The Blood Alliance's Tradition (2)
The grotesque, tusked maw. The bizarre, snorting speech. Add in the dim intellect and filthy green skin, and that was the image of an orc she had carried in her head. Yet the orc standing before her shattered that near-prejudiced illusion with ease.
His steel-hard physique was left completely exposed, with not even a scrap of cloth covering his upper body. His excessively healthy copper skin gleamed so brightly one might think he had slathered himself in chocolate. And within his mouth sat rows of razor-sharp teeth like those of a shark.
If she had to describe him in a single phrase...
A golden sun stood before her eyes.
No, that wasn’t an exaggeration. She meant it with all sincerity. Of course, strictly speaking, his hair was closer to yellow than true gold. Still, the half-naked golden sun standing there was supposedly the chieftain of the Orc Blood Alliance?
Wolfgang found herself worrying about the future of the Blood Alliance and, at the same time, about her own future. The attack she had just blocked with her arm had dealt her meaningful damage.
Her body, forged through ten grueling years of the Winter War, was tough enough to shatter ordinary metal without effort. And yet it had taken damage?
At the very least, he possesses strength on par with the Vendetta members.
In truth, it wasn’t all that surprising. It seemed that in this world, orcs were a battle-oriented race. Moreover, her opponent was the chieftain who had risen to the absolute peak of that race through raw martial prowess alone.
Of course, the Vendetta were also battle-hardened veterans who had rolled through a decade of the Winter War. But a chieftain who stood at the pinnacle of a race born for combat would be no less formidable. In a way, the fact that he could be compared to the Vendetta at all was proof of just how monstrous their power truly was.
Yet from Wolfgang’s perspective, that fact brought little comfort. The reality she was feeling in her bones right now was that she had to face such a monster herself. And she hadn’t even done anything wrong!
There were few things more utterly demoralizing than being forced to clean up someone else’s mess. She would have loved to request a substitution right then and there, but there was no way her opponent would allow it. Besides, even winning the fight would cause problems.
No matter how battle-crazed a race they were, basic diplomacy began with mutual respect. How could the orcs possibly show goodwill toward someone who had beaten their chieftain into the dirt?
In the end, the option Wolfgang chose was to resolve the situation as peacefully as possible. There was no point in brawling with the Blood Alliance’s chieftain here; it would only complicate matters later.
“It seems there’s been a misunderstanding. I have come as an envoy of the Bahamut Empire—”
“I already know that. You’re the famous Wolfgang Leonhardt of the Empire, aren’t you?”
“...Did I ever give you my name?”
“No, not at all. And I didn’t know what you looked like either. I only know now because I’m seeing you.”
While the world claimed that orcs discriminated against other races, that was largely a misunderstanding. In truth, orcs simply had no interest in other species. What they worshipped above all was raw, overwhelming power.
That didn’t mean they ignored the efforts of others. The fame of exceptional heroes—whether carried by bards’ songs or mere rumors—still reached the ears of orcs who cared nothing for other races. For example, the noble Saintess Jeanne, or the great southern mage Artena. Naturally, the hero who had saved the Empire, Wolfgang Leonhardt, was no exception.
The sole reason orcs paid any attention to such figures was one thing: a competitive spirit. A clash with a strong opponent was like fuel that set an orc’s blood ablaze.
And among all the many powerful beings, the one who had caught Gartan’s interest was none other than Wolfgang.
The Winter of the Apocalypse is more than a disaster—it is akin to divine punishment. And the hero who triumphed over such a calamity… I can’t wait to see just how strong they are.
Of course, Gartan had not come knowing from the start that his opponent was Wolfgang. Undead were abominations that rejected the cycle of life and death—beings that must never be tolerated. Every nation felt the same, but the orcs, who still clung to a tribal system, followed a religion close to shamanism. As a result, they reacted to undead with greater ferocity than anyone.
Some even believed that beating to death anyone who witnessed an undead would prevent the creatures from attacking the tribe. That was why he had rushed over before any real trouble could start.
Yet the moment she stepped down from the carriage, Gartan instinctively realized it.
That person is Wolfgang Leonhardt.
An overwhelmingly powerful life force the likes of which he had never encountered before. Had he not seen her with his own two eyes, Gartan would have believed a violent storm was raging outside.
Naturally, both of his hands began to tremble with excitement. Just how strong was this person? He wanted to test them. He wanted to clash with them, pushing past every limit.
