Chapter 115
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 115
Chapter Title: Humiliation (1)
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"We are all warriors. The only difference is in how we fight, but we who live by struggle are all warriors."
Until ants suddenly appeared in the northeastern uncharted forest and claimed that land, the prairie orcs who had lived on the great grasslands were a combative tribe that had revered battle and strength, following the mighty, since time immemorial.
They were a people who had split into tribes and endlessly clashed not only among themselves but also with surrounding powers, including the Lukadia Empire and the old Holy Kingdom, struggling through long ages of strife.
Their belligerent nature and formidable combat prowess struck terror even into those who could match them.
For such orcs, defeat was a humiliation, but something even more shameful existed: fleeing without a fight.
"But there was no choice. I am a chieftain who must protect my followers before being a warrior. I couldn't lead them to certain death."
"I understand. No one will blame you."
Before setting out toward the ants' territory—their stolen homeland, the great prairie.
In his chambers, Gorzan, king of the Orc Kingdom and apostle of the full incarnation Urmark, spoke with a darkened expression.
Scrumm, who had met with Gorzan alone, clicked his tongue sympathetically and shook his head.
Scrumm was Gorzan's mentor, who had trained him since childhood.
Having retired only to be chosen as Urmark's subordinate and return as grand warrior commander, he had grown stronger than in his prime. With that power, he became Gorzan's steadfast right hand, enabling the Orc Kingdom to subjugate the region and build a new force.
"When the opportunity comes again, just take revenge."
"Are you certain now is that chance, Master?"
"...I'm not sure."
The shameful memory of fleeing without a proper fight.
That was their reverse scale—the ants, who had chased them beyond the prairie.
Though they had crushed the region and mobilized vast slaves to rebuild their power, neither Gorzan nor Scrumm felt confident against the ants.
Even before fleeing and during the retreat, they had fought the ants endlessly, to the point of exhaustion.
The ants were objects of terror. No matter how many they killed, more kept coming, constantly evolving and changing.
They had come to think the local forces too weak and boring by comparison.
The prairie orcs, tempered by battles with the ants, were strong even in unfamiliar wars, including sieges.
If the local forces had resisted fiercely or held out longer, the orcs might have been cautious. But with kingdoms and duchies falling like stacked reeds, the orcs couldn't help awakening their primal ferocity.
Moreover, the orcs wielded desperation as a weapon—one only they, who had faced the ants first, possessed.
'Those demons of Belzahad are the Outer God's summons, mindless harbingers of ruin and doom. It's only a matter of time anyway. No difference. We orcs must fight to survive, then or now.'
Leaving Gorzan's chambers, where he seemed lost in heavy thoughts, Scrumm gazed blankly at the night sky.
The sky over the prairie and the sky here—once a human kingdom's palace—were one and the same.
Thanks to Urmark's special blessing, his body had rejuvenated to its prime, muscular form, but the years showed in his long, white beard.
"What's the matter?"
"Some humans in the north have revolted, so I'm rushing to report to the king."
"...A revolt?"
Just then, he spotted a messenger hurrying toward Gorzan.
Hearing the urgent messenger out, Scrumm's white eyebrows twitched.
In truth, the Orc Kingdom's interior was a powder keg ready to explode.
The prairie orcs' brutal rule—enslaving the defeated—was harsh, hard for other forces, especially other races, to accept.
However, the orcs hadn't always been this cruel in enslaving the defeated.
Forcibly seizing females and throwing them to warriors, plundering wealth without restraint—these acts carried a horror even in Scrumm's eyes.
Unless they did this, they'd suffer another defeat to the ants and be devoured—a primal fear dominating the orcs' minds.
"I'll go."
After a moment's thought, Scrumm declared he'd handle it personally.
The messenger's eyes widened in surprise, but he had already vanished.
"We can't keep enduring those brutal orcs. We must evacuate as many as possible."
Amid ruined cities and fallen orc soldiers, people frantically packed and fled.
A young man watched them anxiously, scanning the surroundings.
He was Berglen, the ringleader of this surprise revolt that had seized a city and begun evacuating the enslaved. Once a prince of a small kingdom that ruled this area, he was also an exceptional knight.
After orcs destroyed his kingdom, he had barely escaped during the fighting and gone underground with a few comrades.
Witnessing the orcs' destruction and abuse of the people, he burned with rage.
"Calm down, Your Highness. We've already blocked all routes so their reinforcements can't arrive quickly."
His mage comrade tried to soothe him.
The plan to gather strength and strike from within had succeeded; the orc guards were annihilated.
They had blocked roads and set obstacles to prevent large reinforcements. Prepared thoroughly, executed perfectly.
At least the people in this city could be evacuated as planned.
A bit further up was the Dwarf Federation's territory, ready to receive escapees from the Orc Kingdom. They planned to hand them over there first.
"Whoa, Your Highness! An enemy is heading this way!"
"Impossible! Didn't you say all paths were blocked?"
"It's not an army. Just one enemy..."
But in the early morning as the sun rose from the east, a variable emerged.
A urgent report arrived via communication orb.
'Just one?'
Berglen's eyes widened. Almost simultaneously, those with sufficient sensitivity sensed a massive aura and gasped in shock.
