Chapter 10
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: Layer 2 - Lv. 25 Excavation Site Sentries (2)
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The Girl frowned.
"Ugh, the smell."
"Greenskins generally don't wash up much."
"Is the hygiene okay?"
"It's not. Especially their mouths—they're horrific. Even a little bite could kill you from infection."
On the other hand, Orcs took pride in that stench.
True warriors didn't bother with ambushes. Only those who could strut around openly deserved the title.
Or something like that. In practice, any Greenskin who didn't stink turned out to be from another race.
"That's why their race has some natural resistance to disease and poison..."
The Hunter shoved a filthy cloth pouch into the bubbling spring.
It was the source of the river running past the Greenskin outpost.
"But curare poison? It doesn't faze them one bit."
Realistically, you wouldn't find it in this coniferous forest, but raiding wild Goblin villages always turned some up.
Game logic, so whatever. Think of it as their starter gear.
Over the past three days, they'd scoured the area, gathered glue, and brewed it up. Soaking it in the water let the poison seep out slowly.
Of course, it wouldn't reach assassination levels. But even mild paralysis would tank a warrior-class fighter's combat power.
And if their scant few shamans wasted mana healing paralyzed Orcs? Even better.
The Hunter voiced his concern.
"But this poison won't work if they just drink it straight..."
"Ever seen inside an Orc or Ogre's mouth? Tooth decay's practically a racial trait. The poison'll worm right in. By lunchtime, the ones with the worst teeth won't even stand straight."
That's when they'd strike. When outnumbered, you stacked every edge you could beforehand.
The Hunter asked glumly,
"Will you do the same to the Fairy village?"
"Poison their water source?"
"Yes."
I pointed to the Fairy Tree visible in the distance, then down at the outpost in the valley below.
"The village has that Fairy Tree, right? It's a World Tree sapling. Impure crap like poison doesn't faze it—that's how they're holding out against those guys."
"A sapling... I thought I'd lived alongside Fairies for so long, but I still have so much to learn."
"Seven years is a blink to a Fairy."
"I see..."
Fairies had lifespans worlds apart from humans, and their sense of time matched.
That was why Fairy traps earned the name "traps."
I had no intention of telling the Hunter this, but even a human lifetime together would register to them as a fleeting guest.
The gulf in perception was vast.
I'd seen plenty of Exiles try to live with Fairies. Almost none reached the end without regrets.
This guy had restarted quick enough—lucky, in a way.
Greenskin society was simple compared to humans.
The primal rule dominating it: strength.
High status meant raw power.
But as a faction worthy of respect—not mere monsters—their idea of "strength" wasn't simplistic.
Greenskins had long realized raw combat prowess wasn't everything.
It's not the strong who survive.
The survivors are the strong.
Shamans exemplified this.
Head-to-head against warriors? Their odds sucked.
They communed with nature instead of swinging weapons, honed mana over muscle.
Thrown into the wild? They'd die fast.
But in Greenskin society, shamans wielded major "strength"—and respect.
"More patients, huh..."
The expedition's supreme commander, the Great Shaman, drawled lazily.
Muscular warriors, paralysis locking their bodies and slurring speech, pleaded with their eyes before him.
No Ogres or Trolls.
The poison diluted in the river was too weak for those brutes.
No Goblins either.
Low-status ones couldn't even approach the Great Shaman. Trained assassins had resistance anyway.
Staggering in his view? All Orcs.
The cunning old shaman smirked.
"Mana recovers so slowly."
He waggled a finger. Thick green mana flickered at the tip like flame.
"Healing all you lot? I'd burn through two-tenths of my reserves."
The warriors' faces darkened. Few grasped what "two-tenths" meant.
But they felt he wasn't in a charitable mood.
"Prove you're worth my mana."
They got that much. The warriors started scheming.
Thirty minutes later, the Great Shaman chewed pilfered snacks from the warriors and sauntered into the shamans' tent.
Four of five bowed instantly.
The young Orc who didn't spoke up.
"Snatched the warriors' little treats again, Master."
"Hmph. Problem? Fighting's their hobby and specialty anyway."
"Take better care of the low-rank warriors."
"Is that your take as an Orc shaman?"
The young Orc fell silent.
"...No."
"Then shut it. Greenskins have their ways."
