a different way.

"Hm! Excellent. Who knew humans' weak weapons could be used like this!"

Cutting off the tongue and flipping the rolled-back eyes shut was like a shamanic spectacle that transformed a dead frog into a dead orc, and everyone nodded in agreement. Satisfied, Kaba returned the dagger to Kuan, hefted Basha's corpse onto his own shoulders, and set off on the return trip.

Thanks to the heavy corpse, his body naturally heated up and he broke a sweat. It felt as if he were deceiving the death that was trying to reach him through one already dead.

Kaba inwardly admired his own resourcefulness and moved his feet gladly, returning to the settlement at a far faster pace than they'd left. Yet, distance being distance, they didn't arrive until the dawn was nearly breaking.

Fortunately, there was no need to wake Chieftain Kakula. He was already sitting solemnly in front of the fire, as if he had guessed everything, waiting for them.

"Kraaah! Basha-aaa!"

The moment Basha's mother saw the corpse, she burst into wails and screams. Kaba set Basha's body down and looked at Kakula, and the old and great orc rose slowly with the dignity befitting a chieftain and approached Kaba.

"How was it."

"We five orcs examined the battlefield. Basha was killed by an enemy strong enough that Bullak, who accompanied him, was forced to fight. Basha will have met the ancestors in the Heavenly Great Grassland."

The orcs who had remained awake and not slept struck their chests at Kaba's words, and Kakula closed his eyes quietly and let out a deep sigh.

Kaba could feel, not sadness, but the old orc's fury in that. Kakula nodded, then walked over to his wife, who was clutching Basha's corpse and weeping.

"Move aside, Rusla."

Rusla, Basha's mother and Kakula's eighth wife, couldn't stop her crying but obediently moved aside. Kakula then approached Basha's sprawled body and began examining it minutely.

When he straightened up again within the long silence, Kaba felt the illusion that Kakula had doubled in size.

"Listen, children of the Great Grassland!"

Every orc pricked up their ears. Even Rusla stifled her sobs so as not to disturb the chieftain. Kakula, who had briefly watched that, looked around at the orcs again and continued.

"When we followed the shamans' prophecy, encountered the ancient mysteries, and entered this land, I remember that many children of the Great Grassland were killed by the horned humans who were here. Many children who went out to scout were also killed! However much Basha is my son, this death too is merely one among those. However!"

Kakula slowly bent down and carefully lifted Basha's corpse with both arms. In that moment, the chieftain wore the face of a father. It wasn't solemnity that showed, but grief.

"Though he fought valiantly, Basha has been deprived of the right to boast of his battle to the ancestors in the Heavenly Great Grassland! Because the cowardly humans, afraid our ancestors would learn of their weakness, cut out Basha's tongue!"

A murmur arose, and Kaba wore a dumbfounded expression as he looked around at the orcs who had gone scouting with him.

They were all ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wearing the same expression as Kaba. But there was no unease or embarrassment in it. They shared one single thought.

So that's how it went? Guess when you die, you'd better keep your tongue safe.

"I thought until now that the children who died were simply weak! I figured, still, they died fighting, so that was enough! But if the children who have died in this cold land full of white soil met our ancestors with their tongues cut out, silenced, just like my son! This is wrong!"

"Honorless and cowardly humans! They must all be killed!"

"They must be killed, Chieftain! It is war!"

At Kakula's roar, the orcs shrieked and beat their chests. The five orcs glanced at each other, quietly nodded, and then shrieked and struck their chests just like the rest.

In any case, Basha's tongue had been intact when he died, so he'd be able to boast of his battle to the ancestors. Kakula had it wrong, but if that meant war was starting, well, it was fine.

"War! War!"

Listening to the orcs' cheers, Kaba thought.

'That half-wit whose chieftain's blood was wasted died and gave us a gift.'

Half-wit though he was, Basha had become a good orc who gifted them a war.

"We will make an example of the human village we discovered! Shamans, report this to the gods and receive their blessing! We attack the moment the ritual is finished!"

"Kraaaah!"

In the kind of spectacle that would have made Eldmia squeeze his eyes shut and call them the most primitive, ignorant thick-headed idiots under heaven, the orcs' roars thundered out.