As chieftain of the Blood Alliance, he understood he must maintain his dignity. But if he let an opportunity like this slip away, when would another come? This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Wasn’t it worth risking everything to seize it?
Undead were the most profane existence to orcs. Yet the opponent had charged straight at their checkpoint with one in tow. That alone would force them to accept a certain degree of coercion.
“Undead are unwelcome in any nation. To orcs who hold strong superstitions, such an act is practically a declaration of war. You’re aware of that, yes?”
“......”
“I’ll take your silence as agreement. Normally, the most moderate response would be to expel you back to the Empire… but in light of your reputation, I’m willing to give you one chance.”
And Gartan’s prediction had been spot on.
From the Empire’s perspective, if the Blood Alliance and the Kingdom were to form an alliance, they would be sandwiched between two hostile powers like a rotten sandwich. They had no choice but to accept a certain amount of coercion. In truth, it was less coercion and more of a silent bargain.
Wolfgang, speaking on behalf of the Empire, had indeed brought an undead. Meanwhile, Gartan, as chieftain, was far more interested in crossing fists with the Empire’s hero than in mere expulsion. In the end, Wolfgang had no choice but to accept Gartan’s deal.
“What exactly do I have to do?”
“It’s very simple. Nothing difficult at all.”
Knock me down.
The answer that came was utterly orc-like in its simplicity. Yet the moment the chieftain spoke, the orcs who had been watching from behind all either burst into laughter or clicked their tongues.
“The chieftain really is mischievous.”
“Still, isn’t this a chance to witness the strength of the famous imperial hero? Let’s look on the bright side.”
“The outcome is obvious anyway. Maybe if it were some other orc, but the chieftain is on a completely different level.”
In any fight, there would always be a winner and a loser. But defeating Gartan, chieftain of the Blood Alliance, was not merely difficult—it was nearly impossible. That was what the orcs believed.
BOOOOM!!!
They had no choice but to believe it. The being who had risen to the absolute peak of all orcs through martial prowess alone—that was the only qualification to become chieftain of the Blood Alliance. An untouchable existence. The mightiest among orcs who were each worth a hundred men. Calling him the strongest warrior would be no exaggeration.
And yet that very Gartan had been overpowered by sheer strength and sent flying, slamming into the ground?
Who could possibly believe such a thing? Especially when the fight had barely even begun. With a single strike—just one blow—the pinnacle of the orcs, Gartan, had been toppled.
The orcs who witnessed the scene could not believe what lay before their eyes. Every last one of them fell silent.
“Kuh… kuhuhuhu…!!”
Being overpowered and sent flying. Crashing ignominiously into the dirt. All of it was a first for Gartan. Until now, he had never once been pushed back, let alone knocked down.
Yet the overwhelming experience he felt for the first time did not bring him the humiliation of defeat. What he felt instead was pure ecstasy.
In truth, while reigning from the seat of the strongest, he had been suffering from a boredom no one else could understand. Perhaps he had been longing for the past—the days when he had shed blood and sweat to become the strongest, to defeat even stronger foes.
At first he had rejoiced. He had thanked his talent and felt pure joy. And when he finally claimed the seat of the strongest, the feeling had been far greater than bedding hundreds of women.
But the position he had fought so hard to win no longer brought him any satisfaction. There were many duties he had to fulfill as chieftain. Of course, he did not regret becoming chieftain. Not at all.
Yet even so, there were times he missed it. The days when he could fight without a single worry.
What must be acknowledged had to be acknowledged. It was true that he had underestimated her at first. Whether it was due to the orcish sense of superiority or the complacency that came with claiming the seat of chieftain, he didn’t know.
But now he understood clearly. That person was on a completely different level from the weaklings of other races. Perhaps the only worthy rival on this continent who could fight him on equal footing.
And the moment he realized that, the body that had been slammed into the ground rose once more. Not only that, it began walking forward. Toward the only worthy rival he had acknowledged.
Before long, he stood before her again.
“Sorry. I apologize. I looked down on you.”
“......”
“Shall we begin in earnest now? Let’s have a fun fight.”
The golden eyes of the woman gazing at Gartan, whose fighting spirit burned like a blazing inferno, flickered. What could she be thinking? Just how fiercely was that fighting spirit blazing within her?
Well, if one were to answer that question…
She was currently regretting everything.
Ah, fuck. I failed to hold back my strength.
She had only meant to knock him out in one hit.