Chapter 126
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 126
Since ancient times, orcs have been a race of tribal societies. The differences between these tribes manifested in countless ways, from skin color and physical build to magical talent and behavioral patterns.
This was a division that even Kurak could not easily overcome. Thus, Nilkumbal was less a single army and more a coalition of various tribes.
Among the tribes of Nilkumbal, the Woldur were one of the six most powerful—and Gakundar was the chief who ruled them.
"Amusing," Gakundar muttered, tearing into a piece of raw meat.
Even without setting foot on the battlefield himself, the orc shaman beside him projected a magic screen into the air before him.
His eyes first landed on the intruder at the very back. Though they hid behind the others, their small frame and green clothing caught his attention.
There was no room for doubt. It was the traditional attire of a Leprechaun.
"Those dwarves are up to something. Did they hire mercenaries?"
There was no hint of crisis in his voice. In fact, he had hoped they would bring a massive army. The number of intruders could be counted on one hand. Gakundar was thoroughly disappointed.
If one were to ask why a Leprechaun was here, the answer lay in the very meat Gakundar was currently devouring.
"Secure provisions for the war. However, do not let their resentment become a blade that harms our allies. Above all, avoid friction with the other Great Evil Caves. Remember, war is imminent."
Those were the orders given by Kurak, the Legion Commander, when he dispatched Gakundar to the merchant district.
He had been told to ensure their forces suffered no major losses and was strictly warned to avoid any conflict with the other Great Evil Caves.
"Every last one of them is a coward."
Gakundar could not have been more dissatisfied with that order.
Avoid casualties? It was as if he were being told to avoid a real fight and just make empty threats from a distance.
Orcs were a race that lived by plunder. They were a race that swung weapons, not words. No matter how close the war was, he could not see the logic in such a command.
It was while stewing in his discontent over this absurd order that he discovered the top-grade provisions held in abundance by the Leprechaun Merchant Guild.
When he went to plunder those supplies, some old Leprechaun had clung to his ankles, begging.
—He had claimed the goods were to be delivered to the Primordial Core, pleading for him to take anything else, just to leave that shipment alone.
According to his orders, he should have left them be to avoid friction with the Primordial Core.
‘Even these dwarves take me for a fool. How dare they try to trick me.’
With that thought, Gakundar took the supplies by force.
Since he was already disobeying orders, he decided he might as well flex his might, completely crushing the Wyvern Merchant Guild for showing insolent signs of defection.
Once he occupied the merchant district, plundering became laughably easy.
"..."
This time, his gaze shifted to the one standing at the very front of the intruders.
It was a man with messy black hair, dressed in black. Judging by his appearance, he was most likely human.
The possibility of a Polymorph couldn't be ruled out, but it seemed unlikely. They weren't infiltrating a human village, so there was no reason to use Polymorph to perfectly mimic one. If they had any sense, they would have revealed their true forms instead of wasting a spell so inefficiently.
"A human," Gakundar burst into laughter. A sharp, wheezing Kishiiiiik! filled the tent.
‘He begged so desperately, claiming they had to deliver it to the Primordial Core, yet his only recourse after being robbed was to hire a human mercenary?’
If those goods were truly meant for the Primordial Core, the Primordial Core would have sent its own monsters.
In other words, the old Leprechaun's claim about trading with them was a lie.
‘You told me to never touch anything related to the Great Evil Caves, didn’t you, coward Kurak?’
This Gakundar was right.
"Chief, shouldn't... we... head... to... the center?"
The screen suddenly tore apart with a sharp rip!, perhaps because the intruders had detected the scrying magic. Only then did another orc in the tent respectfully offer a suggestion.
Before answering, Gakundar picked up the weapon he had set on the ground.
He lifted an ink-black greatsword. Its immense weight was evident from the deep impression it had left in the ground. Furthermore, though shaped like a sword, its sheer mass made it function more like a club than a blade. Even with a dull edge, its weight alone was enough to crush most enemies in a single blow.
"Forget it. We wait here," Gakundar replied after hoisting his weapon.
The terrain around their camp was not favorable for an ambush. Unless the enemy was planning a surprise attack, it was better to gather the scattered orcs nearby than to rush out.
"Daru, gather the orcs from the rear and have them lie in ambush around the tent. If we're going to use our full strength, that's the proper way to do it."
The orc shaman named Daru, who wore a hood in the back, nodded at Gakundar's command.
His staff flickered several times.
Before long, the intruders entered the tent.
Their entrance was surprisingly mundane. The same number of intruders from the magic screen simply pulled back the tent flap and entered. No tricks, no fanfare.
...Except for the thick stench of blood that clung to them. It was entirely the blood of orcs. Over a hundred orcs had been guarding the path to this command tent, yet the intruders were completely unscathed.
"I respect you for making it this far."
"No. Shut up."
The black-clad intruder at the front spoke the moment he entered.
"Do you know North?"
"What are you talking about?" Gakundar asked.
The black-clad intruder—Swallow—sighed, seemingly contemplating his next words.
Sensing the tension and seeing the conversation about to stall, Rene stepped forward to speak on his behalf.
"There was a member of the Leprechaun Merchant Guild. A merchant who desperately tried to protect the food, saying it was needed for a transaction with the Primordial Core. We heard he was captured and brought here. Do you remember him?"
Her tone was polite, as always, but her voice was sharp and laced with anger. Rene deliberately omitted any mention of him being killed.
"So you did come for the food after all. Kishiiiiik!"
Hearing this, Gakundar burst into laughter once more. But his next words were delivered in a dry, humorless tone.
"The chief of the Woldur has no interest in killing the weak himself."
"..."
"But my subordinates are a different story."
A snicker echoed from behind him. An orc, clearly a centurion by his gear, stepped forward and addressed Rene.
