Chapter 179
Chapter 179
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 179
Chapter Title: Snow Ogre's Domain
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“Yeah? You know this guy?”
“Y-Yes. I do.”
Half-Orc Maxen, suddenly thrust into the spotlight, nodded in bewilderment.
“So he really is the messenger sent by Lord Kunderima.”
“Chieftain, is there anything else we need to see?”
The elders brightened once the hunter’s identity was confirmed.
But the chieftain eyed the hunter and Maxen alternately with a dissatisfied glint.
“Hmm. So you caught the Gray Wolf with this one’s help? Is that true too?”
“W-Well, that’s...”
Maxen’s gaze met the hunter’s, and he flinched.
‘Damn...!’
Seeing the hunter nod ever so slightly, Maxen realized he was caught in a trap.
If he denied the hunter’s words here, they’d start grilling him on how they caught the Gray Wolf. His lies would be exposed, and he could get kicked out of the vanguard.
Baiman Orcs might be simple-minded, but they took their warrior pride very seriously.
“Yes, it’s true. Thanks to his guidance, we were able to take down the Gray Wolf. He knows Balmont and every corner of the White Fang Mountains like the back of his hand. He’s incredibly capable, oh Mighty Tusks!”
To avoid getting booted from the vanguard, Maxen had no choice but to cover up the truth.
‘As expected, Sir Red-Eyes had a plan for everything!’
Recalling Eugene’s words about throwing Maxen under the bus if the Tollo Clan didn’t buy it, the hunter finally breathed a sigh of relief.
“Hmm. Very well. Then speak.”
“Yes. Lord Kunderima...”
Armed to the teeth with Eugene’s gold coins and faith in his words, the hunter confidently hawked the already-dead Lord Kunderima.
And the Tollo Orcs, from the chieftain on down, had no choice but to swallow every word hook, line, and sinker.
* * *
“Roamer monsters are swarming?”
“That’s right. Seems like it’s because of those orc corpses from before.”
Eugene furrowed his brow at the report from the Beowulf warriors who’d returned from scouting.
He’d deliberately dumped the bodies in a hard-to-reach spot, but who knew that would backfire.
“Hmm. If there are too many monsters, will the orcs avoid this area?”
“Probably? This mountain’s already a pain to cross, and if monsters start piling up, they’ll have no choice. Looks like we’ll have to clean them up ourselves. Want me to go take care of it?”
Ordinary Roamer monsters could be handled by Galpredic and the Beowulf warriors alone, so Eugene started to nod.
“No, hold on.”
But a sudden thought made him stop Galpredic and the Beowulf warriors as they rose.
“Let’s leave them be for now.”
“Huh? There are too many bodies—they’ll keep drawing more. Orcs, Roamers... it could get real annoying.”
Galpredic frowned.
They’d sent the hunter to lure the Tollo Clan’s orcs here.
But if the fifty-odd corpses attracted every Roamer in the area, it could throw their plan into disarray.
“You’re right. And right now it’s just small fry, but bigger mid-to-large ones will show up eventually.”
“Then isn’t that worse? What if the orcs don’t come this way?”
“I’ve got an idea. Let’s go check the dump site first.”
“Hmm.”
Galpredic and the Beowulf warriors tilted their heads but followed Eugene as he stood.
“Hey, wizard.”
“Yes?”
As Eugene was about to leave the hut, Romari, who’d been lounging with Mirian, whipped her head around in surprise.
“Why aren’t you coming?”
“Me? Why?”
“Why do you think? You’ve got a job to do. Hurry up.”
“......Okay.”
The wizard, who hated the cold with a passion, ended up slinging on her fur robe with a wilted expression.
Eugene’s group left the hut and headed toward the valley where they’d dumped the bodies.
Knee-deep snow, near-vertical slopes, and cliffs that could crumble at any moment—it was a deathtrap.
But the vampires and Beowulfs, with physical prowess and senses surpassing any beast, scaled the mountain without issue.
Kiiiiieeeee!
Eugene stood at the cliff’s edge, where the wind howled like banshees from all sides, glaring down at the valley hundreds of meters below.
Blinding gusts and snowstorms hampered visibility, but it was no match for a vampire’s sharp eyes.
“Master, see anything?”
“Goblins, kobolds, harpies, and trolls too.”
“Kee? They’re all gathered there?”
“Probably starving bad. Like when there’s a drought—herbivores and carnivores alike crowd around puddles to drink.”
Mirian’s eyes went wide at Romari, who knew her stuff despite being a wizard.
“Keeet! Yeah, all sorts would show up at my pond sometimes—dogs, calves, whatever. Ool! You’re spot on!”
“Hehe.”
Romari beamed at the affirmation from the useless spirit and turned to Eugene.
“But it won’t last. They’re there now because of the bodies, but more monsters will flood in and turn it into a bloodbath. Monsters’ bloodlust doesn’t just vanish.”
“Right. And not just small fry—the big ones will come too.”
“Huh? Big ones...?”
“There’s got to be a lord of this place, right? Weird if a mountain like this didn’t have a ruling monster. Like an ogre, say?”
“......!”
Everyone flinched at Eugene’s words.
Sure, even dense forests teemed with beasts and monsters vying for dominance. It’d be stranger if the snow-capped border mountains of northern Brantia were an exception.
This was untrod wilderness, untouched by humans for ages.
The bad weather had most holed up deep in the mountains now, but normally, it’d be Roamer paradise.
And no way would an ogre, king of all monsters, leave such a paradise alone.
“Wizard. Can you control monsters from this distance?”
“Probably? But why? Controlling a few won’t do much, and powerful ones like ogres are out.”
“Not asking you to do it now. Or to control an ogre.”
