Misfortunes Never Come Alone (2)
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> #97 Misfortunes Never Come Alone (2)
> 2022.04.17.
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"Uruk!"
Tribe chief Mugura's eyes widened as if they might tear apart at the sight of the ogre's severed head.
His outstretched arms trembled violently as he reached for the head rolling on the ground.
Owen figured he would explode in rage now.
He had lost a cherished subordinate, and the island he ruled was in ruins.
Surely his eyes would roll back, and he'd charge right at them. Owen murmured to Orcheus,
"It'd be nice to take him alive."
"Understood."
Orcheus nodded.
A tribe chief orc was no ordinary fighter—brave and mighty beyond measure.
He planned to send in the dark elf elites right away.
But just as Orcheus raised his hand to give the order, the orc chief Mugura did something utterly unexpected.
Thud!
He slammed his forehead into the ground hard enough to make the floor shake.
Not satisfied, he dropped to his knees and begged Owen desperately.
"Great Conqueror! I beseech your mercy for this lowly wretch!"
"Wh-what?"
Owen was caught off guard for a moment.
He had assumed battle was inevitable and was pondering the best way to capture him.
Yet here was a tribe chief orc surrendering on his own?
In all his lives—past and present—Owen had never seen an orc bend so easily.
Some kind of trap?
Seeing Owen's suspicion, Mugura realized he needed to show more sincerity.
He crawled forward on the ground, groveling as pathetically as possible.
Owen could only think, What kind of creature is this?
"Aren't you the chief?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Then why kneel without a fight for honor?"
"...Truth be told, I can't fight."
"What?"
His build was solid, his face fierce—anyone could see he was chief-level orc material.
Yet he couldn't fight?
As Owen furrowed his brow, Mugura pointed sheepishly at Uruk's severed head.
"That's why I always kept Uruk by my side. Even though he's lost his body, he's still with me now. Haha..."
Mugura tried to lighten the mood with a joke.
Owen felt a surge of irritation at the dashed expectations.
"Useless fool. Guess we'll execute you tomorrow."
Of course, he had no intention of doing so.
As the island's ruler, this one had plenty of information to spill.
But Mugura panicked wildly all the same.
"Sp-spare me, Great Conqueror!"
"Why? I hear orcs who can't fight are the lowest of the low. Isn't the death of such scum hardly a loss?"
For orcs, martial prowess was like a human's wealth and status.
Incidentally, orc chieftains weren't hereditary.
That made Mugura an oddity.
He'd risen to such heights without money or backing.
"You really the chief?"
"Yes. Spare me, and I'll surely be of use."
"I have no need for help from trash like you."
As Owen shook his head in refusal, Mugura prostrated himself again, pleading.
"Even the lowliest have their uses somewhere. Great Conqueror, there's an old tale of a chieftain who took in an orc famed for mimicking a rooster's crow as a guest of the tribe."
This orc was suddenly spinning ancient yarns.
Owen was dumbfounded but nodded for him to continue.
"And?"
"When others questioned it, the chief replied that even an orc with the most humble talent had value."
"So, what did he end up using the guy for?"
"One day, the chief offended the great chieftain and was due for a lashing till dawn. In his battered state, the rooster crowed, and the great chieftain honored the bargain, sparing his life."
"Ah... So the guest mimicked it in secret?"
"How perceptive, Great Conqueror. As this anecdote shows, even I must have some purpose. I may have only the strength of a dog or horse, but if you spare me, I'll pledge my utmost loyalty!"
"Hah..."
Owen had never met an orc so glib-tongued.
Citing historical precedents, no less.
"...So you'll betray the great chieftain?"
"It makes no difference to me. I'll bow my head either way."
"Ha! Shameless cur."
Owen clicked his tongue, but he could see how this one had claimed the chieftain's seat.
Intrigued now, he decided to keep him around.
"What's your name?"
"Mugura, my lord. From now on, the dog you name as you please, Great Conqueror."
"Quiet! Orcheus, bind him and extract the island's situation and any intel. Check for hidden assets too."
"Understood. Heroicus!"
Though he said that, Owen's real interest lay in the underground ruins.
The island's chief might know something.
After handling urgent post-conquest matters, he'd question Mugura personally.
The assault on Margel Island ended swiftly.
Honestly, it was a one-sided slaughter.
The soldiers killed every orc and mercenary on the island, then looted the spoils.
With considerable wealth stockpiled, the diligent ones made a killing.
Owen himself raided the chief's vault, pocketing 30 gold bars early on.
Equivalent to about 1,500 imperial gold coins—he was thoroughly pleased.