"...Understood."
"Tch. Still got human traces in you. You'll roll warriors like disposables soon enough. Why waste sentiment? Replacements are endless."
"But..."
"Cheap price for saving lives on the line, no?"
The Disciple Orc shut his mouth. He knew that level of poison wasn't lethal—but the Great Shaman did too.
"Still, suspicious. Poison. Fairies wouldn't stoop to that."
The Great Shaman recalled the raid captain missing for three days.
Warriors vanishing now and then? Common.
Captain-level? Rare.
"Something else in this little forest besides Fairies?"
The old Orc chuckled darkly.
"Why are those bastards here?"
"Flanking the Fairy village... doesn't seem like it."
It looked less like a war camp, more like a construction site.
The Girl murmured,
"Excavation?"
It sure appeared that way.
"It's ruins, yeah."
Fairies' long lifespans meant ancient tales aplenty.
Most legends, wrapped in Fairy metaphors, were just lore fluff. Few hinted at real secrets.
Most would ignore them, but I'd memorized every metaphor.
Me from back then, who'd studied ancient Fairy script: Jang Ha-do.
Hidden elements like old ruins? Dime-a-dozen.
"Orcs targeting this, attacking the Fairy village as cover? Weird."
Never seen that random encounter before.
Sure, unknowns happened, but...
Probability. Pure probability.
I dissected game clients constantly. A first-time encounter like this?
Not scripted. Random gen? Too polished, too big-scale.
Bad. Very bad.
Fewer horrors in the Labyrinth than encountering the unknown.
This run nagged at me constantly.
"Gotta play it safe."
The Hunter, eyeing the outpost watchtowers worriedly, brightened.
"Skip it then?"
I shook my head.
"Nah. Giving up total wipe."
Couldn't gauge hidden threats in these woods.
Better stick to normal paths.
The Hunter's face fell.
Remembering the Fairy he'd killed, probably.
"Then I'll side with the Fairies."
"Yeah, seems wise. Orcs are the odd ones, not Fairies."
The Hunter looked puzzled, but I skipped explaining.
Damn, nothing went to plan.
But if it did, it wouldn't be roguelike.
Never one-track plans.
That's why the Girl offed both the captured Fairy and Orc.
Unknowns didn't sway affinity.
Late-game exposure might bite, but pre-kingdom? Rare.
"We can clear that outpost at least. Let's go."
Orcs were born with tough green hide and log-thick muscles.
Plus savage, aggressive tempers.
Arrows that'd stop a human via pain? Scratches to Orcs, unless vital hits.
So aim for eyes.
Unlike popular belief, crossbows weren't quieter than guns—just louder shots.
Bad for ambushes.
So the Hunter skipped his crossbow; I took the bow.
Fairy-made bows molded perfectly to the hand.
Pulled arrows from the dead Fairy's quiver, slung it on.
A faint whistle, and the arrow pierced the eye of an Orc picking its nose at the watchtower.
The other jolted up, startled.
Dazed, poor judgment.
That split-second decided life or death.
Next arrow nailed its eye socket too.
The Hunter groaned.
"Even with magic bow aim assist, that's..."
"I'm a jack-of-all-trades. Tried Sword Master once."
"Sword Master...?"
"Forget it if you don't know."
The quiet Girl perked up instead.
"I-I know what that is! Sword shoots beams, right?"
Close, but not quite.
Anyway, modest archery flex, and the reaction's meh.
Whatever my face said, the Girl beamed and pointed to another distant watchtower.
"Clear all posts, then breach?"
"Yep. They don't expect Fairy counterattacks."
"Easy."
Guards were laughably lax.
Guess why: Greenskins' goal was these ruins from the start.
Attacking the woods? Just excavation.
Main force conquering Fairy village? Distraction.
Safe-as-houses ruin guards? Boring duty.
No alert Orc who'd grasp the mission's weight pulled watch.
Lax vibe blanketed the site.
I beckoned the Girl.
"Wipe 'em."
"Yessir!"
She saluted theatrically, then vanished.
Not kidding.
Explosive speed, silent steps.
Her presence even faded thinner.
No detection.
The Hunter sighed at the inhuman sight and moved out.
Opposite post from the Girl.
No Orc at the site sensed trouble yet.
Easier than expected.