Eugene observed the valley a moment longer, then turned.
“Let’s head back. Take turns keeping watch here, one at a time. Report anything immediately. No grilling meat.”
“Got it.”
Leaving the sheepish Beowulf warriors, Eugene descended the cliff.
Soon after, arriving near the forest where he’d massacred Kunderima and his men days ago, Eugene told Galpredic,
“Galpredic. Hide somewhere good and watch. When the hunter brings the Tollo main force here, come straight to me.”
“Hmm. Will do, but orcs have good noses—they might sniff us out. And the main force might bring a real shaman. You sure?”
Galpredic shrugged, and Eugene turned elsewhere.
“W-Why? Why are you looking at me?”
To Romari, who flinched at eye contact, Eugene said,
“You stay with Galpredic.”
“M-Me? Why?”
Eugene scowled at the familiar question.
“You’re chatty today. You know concealment spells, right? If the orcs look suspicious, cast one and hide. Both of you. And when the orcs pass through here...”
“Ah...”
As Eugene laid out the plan, Romari’s head—dark circles deepening—nodded with a creak.
“Ahahaha! No idea how long, but let’s keep it hot together, Lady Romari!”
Galpredic grinned and clapped her shoulder, making Romari recoil in horror.
“G-Good luck!? What? Hot? What do you mean!?”
Clutching her robe collar, shoulders shaking, Romari stared as Galpredic tilted his head.
“Huh? Don’t you hate the cold, Lady Romari? Obviously means stay warm. You know it gets freezing after sunset?”
“Oh... phew! I thought...”
“By rubbing bodies to heat up.”
“Eek!?”
Galpredic burst into laughter as Romari skidded backward through the snow.
“Cut the nonsense and keep watch.”
“Yeah! We’ll keep watch!”
“You too.”
“Keeet!? Why me?”
To the flustered Mirian, Eugene said,
“You’re the only one who can come and go without the orcs noticing. Didn’t you say we can be kilometers apart now?”
“True, but this humble one prefers Master’s warm embrace full of deep love.”
The spirit twisted shyly.
At the nauseating sight, Eugene acted on instinct.
Thwack!
“Keeak!”
He flicked the spirit hard with his finger, sending it flying toward Galpredic, then turned away coldly, as if he’d seen nothing.
Mirian, caught on Galpredic’s finger, wailed plaintively.
“Master! Masteeer!”
“Kuhuhu! Evil spirit, let’s keep it hot together.”
“Keehek!?”
“Come on! Let’s beat the cold with hot camaraderie.”
“Wait, hold on!”
“Keeeee......”
Galpredic, with the spirit and wizard in hand, smirked and headed downslope.
* * *
Led by the chieftain, the Tollo Clan’s main force—fitting its nickname “Storm Tusks”—moved at breakneck speed, reaching Balmont at the foot of the snow mountains in just three days.
Composed of some forty orc warriors and three hundred mercenaries, the force had conscripted supplies from nearby villages and hamlets, donned thick furs and snowshoes at dawn the next day, and ascended.
Naturally, the hunter led at the forefront.
‘Gold coins! Gold coins only...!’
Knowing failure meant being torn apart by enraged warriors, the hunter chanted his sole hope like a mantra as he guided the burly warriors.
Two hours in, the Tollo main force arrived near where Kunderima had met his pathetic end.
“Sniff sniff! Smells like blood.”
“......!”
The warrior right behind twitched his snout, freezing the hunter solid.
Orcs always put their keenest-eyed and sharpest-nosed warriors on scout duty.
This one, who could identify monsters by dung alone, seemed to have caught the recent slaughter’s scent.
“Blood—not just one or two kinds? Orc, half-breed... sniff sniff!”
‘No way this guy’s human?’
Even the hunter, proud of his own nose from years on the job, was stunned by the scout orc’s terrifying sense of smell.
“I’ll report to the chieftain. Wait here.”
“Y-Yes, sir.”
“Right. I’ll be qui—huh?”
As the sharp-nosed orc turned, the sharp-eyed one narrowed his kingfisher eyes.
“What? See something?”
“There, mid-cliff. Something’s there.”
“What?”
“Gah! It moved! That’s...”
The sharp-eyed orc bulged his eyes and shouted.
“A griffin! It’s a griffin!”
“Gahk!?”
The dark-green orc warrior’s face turned ashen.
Griffins, flying monsters, devoured beast meat indiscriminately—but horses topped the list, and among bipedal “people” meat they shunned, orcs—pig-like—were their one favorite.
“Keeeaak! G-Griffin! A griffin’s hereee!”
The warrior bellowed at the sight of his natural predator.
Not out of fear, of course.
More orcs died to griffins than to trolls or ogres, so they hated the winged fiends with a passion.
“What!? A griffin?”
“Chieftain! We must slay those white-beaked demons now!”
“Vengeance for the Tusks!”
In moments, hatred for the griffin spread through the entire Tollo main force.
Roaring fury etched in blood and soul, orc warriors and mercenaries shook weapons, ready to charge the peak.
Krooooaaaaar!!!
The orcs’ battle auras blazed like wildfire.
A griffin—elite monster with keen sight and senses—should’ve noticed instantly.
Yet for some reason, it just flapped on the mid-slope, neither fleeing nor attacking.
The reason soon revealed itself.
Kuuuwaaaaaarrr—!!!
A overwhelming roar echoed, shaking peaks and crags.
“......!?”
The orc warriors froze. Through their eyes, they saw a gray figure clutching the griffin’s leg, climbing onto the rocks.
The ruler of the White Fang Mountains—what northerners called a “snowman”—fixed its blood-red eyes on the intruders daring to swarm its territory.
(To be continued)
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