"You...!"
"Bold move, human."
Something roared from afar, kicked off the ground, and crashed down, shattering the earth.
Staggering from the shockwave, Berglen gaped at the glowing orc eyes in the billowing smoke.
Scrumm, cloaked in blue demonic power, growled while hefting a massive greatsword larger than a human face.
"Shut your trap, orc. I need to take my people back."
"I won't deny it."
As Berglen drew his sword with resolve, Scrumm slightly reined in his growl and gave a wry smile.
"Struggle for survival is natural. Those who don't strive have no right to claim it—so fight and seize it, human warrior."
"Nonsense...! I'm not here for a duel with you!"
Berglen shouted, voice rising in agitation.
Scrumm meant it sincerely, but the two were already at opposite extremes.
And he truly wasn't seeking a duel. Confirming Scrumm was alone, Berglen's men launched a coordinated assault.
Over fifty, including Berglen as the core.
'Good momentum.'
Scrumm smiled wider at the enemies charging from all sides.
Struggle was noble and joyful. Challengers seeking what they desired—exactly what orcs loved.
"This is...!"
Scrumm raised his greatsword and unleashed his power.
Demonic power—far wilder and more explosive than mana—surged, engulfing the surroundings in an instant.
Berglen recoiled in horror as the force snapped his mana-clad sword like a twig.
The hero empowered by Urmark, the grand warrior Scrumm who had made a name before retirement—his fusion of divine teachings and personal enlightenment: Pulverizing Extremity.
"How can such a realm...?"
Berglen, flung back with his comrades, spat blood from internal injuries and trembled in disbelief.
A prodigy since youth, Berglen could best multiple ordinary orc warriors with ease.
Yet Scrumm was several steps ahead.
This was beyond imagination.
"The gap between a warrior blessed by the great full incarnation and one without is vast."
"The great full incarnation—that fiend is the root of all evil...!"
"No, you don't understand. The true culprit behind this situation is someone else."
Looking down at the rebels subdued by him alone, Scrumm shook his head at Berglen's fury.
Normally, insulting Urmark would mean death.
But now, Scrumm gazed at him with pity.
Berglen, who had tried provoking Scrumm knowing loyal orcs flew into rage at slights to Urmark, was stunned speechless.
The old orc's pitying expression felt genuine.
"The true culprits are those demons. The Outer God's subordinates who drove us from our home and seek to bring doom to the world. I won't ask you, who hate us, to believe or spare us. But I speak the truth."
Scrumm muttered, eyeing the approaching orc troops.
"Everyone fights to survive, but space is shrinking. Orcs, humans, dwarves alike. Those demons destroy even the adjustable heights we could settle for. They know no coexistence. No slaves, no warriors, no kings."
"Cowardly excuse..."
"It's an excuse, a loser's ugly one. That's why I'll correct it soon."
The rushing orc troops eyed the subdued rebels warily.
Orcs normally punished internal revolts—especially by human slaves—with brutality.
Tearing limbs was standard.
But Scrumm spared Berglen and his men by his authority.
"I'll assign them as slave soldiers to my unit. They say they've barely fought those demons properly. In these precious times, even one hand matters—a warrior like this, human or not, is too valuable to kill."
"But the king said rebels..."
"I'll tell the king. Though we've changed much, upholding true warriors is our root tradition."
Furthermore, Scrumm added them to his upcoming expeditionary unit.
"Ahem, you're really going to infiltrate their nest—presumed to be where those fiends dwell—with just a small force?"
"You probably know by now, but those demons have started using some unknown technology."
Weeks into the campaign, Scrumm met for the first time with representatives from the Dwarf Federation fighting ants in the north.
The dwarves' faces hardened at his mention of the unknown technology.
Their proud steam magic armored trains had shattered against heavy ants charging as living golems, fully plated.
"We'll attack simultaneously as agreed to draw their attention, then slip in secretly and strike their nest. They have a queen. Behead her to disrupt them—that's the goal."
Scrumm said, stabbing a dagger into a drawing depicting Bellona.
They knew the ants' rough structure and hierarchy.
Not details like hive mind secrets or distinctions between main and nomadic swarms, but basics: queen, variant combat units, worker castes.
Neither main nor nomadic swarms would collapse entirely without Bellona, bound by one mind. But the nomadic swarms under her control would suffer greatly.
"Above all, this path is for all of us living on this land."
Scrumm persuaded the flustered dwarves with solemn words.
Setting aside divine rivalries or grudges, for this moment, unite for one purpose.
This was not as orc commander or grand warrior, but as a fellow being and warrior sharing this world.
"...Fine. Let's try it. It won't end here anyway."
The dwarves' commander finally nodded, recognizing Scrumm's sincerity, forging a miraculous alliance.
'Scrumm's sincerity worked, but ultimately, it's Belzahad's infamy that made this...'
From the meeting hall's corner, Berglen watched silently, swallowing dryly as he recalled the ants he'd directly faced these past weeks.
Strong, yes, but their tenacity terrified most.
He realized they were foes you couldn't relax against unless eradicated to the last cell, burned utterly from the world.