Orcs and the Lady Knight 2

The charging orc warriors hit the floor, flattened by my passive, then dissolved into mana stones and vanished. It had to be the berserk hex the orc shaman had cast.

An ordinary orc warrior would take the passive hit and go into a groggy state — but under the berserk hex, their attack power spiked while their defense and HP plummeted, so the reflected damage simply dropped them dead on the spot.

The orc hunters who'd loosed their arrows died to skill counterattacks. The berserked orc warriors died to passive reflection damage. All I had to do was stroll toward the center of the village, and dozens of their own kin crumpled and died around me — a thoroughly terrifying spectacle, from their point of view.

Kwieeeeeek—!

The orc shaman screamed and thrashed across the ground like a child who'd just seen a ghost. Watching tears roll down that ugly face almost made me feel sorry for it.

"It's a bit bigger than the others, and the skin tone's different too… looking at it like this, it's kind of pitiful. Oh, you know that movie? One of those film reviewers posted about it — the one where every living thing that gets near the main character starts dying. This reminds me of that."

Pretending to examine it, I carefully lifted the thrashing orc shaman and held it up in front of the camera. Definitely different — color, build, tattoos, all of it. Where regular orcs had deep green skin, this one's was far darker, a murky brown mixed in.

"Come on in! All clear!"

There wasn't much more for a non-mage like me to learn from staring at it anyway. Thanks to some mischievous viewer's chat, the only thing that kept catching my eye was that filthy leather loincloth. So I bellowed loud enough for the party waiting outside the palisade to hear me and called them in.

I'd already smashed the gate, so the others walked into the orc village without any trouble. Meanwhile, Mary the maid started scooping up the orc byproducts scattered across the ground.

Everyone else headed straight for me without hesitation — apparently fascinated by the orc shaman dangling from my hand. Fair enough. How often do you get to see someone holding a live monster? The shaman, now the center of everyone's attention, hung limp with no strength left to resist.

"Hold it steady for a moment, Roland. The tattoos look a little different — I'd like to record them."

"Sure, no problem."

While Charlotte took an interest in the orc shaman in my grip, the rest of the party began wandering through the emptied village. It was packed with wooden huts built ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from the same surplus timber that made the place feel almost like a safe zone.

Of course, none of the huts held stockpiles of meat or hides. Hunt all you want in the twentieth-floor forest and the beasts still vanish into mana stones ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠instead of leaving flesh and leather behind. What did turn up occasionally were bloodstained pieces of adventurer gear — and those darkened everyone's faces.

Just as some adventurers fall to goblins, others fall to orcs. Looking at the bloodied armor and cracked helmets, it was obvious enough where the previous owners had gone.

"Roland, I think there's someone deeper inside the village."

"Inside?"

Grace's ears suddenly pricked up while she was searching the huts. The moment she said it, Mary appeared like a ghost, pulled a rope from her pocket, and bound the orc shaman tight. Whether it was smart enough not to bother with pointless resistance or simply out of strength, the creature hung limp and docile.

Leaving Charlotte sketching the shaman's tattoos like some nude-model study, Mary, and Kayden who had volunteered as guard, I followed behind Grace. Charlotte's muttering had advanced the quest last time; now it was Grace's turn.

"Captive? Someone got kidnapped by orcs?"

Grace had detected it; Han Se-ah confirmed it through the quest window. I followed her toward the largest hut.

The shaman's hut looked exactly like the word "shaman" would suggest. Dried herbs and branches hung from the walls, a few mana stones lay scattered about, and a large pot sat over the remains of a campfire in a spacious interior.

But there was no sign of any captive. As I looked around, a faint sound reached my ears.

"…Is… someone…"

"Below."

A tiny voice from underfoot. At the same time came a dull thud, thud — the weak, exhausted sound of someone tapping against a door or bars with barely any strength left.

At my murmur, the party began searching every inch of the hut floor. It was only an orc-built hut, so the passage leading underground turned up quickly enough. Whether they'd tried to hide it or never bothered, shoving aside a herb shelf revealed the mouth of an earthen tunnel.

