Chapter 105
Chapter 105
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: uly
Chapter: 105
Chapter Title: Orcs Are Performing a Shaman Ritual. (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
A soul that had aged for hundreds of years.
The reason a soul lingers in the living world is attachment and resentment.
For it to remain in this world for hundreds of years means that resentment is so powerful it doesn't fade even after the passage of time.
And as the years go by, that attachment only grows stronger.
It's strong enough to endure, and it endures because it's strong.
"..."
"Chwik?"
In this case, the circumstances seemed a bit more complicated.
A soul that had grown weary from waiting for so long.
It had already worn out and lost its wits.
Now, it was merely existing.
Yet its presence was still tremendous.
"What is this fire?"
That blue flame.
It was restoring the soul's condition.
It took the form of fire, but it wasn't burning—it was soothing and healing the soul.
"Chwik! It's a sacred flame."
"So what is that?"
"The flame where our great ancestors reside."
What the orcs perceived was similar to what I saw.
"Chwik! Even now, the shaman's ancestor dwells within the flame!"
"That's right."
"I can smell it."
The shaman's ancestor.
Romenel had mentioned it before.
About five hundred years ago, there were special orcs.
"Not quite five hundred years... Did it die after that?"
"The last shaman died four hundred years ago."
"Hm?"
"I am now the final descendant of the shamans."
The line of shamans had been severed.
That meant awakening this soul would resolve things.
One reason for keeping that fire lit seemed to be exactly that.
The fact that no proper shaman had been born after this soul meant they'd thoroughly cut off the lineage.
And that was probably...
"Necromancers' doing?"
"Yes. My brothers were all killed by them or captured."
"Captured?"
"Not long ago, the last of my brothers were all killed."
Swoosh—
I turned my head, and the orc spirit who had guided me here bowed its head with a somber expression.
This one had only met me after dying, so it was in the same boat.
"Why were they captured?"
"...Because of the shamans' power. A power that has now vanished."
One thing flashed through my mind.
The worn-out book I'd seen in the cave.
The writing that only orc shamans could read.
"It's in that book, right?"
"Ch, chwik!! As expected of the human shaman. Did the great soul tell you?"
"People always think shamans have some mystical power whenever we guess right."
They come to a fortune teller and act shocked when asked, 'Here for a reading?'
Even though we already knew.
Some use that to scam people, but anyway.
"They dragged them all off because they could read it? What do the necromancers do with it?"
"Chwik, I don't know."
"...?"
"I was never captured. Because I'm strong."
Didn't this guy meet me right on the verge of death?
If his brother hadn't come to fetch me, he would've died for sure.
"The surviving orc. A strong orc."
"..."
"All the orcs here. They're all strong."
By that logic, yeah, they were strong.
They were orcs who had successfully crossed the ocean on wooden rafts, after all.
The weak ones couldn't even make it.
"Won't your whole race die out like that?"
Gullak's face darkened.
His fierce features looked pitiful.
"The orcs now have no power. It's an unavoidable fate. Chwik..."
"So you're hiding here? Or is it because of that soul?"
"Why ask me?"
Who else would I ask?
The one who chose this place.
"Didn't it guide you here directly?"
"...?"
"I followed that direction straight here."
Listening to Gullak's story, it was truly a tale of woe.
Monsters attacking at every turn.
And necromancers in constant pursuit.
Among them, Gullak was the sole surviving descendant of the shamans.
"Chwik! Many orcs died."
He'd gathered orcs to form a tribe, but it wasn't enough.
Of course not—orcs had no way to stand against necromancers.
"We fled and kept fleeing. Until the scent of death no longer clung to the orcs."
As Gullak finished speaking, wails rose from here and there.
"Chwik... The prophecy of death."
"...Chwik."
I'd heard about it from the orc I met before.
That's why they feared my rattle too.
"The weak orcs—I told them whenever the scent of death appeared. Just as I received help."
"You did well."
That was pretty shaman-like behavior.
Warning of impending doom in advance.
"But they all died."
"...?"
"Chwik! Because orcs still lack power."
No wonder the orcs were so terrified of death prophecies.
For them, it was no different from a death sentence.
Everyone he foretold died one after another.
"That's how we found a place where no scent emanated from the orcs. They're still chasing me."
"You've been through a lot."
Who knew he'd been dancing on the edge of life and death while I wasn't looking.
They'd lived a monster's hard life, true to form.
"Human shaman, following the direction you told me led me to meet the final shaman."
Thrust—
He proudly pointed at the blue flames.
His shoulders puffed up like he was boasting.
