Ripples Everywhere
Adonel Publishing House had included this kind of disclaimer for the first time. Not many people knew much about the mid-sized publisher to begin with, but those who frequently bought books from them all said the same thing.
Shuren Chronicle is purely a work of fiction and imagination, with no relation to reality whatsoever.
They had never once inserted a warning like this. As a small-to-mid-sized publisher that had always been extremely selective about the books it released, this was an unprecedented move.
Readers felt a surge of curiosity upon seeing the disclaimer printed in the newspapers ahead of time, and that provided the spark for all copies of volume 3 to sell out at an astonishing speed.
The answer to everyone's questions lay solely within the pages of volume 3.
"Revenge isn't just some simple emotion, human. Revenge is holier than anything else. It's an absolute vow where you stake your soul and your life to utterly destroy your target."
He was a man of sturdy build. Sunlight spilling over his shoulders dyed his green skin a crimson hue, casting a massive shadow that made his protruding fangs on either side stand out even more sharply. His scarred, muscular arms gleamed with sunlight trickling down like water droplets along the bulging curves of his muscles, all the way to the hand gripping the axe. Every bundle of muscle looked like it harbored tremendous power, rippling like mountain ranges.
Among all the people Shuren had met since arriving on this continent, Crazena, he had the most alien appearance.
"An absolute vow...?"
"That's right. That's how we orcs are taught."
The race known as orcs on the Crazena continent—a 异族, nonhuman folk. Branded as monsters and shunned, this warrior who embodied the savage wilds of the barren lands stared down at Shuren with coldly ruthless eyes.
"I don't know what got you hurt like this. But I sense destiny in you."
"Destiny...? From a green ghost like you."
"Nokqui? Interesting word. Doesn't sound like imperial tongue. Where are you from? Some mysterious land across the sea?"
The massive orc warrior, intrigued by this rare conversational partner after so long, sat down on a freshly cut tree stump like a chair.
"I am Kranish, son of Kran'dar. Akan'shtar—the Star of Vengeance."
"Star of Vengeance?"
"That's what we call those born with the fate to walk the path of revenge. Revenge is pain, a trial. But that's precisely why it's the holiest thing."
The orc warrior Kranish rested both hands atop his axe haft, his gaze piercing Shuren like a blade. His shadowed eyes burned like the sun.
"I've seen many set out on the path of revenge, but few burn with such desperate thirst for it like you. What did you lose?"
"Everything."
Shuren gritted his teeth, staring down at his now tattered and frayed cloak. The sole memento left by the late Shana in this world. It was also the only thing anchoring his fading humanity to this realm.
"...My family and master gave their lives to protect just me. Their grudge weighs on my shoulders. If not for that old knight who blocked my way, by now I would've already..."
"An old knight, huh. Looks like the empire's old Sword Ghost is still kicking."
"You know him?"
Shuren had slipped naturally into the conversation without a hint of discomfort. Until now, he'd rarely met anyone who listened to him like Kranish did.
"Wolf Knight Schubert. Schubert Ulvelroom. The name makes my teeth chatter—me and my kin."
"Schubert Ulvelroom..."
"It's been over forty years since he vanished from the empire. Surprising he's still alive. By human years, he'd be over a hundred."
"Over a hundred? His hair was white as snow, but he didn't look that old."
Shuren recalled the old knight who had stood in his path. Despite his age well over ninety, Schubert's ferocious sword strikes came back to mind, making his wounded arm throb painfully.
Kranish spoke.
"They say those who wield Aura reach a point where time reverses for their bodies. In human terms, it's called Body Change."
"Huan'gu Tal'tae. So even in the western lands, there are those who reach that realm..."
"No idea what that gibberish means, but if it's pointing to Body Change, then yeah, close enough."
Kranish said gravely.
"You haven't reached that level yet. I can feel the immense Aura within you, but you haven't broken through the wall."
"What do you know, you bastard! Ngh—!"
Shuren tried to rise but collapsed. Kranish's words struck like arrows.
"You plan to set out on the path of revenge dragging that body? Foolish. You'll lose your life before even reaching your target."
Shuren swung his sword at Kranish. With a mere twitch of his axe haft, Kranish blocked the strike effortlessly.
"Don't defile the sacred name of revenge, human."
The massive orc warrior rose. It was like a great tower standing tall. The fighting spirit radiating from his entire body made the air tremble.
"If dying is your burning wish, then Kranish, son of Kran'dar, accepts your duel in the name of a great warrior!!"
The roar of the wandering orc great warrior shook the air across the wasteland.
Shuren Chronicle volume 3 caused an even greater uproar than volume 2 the moment it hit shelves. If volume 2's developments had been somewhat tolerable, volume 3 shattered the common sense of imperial citizens.
Orcs had always been depicted solely as monsters until now. Portraying them as intelligent beings capable of conversing with humans—and wielding Aura, no less—ignited fierce backlash.
The problem was that this time, it wasn't just the imperial literary world—it had alienated knights who trained with the sword as well.
The intense criticism of Shuren Chronicle volume 3 continued. Employing a protagonist from Kun'Rung was already radical enough for any imperial novel, but depicting orcs as intelligent beings who wielded Aura had fueled massive backlash.
While the imperial capital erupted in reaction to volume 3, Alan's book spread through countless channels, even reaching the eastern barren lands.
In the heart of the eastern barren lands, Ursuna. Compared to the western or eastern empires, the city felt crude, brimming with primal savagery.
At its center stood a massive structure—the residence of the great warlord of the Osrian Alliance.
"Humans wrote a book about us... Intriguing."
His hand felt rough. A fist like a lump of raw power gripped the paper book so tightly it seemed it might tear with the slightest squeeze.
"Fascinating. I've heard there are humans studying our culture."
"This is probably the first time in history an imperial human hasn't called us monsters."
The speaker was a troll with pale blue skin and protruding fangs. The great warlord of Osrian, his head draped in wolf pelt like a helmet, chuckled at his troll advisor's words.
"Quite unusual. For it to reach all the way here, it must've been quite the shock."
"It'd be shocking to the Barbaroi, that's for sure."
Humans held no small presence within the Osrian Alliance. Called Barbaroi by Osrians, these eastern folk stood out in many areas even among Osrians.
Osrian script was based on the western empire's, created by Barbaroi. They handled all records. They competed commercially with goblin money-grubbers, and in martial prowess with naturally gifted orc warriors and troll hunters.
Born with the frailest bodies in the alliance, they had carved out their place through grit and effort. Thus, in Osrian tongue, they were "the seized"—Barbaroi.
The troll advisor said,
"The Barbaroi know western common sense well enough. Their shock must be double."
"Amusing. Truly astonishing."
The great warlord laughed. They knew what was commonplace to them wasn't in the west, yet this novel Shuren Chronicle reaching even him highlighted that surprise.
"An exchange between a great warrior wielding Aura and a human seeking revenge. Feels like it drew from Osrian culture."
"Duels and spars build friendships too—at least in Osrian ways."
"Amusing. I thought all western imperial humans were just lumps of prejudice."
"The shocking part is that it's written by the Sword King's youngest son."
The great warlord grinned with interest at the troll advisor's words.
"The Sword King's youngest, eh."
A massive diagonal scar crossed the warlord's chest, twitching faintly. A memento from crossing swords with the empire's Sword King in his youth.
He'd barely survived on the sacrifices of countless kin, but he'd never forgotten his awe for the empire's Sword King.
His hand traced the scar as a smile spread across his lips.
"Intriguing. Very intriguing."
The warlord's single eye gleamed.
"The Sword King's youngest son, they say. I'd like to meet him someday. See what kind of guy writes something like this."