"Roland, are orcs usually this good at digging?"

"Between the palisade and this, they seem a lot more skilled with their hands than the ones outside."

"It's dark, so ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'll use a light spell."

They'd managed to raise a palisade and build huts without proper tools — carving out a sloping tunnel big enough for massive orcs to walk through couldn't have been that hard. Han Se-ah conjured a light orb above her staff, and we used it as a torch as we headed inside.

The passage was crude but solid; even with all of us walking through, the earthen ceiling neither collapsed nor shook. It didn't seem to connect all the way outside the village — after a short walk, the tunnel ended.

They'd given it a prison-like feel, but all that meant was wooden bars jammed into a dead end. A simple cell that any rural farmer or neighborhood kid could have broken out of, never mind an adventurer.

"An… adventurer…?"

The problem was the condition of the woman behind those wooden bars. She looked terrible — and I don't mean beaten or assaulted by orcs.

"Good heavens… Miss Hanna? Could you take a bowl from your inventory and make a little water?"

Sunken, hollow eyes and lips cracked like a drought-stricken field. Her gaunt, wretched appearance said more clearly than words how long she'd been starving in this tunnel.

Of course — inside a Tower where even hunted beasts leave no meat, what meal could you possibly offer a prisoner? The only "food" available would have been the owners of those bloodstained pieces of gear outside.

I didn't know the full story, but the situation was clear enough. The adventurers had become orc meals and vanished; only this woman had been locked in the tunnel. Even if the smarter orcs had offered her food, she couldn't bring herself to eat human flesh — so she'd stayed subdued and kept starving.

But that raised a lot of questions.

"Who is this woman, that they'd lock her up like this?"

"Honestly, the weirder part is that orcs captured a woman and didn't touch her."

"There's no sign of violence at all. She's simply wasted away from not eating."

Orcs are monsters utterly faithful to their instincts. One look at how the orc warriors behaved told you that much. Enemy in front of them — charge the nearest one. Hungry — eat. Sleepy — sleep. Closer to primitives or beasts than anything else.

And creatures with those violent instincts had taken a woman alive, left her untouched, and locked her in a prison? That single sentence was riddled with contradictions. Especially when they'd gobbled up every other adventurer without a second thought.

They'd stripped her of all her gear; she wore only thin clothes. Starved and hollow-eyed as she was, the remnants of her beauty still showed through — which made it even harder to understand. Orcs capturing a half-naked beauty and just… locking her up?

"Let's get her out of here first. Irene, is it all right to pick her up and carry her?"

"Yes. I've channeled only the most basic holy power into her, so holding her and moving her should be fine."

With Irene's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠confirmation, I gathered the woman into my arms and carried her out of the tunnel. Charlotte was still examining the shaman; Mary had already collected every last byproduct from the warriors and hunters into her inventory. And now we'd rescued an unidentified woman held as a hostage — nothing left to check, right?

The moment I stepped out with the woman in my arms, Charlotte startled and came rushing over. Of course an orc-captured woman would be more interesting than the orc shaman itself.

That left the rope-bound shaman naturally in Kayden's care. Whatever Charlotte had done beyond mere observation, the creature looked worse than before — not resisting at all, just wheezing as if it might die any second.

"We've checked everything there is to check. The palisade and huts won't disappear, so let's leave markers and head back to the safe zone."

"That sounds best. Getting this sister conscious again is the most important thing right now."

"True — I am curious why a lady knight of the kingdom came into the Tower in the first place."

"…Lady knight?"

Irene was the first to react to my suggestion of returning to the safe zone. But Charlotte's next words put a question in the eyes of everyone who'd gone into the tunnel. Not an adventurer — a lady knight? How did she know that?

"Do you know her?"

"No. There was a set of standard-issue kingdom knight armor mixed in among the adventurers' gear, so I made an educated guess. It makes more sense that they ate all the adventurers and left one knight behind, rather than sparing one beautiful adventurer out of the lot."

A lady knight of the kingdom… so why was she being held by orcs?