"I succeeded in lighting the fire by imitating what it showed me then."
"Imitating me?"
I knew nothing proper about that flame.
This was the first time seeing the real thing today.
How could he have imitated me to make that?
And it wasn't something you could replicate after seeing once.
No, absolutely not.
It was more complex than it seemed.
"Chwik! Bring me the staff."
"The sacred ritual!"
An orc rushed off to one side and returned with a long staff.
Longer than Gullak.
Skulls dangled from its tip.
"Weakened orcs' heads. They fight with me!"
"...?"
"Chris, I heard the rumors and studied. Behold my growth."
The orc walked to the blue fire and raised the staff.
"Well, well?"
It looked pretty convincing.
If you considered that fire a candle, the purpose was similar.
Using a candle to signal the deities' location while shaking the rattle to serve them.
And an orc soul really dwelled in that fire, didn't it?
Gullak shook the staff once.
"Oh...?"
Skulls dangled from it, but no sound came.
Instead, something like spiritual energy was stirring.
What to call it—energy that built up because it wasn't human?
A slightly different origin of power.
"Chwik!"
The energies surged toward the blue flames.
Whoosh—
The flames grew larger.
Burning with even greater intensity than before.
This guy definitely had talent.
He had inspiration.
"Huh..."
It wasn't exactly like receiving aid from deities through me, but it was close.
With a proper soul, he might actually get help.
Suddenly, Gullak bent his knees, dodged, and leaped into the air.
Just like when I perform a ritual.
"Hmm..."
This time, no change in the flames.
Of course not.
That was the wrong method from the start.
"Hold on."
"Chwik?"
"Why are you jumping around like that?"
"Isn't this how it's done?"
It was right, but...
The problem wasn't the movement.
"So you don't know why you jump?"
"...Chwik, yes."
Who'd have thought I'd end up teaching an orc how to perform a ritual.
But it didn't feel bad.
The first being like me I'd met.
Not just talking—he could smell souls and distinguish death.
More skilled than shamans who served stray ghosts or minor spirits.
A proper half-baked talent.
"Impressive you figured it out alone."
"...Was it wrong?"
For the first time in a while, I felt inspired.
How could I hold back in a moment like this?
"I'll teach you, so listen well. You can't learn this anywhere else."
"Got it! I'm focused!"
"Leaping and dancing serves various purposes."
The essentials of a ritual that never fail are music and dance.
They stir up excitement.
For the performing shaman, the watching spirits, and the living alike.
Excitement brings ecstasy.
"Why ecstasy for the divine inspiration?"
The reason shamans and performers share similar fates.
Beyond stirring emotions in others, there's one key thing.
A trance born from heated excitement.
"You need to receive the deities' thoughts and will."
Jingle—
"If your own thoughts mix in, the aid gets distorted. It won't come clearly."
Jingle—
Forget yourself and immerse.
Like singers or actors fully lost in the zone.
Jingle—
Shake your shoulders once.
Jingle—
Leap into the air.
Calm your mind and thoughts, erase yourself.
Rhythms circled my ears as if really sounding.
"It's not you moving your body. You surrender to the excitement and let it move you."
As you succumb to that excitement.
Your mind starts to blur.
Artists reach trance early.
Shamans call it possession when it happens.
The divine ecstasy, literally.
Jingle—
Jingle—
When excitement peaks and ecstasy hits, spectators enjoy it.
The souls enjoy it, and so do I.
Playing with vengeful spirits, soothing them, resolving their grudges.
That's the essence of the ritual.
Jingle—
Suddenly, my mouth opened, and divine words poured out.
"Excellent!"
The body deity's gaze followed the rattle to me.
The eyes of connected deities passed by.
Jingle—
A bout of possession.
After reveling just right and calming down.
In the lingering afterglow of the body deity, my hands clasped behind my back unconsciously.
And at that moment.
Whoosh—
Fwoosh.
The burning blue flames extinguished.
The shaman's soul within vanished with them.
"...Ch, chwik....! Great soul...!"
Before I knew it, the orc spirits had all prostrated on the ground.
Gullak was entranced, just like the first time I'd read his fortune.
"Th, the sacred flame went out!"
Swoosh—
I looked at Gullak, and he flinched, averting his eyes.
With his sensitivity, meeting my gaze would be even harder.
"Your energy's still weak. It's natural. Can't even meet my eyes, right?"
"Chwik?"
Gullak couldn't easily light a candle before me.
He was still cowed, unable to assert his presence.
Anyway.
"You saw it all?"
"Saw it clearly."
"Now you try."
"...Chwik?"