From the Rite of Fire (3)
In life, there are times when you're given the cold shoulder, and times when you're showered with favor. The problem is, you never know exactly when or where the trigger for it all happened. People often call it coincidence—or karma.
"Military Research Department?"
I was taking a short break outside, stretching out my numb arm, when a gravelly voice came from beside me.
Dark, mottled green-brown skin, a wrinkled forehead, prominent jaw and lips. Long, wild black hair and piercing blue eyes. Setting aside the fact that he towered over even his orc companions, he had the classic look of a northeastern orc.
He must have noticed the department emblem while I was stretching. Coincidentally, he was wearing the same one.
Senior student?
I vaguely remembered seeing him at the arena sometimes—or maybe not. Just a fuzzy impression like that. I'd always avoided getting tangled up with orcs, so that might have been why.
"Yeah, that's right. I figured it was a new face since I didn't recognize you."
"Ah... I joined mid-semester as a special admit, so it's no surprise you haven't seen me around."
"Hmm. Special admit?"
He let out a low, appraising hum in that distinctive rumble of his. Then, a flicker of displeasure began to frost over his eyes.
"...Come to think of it, I heard some guy under the Ruticia Margrave got in as a special admit. That you?"
"Yes. I'm Werner von Hebel, vassal to the Ruticia Margrave."
"I'm Darko, son of Siemobit, head of the Benet clan."
Right after the introduction, a hissing sound leaked from the orc in front of me—and it was clearly not friendly.
The Benet clan was a major orc tribe right near our Ruticia Margraviate. Though incorporated into the Empire, their size made their attitude toward it fickle, and even after submission, they'd caused no end of trouble. Inevitably, they had bad blood with the Ruticia Margraviate, tasked with defending the Empire's borders. Even in our childhood, the margraviate had torn its hair out over conflicts with them.
"Tch. No wonder things felt off. I was already dreading the arena, and now there's one more face I don't wanna see."
"......"
"We don't exactly have good ties. Let's not cross paths again, yeah? Unless we both wanna get hurt."
So it wasn't surprising that this hostile vibe had formed. Of course, I had my own side to argue.
"Darko, you're studying at the Empire's academy—yet you're picking fights with the Empire's margrave?"
His thick eyebrows twitched darkly at that. His protruding lips soon worked in a menacing snarl.
"Who's picking fights? You lot are the ones who started it—slaughtering our kin without mercy?"
"You mean the Sorv and Bend clans?"
"Yeah! The ones you cowards butchered!"
The Sorv and Bend clans—tribes closely related to the Benet. Unlike the Benet, incorporated into the Empire, they lurked beyond the borders and were the margraviate's chief enemies. During the Benet conflicts I'd mentioned, they'd been hired as Benet mercenaries and waged major war on the Ruticia Margraviate.
He didn't lower his voice, baring his tusks as he continued.
"They came to aid our rightful show of force. But you tricked them with your schemes and massacred them!"
"Rightful show of force?"
"Damn right!"
It was exasperating from my perspective, but not an odd mindset for orcs. In their harsh lands with an inefficient semi-nomadic economy, the 'clan' concept was practically a survival tool. It bound families together, treating even distant blood as family. Crude as it was, it inevitably revolved around the leader's prowess—and wars were prime chances to show that off. The Benet being a large clan meant they'd fought plenty of those.
That was why the Empire, through the Ruticia Margraviate, was managing them and slowly integrating them into imperial order.
"The Empire was exploiting us! We had no choice but to rise up against those outrageous taxes! It was justice!"
About ten years ago, under the pretext of excessive tribute to the Empire, they'd roped in outside clans for a rebellion. And from what I remembered, it hardly qualified as 'rightful.'
I spoke up.
"Do you know Derban of the Sorv clan?"
"Of course—my great-uncle! And the name of the hero you cowards killed."
"That hero invaded the margraviate, torched ten villages, and looted everything—while avoiding real battles."
"What?"
"What about Kalman of the Bend clan? He massacred civilians, kidnapped them, raped countless women—and skipped proper fights too."
"You..."
"Want more? I remember every atrocity those thirty-odd chieftains committed when they invaded the margraviate."
As I stared him down, Darko glared back, snorting in fury. From his reaction, I could guess the root of his attitude.
Aha—he knows they went to war, but not what they did there.
He looked young. Back then, I was around ten, so he'd have been early teens at most—and no real combat experience. Easier to remember their 'wrongful deaths' than their shameful deeds, especially from kin.
Even in mutual fault, one side twisting it favorably wasn't rare. Then a growl erupted from him.
"What, baron? You wanna duel me right now?"
I gauged his mood. No interest in dueling, so I planned to change the subject and leave.
"Baron von Hebel...?"