"For an... old timer... he had... quite... some grit."
"..."
"He clung to the end... and even came... to our camp. Kept saying... the same thing."
"..."
"We worked him over... a bit. He endured the torture... surprisingly well."
He was a Leprechaun who had faced Swallow head-on during their transactions. His mental fortitude must have surpassed that of most dungeon bosses.
"But... once we peeled off... all his skin... he lost his mind."
Clench.
"It was... quite... a sight to behold."
Grind.
The sound of grinding teeth echoed from behind.
It was Scobina, who normally maintained her composure no matter the situation. Even without looking, it was easy to imagine the expression on her face.
"Ah, right... I should tell you... this too."
"..."
"The taste..."
"Stop..."
"...was tough... not very good."
"STOOOOP!!"
Along with her scream, a dull thud! rang out.
Rene, having struck the back of Scobina's neck the moment she lost control, caught the falling girl with one hand and gently laid her beside Swallow.
Neither Swallow nor Rene showed any change in expression. They had remained impassive throughout the entire tale, making their emotions impossible to read.
"Rene."
"Yes, Lord Swallow."
"They say they peeled off North's skin."
"So it seems."
"..."
"Please leave this to me."
Even so, everyone could sense it. The energy slowly rising from Swallow was anything but pleasant.
And Gakundar thought.
‘…Wait a minute.’
Just now.
What did those intruders call each other?
Before the thought could fully form, Rene drew a thin wire and lunged forward.
Normally, most orcs wouldn't have even noticed the movement, but every eye in the tent was fixed on Rene and Swallow.
Spotting her leap, numerous orcs rushed toward her, swinging their weapons. They scrambled to form a wall, blocking the path between Rene and the centurion. Seizing the moment, Gakundar rose from his seat and roared.
"Graaaaaaaaah!!"
An immense roar shook the entire tent.
At the deafening sound, Rene hesitated for a fraction of a second.
Refusing to let that brief moment go to waste, elite orc soldiers who had been lying in wait among the tent's supports lunged at Swallow and Rene.
This time, Swallow took a step forward and reached out his hand.
His palm shot toward the forehead of an orc about to swing a spiked club at Rene. Then, as if flicking a pebble, he lightly tapped the orc's brow.
"Don't block the way."
BOOOOOOM!!
A single flick.
Instantly, the sound of tearing air exploded in all directions.
Massive wind pressure erupted from the point of contact, whipping up a violent gale inside the tent. The tent's fabric billowed wildly before shredding, unable to withstand the force. A red mist sprayed through the gale.
The orc's head had exploded from that single flick.
With one move, the initiative of the battle was theirs again.
Weaving through the hesitating orcs—striking, slashing, and leaping over them—Rene instantly swung her wired blade at the centurion.
The blade sank deep into the orc's calf, the wire instantly coiling around the limb. Bound in an instant, the centurion collapsed to the ground.
"Shik, shiiiiik!"
Every time the thrashing orc struggled, the wire bit deeper into his flesh, drawing beads of blood all over his body.
Seeing this, Gakundar bellowed once more in the orc tongue.
With the tent now in tatters from the blast, the orcs hiding outside no longer had any cover. An overwhelming number of them swarmed in.
In the meantime, Gakundar tore the mana stone from his shoulder guard and infused it with mana.
<Soul of Noble Warrior>.
The magical power passed down through generations of the Woldur tribe enveloped Gakundar's body. His frame, already huge for an orc, instantly swelled to nearly twice its size. His fangs grew sharper, and veins bulged across his reddish-brown, muscular skin.
"This is the power of the Woldur!!"
His booming voice swallowed all other sounds on the battlefield.
With a thunderous roar, Gakundar kicked off the ground and charged recklessly toward Swallow.
* * *
Dangerous.
Gakundar's instincts screamed at him.
His heart hammered against his ribs, the ancestral power boiling chaotically within him. His blood surged, and his body felt unnaturally light, as if he were floating.
It had been a long time since he’d felt this exhilaration, this feeling of every cell in his body screaming to life.
Gakundar had experienced this sensation several times in his life—mostly on the battlefield.
Yes, this was the desperate struggle his body mounted when facing death.
‘I must settle this in an instant.’
The enemy was strong.
Pride of the Woldur be damned, this enemy was stronger than him.
At least among the orcs Gakundar knew, he had never seen anyone who could blow away a tent with sheer wind pressure. In fact, he doubted any creature, let alone an orc, was capable of such a thing.
‘I must land the first blow.’
Fights between the strong often ended more simply than most imagined. Usually, the one who landed the first decisive blow won.
No matter how powerful that monster was, he couldn't possibly take this attack head-on and remain unscathed.
Whether it was the overflowing power or the surging exhilaration, he couldn't tell. But that was the only thought that filled his mind.
In that brief split second, Gakundar stepped on the corpse of a fallen subordinate and leaped high into the air. The ink-black greatsword, raised high overhead, caught the light with an ominous gray gleam.
Vwoooooom!
The strongest strike of the Woldur, one of the six great tribes of Nilkumbal, descended upon the black-clad monster's head.
Thud.
It was over in a fraction of a second.
His consciousness vanished for a moment, as if a sharp blade had sliced through time itself.
By the time Gakundar regained his senses, he had already swung the ink-black greatsword. His body confirmed it; his muscles twitched faintly from the recoil.
Remaining frozen in his follow-through, Gakundar replayed the sound he had just heard.
His sword was a weapon designed to crush, not cut.
Since he had swung such a weapon with a body enhanced by the treasure of the Woldur, the resulting sound should have been one of bursting or crushing. Something like a splat or a crunch.
It definitely shouldn't have been a thud.
A sound like that could only mean one thing: his attack had been blocked.