Chapter 90: The Flower of Fantasy is the Orc?
So, flipping the middle finger at these orcs wasn't an insult—it was a compliment?
These... beastly bastards.
"But word of what you said yesterday has spread through the entire tribe. If Temir Bas has made that decision, we'll follow it. We need to prepare, right?"
Anyway... Every time I looked at these orcs, I could see not just their names, but one piece of information about them as well.
Species:Orc
Fate Index:231 / 62,738,000
The guy who acted the most friendly toward me was like this.
But that Fate Index number was ridiculously off. The orc right next to him was:
Species:Orc
Fate Index:121 / 8,200
The difference in their Fate Indexes was staggeringly huge. Nearly ten thousand times the gap?
"Borchi. Mind if I ask you something?"
I directed my question to the one with by far the highest Fate Index among them. First things first—I needed to learn about the meaning of splitting the tribe and what came next.
Borchi seemed to have thought it all through already, rattling off answers to my questions in rapid fire.
"So, originally, Mangod was the one who was supposed to split off and leave, right?"
Temir Bas was the youngest son of this tribe, apparently. And according to the laws of the plains, the youngest inherits the tribe. The older sons take their followers and leave to form their own clans—that was the rule.
What kind of ridiculous system was that? It almost made me laugh.
Not the eldest son? But in this tribe, Mangod was so brave and held the warriors' trust so deeply that if they'd followed the custom, more than half the warriors would've followed him out. That's what they said.
But yesterday at the market, I'd publicly declared that Kok Bour would go to Mangod's line, so handing Kok Bour over to Mangod was basically what I'd announced.
In a way, it seemed like a relief for the tribe. If Mangod inherited it, he wouldn't ruin the tribe's current glory.
"We'd all anticipated that Temir Bas would make that call someday."
Borchi said it, and the other orcs nodded.
"We just didn't know when."
Hmm... Was that how it was?
"We've all been preparing in our own ways, so don't worry. Just decide when to start."
These guys were good eggs, weren't they? For some reason, they had infinite trust in Temir Bas.
"So, are all the warriors following me just you guys?"
"Pfft! What're you saying? At least a hundred."
Each of these guys led about twenty-odd men. They were like captains of an arkba—a hundred-man unit.
"My entire arkba is coming."
"Ours too."
"Mine as well."
The five orcs confidently boasted about the loyalty of their arkbas.
I asked a few more questions. What preparations were needed for the split? Did the warriors have to follow their arkba captains by force?
Of course, if I just claimed two more women from here, I could leave this Cinematic Card world. But who knew what lay ahead, so better to learn as much as I could.
After some back-and-forth, I picked up a bunch of details.
I really was a weird orc from the start, not one to mingle much with the others. No one had thought my recent actions were strange. So unless I asked, they left me alone.
Hmm. Was that the setting? Or something else?
"So all the warriors following me are doing it willingly?"
They all nodded.
And as a reward for volunteering, they'd be thrilled with a single female each.
That's when it clicked why Mangod had given me such a huge sum.
Temir Bas was the baby of the family and had zero interest in hunting, so he hadn't saved much money.
What was this Temir Bas guy all about? No ambition, didn't hang with other orcs, didn't enjoy the hunt. An un-orc orc.
Yet he had a decent following. They even seemed pleased I'd decided to split off.
Time to dig deeper into this Temir Bas orc. But carefully—I couldn't act like I didn't know him.
Females for gifts? Buy them from the slave trader. Something decent ran about ten thousand chur.
Mangod, you good bro? A million woulda done it, but three million?
Other prep: ground sloths to haul gear, rations till the new tribe settled. The orc warriors would handle their own tents and stuff.
No big hurdles.
"How long till we're ready? For the split?"
"Depends on when Temir Bas decides."
Tomorrow if rushed. A month for full prep.
No need to decide today, then. Don't overthink it.
Focus on my tasks first.
I told them to prep on their own and headed to the slave trader.
First, find the guy who'd sold me the dark elf yesterday.
"Ah! That dark elf, right..."
His attitude was night-and-day from yesterday. He'd learned I was the tribal chief's son, probably.
"I've been handling her care since purchase, so I know her best. One moment."