But from the path to the hall, a familiar male voice called—and I answered reflexively.
"My lord...?"
"What's all this?"
"Nothing. Just talking..."
"Talking? Ha!"
The orc's raised voice shifted from me to our leader—the margrave.
An unexpected turn.
"Ruticia Margrave! It's been ages since we last met properly. Looks like you've been well-schooled in the meantime."
"...I don't know what happened, but shouldn't you explain first? Even a senior shouldn't be this rude."
At the blatant sarcasm, my lord's eyes narrowed slightly as he replied. He seemed to know who this was.
"He slandered our clan and our kin clans—Sorv and Bend! And justified himself with ridiculous tales! Tell him—how vile your dirty tricks were!"
The orc unleashed a torrent, venting the stories I'd told him like payback. My lord glanced at me briefly, then turned back.
"If you had grievances, bring them to me. Why touch my vassal?"
"So his views are yours too?"
"I've stated my position long ago. I want peace with the Benet clan. And thanks to your cooperation, I can study here away from my lands. Same for you, no?"
As the orc faltered at the smooth words, applause rang out from the side. It was the princess.
"I don't know the details yet... but it's late, and words here won't solve it. What do you three think?"
"Mm..."
The orc, about to raise his voice again, finally clocked who she was and toned it down. Even he didn't want to tangle with the margrave and the emperor's daughter.
"Then why get heated here? Just settle it for real. You've got mock battles for that—why waste the anger?"
The problem was her solution—pure princess, picking the most princess-like fix.
*
The sun had set, and stars peeked out to light the darkening sky. Because of that, the margrave judged it unsafe to let the princess go alone at this hour, so he and I ended up escorting her to her dorm.
Naturally, our walk turned to the earlier incident.
"So, that orc senior's from a clan that clashed big with the margraviate, and talking about it sparked the fight?"
"...Yeah, pretty much."
My awkward reply drew a puzzled look from the princess as she walked.
"From what I recall, the Benet dispute ended with reduced taxes on them, right?"
"Yes."
"Then why's he so mad? If anyone's got reason, it's us—the margraviate took a real hit."
"I see two reasons."
I slowly recapped the situation.
"That Darko from the Benet had a gang trailing him. For orcs, losing face in front of underlings is intolerable."
"Isn't that true for any race?"
"For orcs, it's survival instinct. Their hierarchy is far stricter than others'. From our view, their lower ranks are basically voluntary slaves. If it were just us two, it wouldn't have escalated."
Human class systems are social constructs, not instinctual—otherwise, history's revolutions wouldn't make sense. Something like the French Revolution could topple a continent's order and shift mindsets.
But orcs' instincts enforce hierarchy. They seek strong leaders and submit like slaves for survival—a bizarre race. So leaders see slights as existential threats; fewer underlings mean less security. Conversely, targeting heads is brutally efficient.
"But why rage over other clans?"
"Second reason: kin ties, even across clans. Orc blood bonds run deep—practically same clan when close. Their kin got hit, so he feels entitled to rage."
"Not fully getting it... but he had his reasons, huh?"
"Yes. Plus... those 'vile acts' weren't exactly praiseworthy."
I nodded. The princess pondered; the margrave stayed quiet.
Suddenly, she spoke again.
"That 'vile act' he mentioned..."
"...The Sorv and Bend chieftains—thirty-odd—who invaded the margraviate. We faked surrender invites, hosted a banquet in an underground hall, and burned them alive."
"Right, I've heard. Losing all chieftains crippled those clans instantly. The previous margrave pacified the border. Though... in the process..."
"He fell in an unfortunate ambush."
The margrave's face darkened slightly as he answered.
Without leaders, the orcs scattered like rabble. Some vengeful ones ambushed the previous margrave during mop-up, and he perished. Luckily, the remaining Benet negotiated, accepting generous imperial terms—stabilizing the border to the point no real threats lingered.
Our lord studying here owed to that peace.
Conversation lapsed as we neared the princess's dorm.
"...Come to think of it, Ruticia Margrave."
"...Yes?"
"That talk you two had earlier."
The margrave's gaze flicked to me and away. Probably something involving me.
"It... isn't related to what just happened, is it?"
"......"
Silence—his favored non-answer. True to his principles against easy lies, but also his habit when he didn't want to say it outright.
We stopped before her dorm. I took a short breath, gazing at the stars, and murmured.
"Truth is, even if that orc didn't know—I think he has every reason to be mad at me. Because..."
"Baron..."
The margrave looked over, eyes asking if I was sure. I glanced at the princess and continued. She wouldn't blab, princess or not. And after getting dragged in, she deserved answers.
I shook my head briefly to signal okay, then finished.
"...That day, the one who ordered those thirty Sorv and Bend chieftains gathered in the underground hall and burned alive... was me."