He fetched the slave ledger and pulled Danas Elpina's file.
Unlike orcs, goblins and humans were meticulous. They recorded every slave's history.
"Name's Marina Elfin. Acquired from a slave trader out of the Dana Republic."
The Dana Republic was a human nation west of Urkmanistan.
"Before that, traded twice in the Savrach Kingdom. First enslaved a year ago in Savrach for crimes. Theft three times, assault twice. Fraud four times... Not undeserved."
Princess, my ass. Con artist, violent thug, thief with priors.
Nine crimes total—no rehab potential, sold into slavery. Still unruly, bounced around till she landed in orc lands.
"That tattoo? The contraception one, right?"
"Ah! Humans do that when trading female slaves, especially beauties like her. Don't want unwanted pups, they say. Ridiculous."
Orcs couldn't fathom it. But as a human, I got it.
"Before enslavement, seems she was an adventurer here and there... Details fuzzy."
"Got it. Ever hear of a place called Jemaiti Kingdom?"
"Jemaiti? First time... Hold on."
He bolted off without waiting.
"This old-timer knows."
The goblin brought a middle-aged man. Wooden price tag around his neck—slave.
"I know of Jemaiti."
The old man bowed politely. Total scholar vibe. Probably knew his stuff.
"It was at the far west end. Long gone now."
"How long?"
"Yes. I was about thirty then—thirty years ago, give or take. Far off, so details scarce, but fell to invasion from neighbors."
"Thirty years ago?"
So the dark elf claiming to be their princess? Total bullshit. She looked mid-twenties tops...
"Know anything about dark elves?"
"Yes... They mostly live on the continent's west side. Jemaiti had a lot of them, I hear."
"Do dark elves live long?"
Like in fantasy—elves living centuries, right?
"Heard they do. Usually over a hundred."
Not insanely long-lived, then.
"Do they age slow? Look twenty in their fifties?"
"They age better than us humans... But that much? Doubt it. Dark elves avoid humans, so hard to say."
"Right. Why drag this old guy around?"
His price tag: 29,800 chur. Orcs wouldn't pay that—hundred tops.
"Yes. From Dana Republic too. Worthless to orcs, but eastbound, his knowledge might intrigue buyers."
Hmm... Yeah, a knowledgeable slave had value. Stories from afar? Living TV in this entertainment-free world.
If I were stuck here, it'd be worthwhile.
"How long you been a slave, old man?"
"Not even six months. Sold for my crimes, ended up here."
Resignation? Enlightenment? No despair in his early-middle-aged eyes.
"What crime?"
I was curious. This mild, learned guy—what'd he do?
Maybe pissed off some power as a scholar?
"Killed a man."
His answer blew my guess.
"How?"
"What else? Grudge. Couldn't stomach the insult."
He confessed calmly.
Wild. How? Accept slavery over rage, but snap over insult and kill?
Made me more curious about him.
"What'd you do before?"
"Served in government. Lowly post."
"Who'd you kill?"
"My superior."
He grinned. Chill ran down my spine.
No anger on his face. Almost serene compassion? Nah—pure satisfaction.
No regrets. I guessed he knew the consequences and did it anyway.
"Killed your boss? And got slavery, not death? Lenient country."
"Yep. Deserved the noose... But His Majesty showed mercy."
"Mind if I ask why?"
His eyes lit up.
"Of course, sir."
He spun his tale. Great storyteller.
"So, avenged your daughter, exposed the boss's corruption. That's the gist."
Years back, daughter raped and killed. Culprit caught, executed—but he doubted it was him. Kept digging.
Found the real perp: his superior, untouchable royalty. King's nephew, even.
Years gathering evidence: crimes, corruption, all of it.
Knew it wouldn't punish royalty enough. Exile at worst, back in years.
Power protects power. So he took justice himself.
Now I got his expression. Satisfied.
"Luckily, His Majesty allowed a fair trial with my evidence."
Killed royalty, lived; family spared. Only he punished.
"So the king repaid the favor."
Made sense. King's nephew? Rival to the prince for the throne.
"Hmm..."
The old man eyed me intently.
"You're a peculiar one, sir."