Added to his holdings, Owen now had roughly 4,000 gold coins in wealth.
A substantial fortune.
The next day, Arwen arrived with her fleet and reported wiping out the orcs caught in her trap.
A great victory.
"Waaaaah!"
Amid cheers, the orcs' tribal banners were trampled, replaced by those of Surpuk Duke and the dark elf queen.
This remote isle in the North Sea's east had become human and dark elf territory.
"The orcs won't know for a while. Let's fortify the island before they catch on."
At Owen's words, everyone set to repairing the broken walls and clearing debris.
With humans and dark elves garrisoning here now, the environment needed overhaul.
While all were busy, Owen questioned captive Mugura about the underground ruins.
But the fool knew nothing.
"Useless wretch."
"But surely even I have some use somewhere, so please, just spare my life..."
"Shut it."
Owen scoured for clues on the ruins but found none easily.
Old building remnants dotted the place, hinting at paths to ruins somewhere.
Once the island's settled, I'll mobilize the troops.
Searching alone was impossible.
Decision made, Owen pitched in on the cleanup.
But that afternoon, the sky turned ominous.
Winds strengthened, and streaked clouds formed long bands.
Hours later, towering cumulonimbus rolled in.
It looked like a typhoon's harbinger.
Owen tilted his head.
"Orcheus. Do typhoons hit the late autumn North Sea?"
"...Very rare. Strange."
Orcheus looked baffled too.
"Not because we spotted that turtle dragon, right?"
"Pardon? Humans have such legends?"
"Just a proverb. Misfortunes never come alone. No basis."
Even as he spoke, Owen felt uneasy inside.
Margel Island's docks could only berth five ships.
The five merchant vessels for trade were planned accordingly.
The other fifteen rode anchor nearby.
Fine in calm weather, but a typhoon would be disastrous.
"Any ideas, Arwen?"
"We'll reposition the ships to shelter from the wind as best we can. Heroicus."
But by midnight, winds howled madly.
Safety of personnel on the island—not just ships—became the worry.
Rumble! Boom!
Thunder-like roars echoed across the isle.
Owen soon realized it was anchored ships smashing into reefs.
"Damn it... Worst case."
Even Owen's assigned mansion had half its roof torn off.
Torrential rain soaked his face.
If commanders fared this poorly, the rest were surely worse.
Thus passed a nightmarish night.
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But the true nightmare dawned the next morning.
The weather cleared deceptively, bright sunlight illuminating the horror.
"Gods..."
From the fortress walls, Owen stifled a scream at the rag-like remnants of the fleet.
The sea before the island was a vast dump of shattered timber and spilled cargo.
Sunken bows pointed skyward here and there.
Docked ships looked no better.
One wondered if a single seaworthy vessel remained.
"Assess the damage and report at once!"
Arwen's furious shout rang out from somewhere.
But ships weren't the only issue.
Orc homes prepped for housing had collapsed everywhere, proving their shoddy craftsmanship.
Hours later, the brass held an emergency council.
Arwen, who'd been dashing about, had tallied the fleet losses.
"Eleven sunk, six heavily damaged, three salvageable with repairs."
"Ah... Truly..."
All in attendance fell silent in shock.
But countermeasures were needed.
Ideas flew.
"Contact His Grace first. He'll send aid."
"Right. And when the real dark elf trade fleet arrives, we seize their ships?"
"Good idea."
They didn't know dark elf homeland was in far greater chaos than imagined.
Rebel disunity had devolved into virtual civil war.
No trade ships would reach Margel for a while.
Thus, barring crew for three vessels, all were stranded.
Think of it as a seaside vacation...
Owen resolved to stay positive.
Isolated, but food stocks held.
"Send the least damaged ship with minimal crew to His Grace at once."
Owen wrapped up the meeting.
Two days later, a hastily repaired ship sailed east with a skeleton crew.
All prayed for Surpuk Duke's support.
"Alright, let's fix this mess. No way another typhoon's coming."
Owen rallied the troops back to work.
The typhoon-scoured island brimmed with tasks.
Labor so short, even Owen repaired broken gear himself.
"Whew... Brutal."
Owen wiped sweat, slumping down.
Then a dark elf came running in panic.
"Heroicus!"
"Huh? Now what?"
Owen's heart sank.
Another crisis? He almost wished to drop the Heroicus alias.
"You must come quick! To the walls! Huff! Huff!"
The dark elf's heaving gestures screamed urgency.
Owen bolted to the walls without questions.
Troops already crowded the ramparts, murmuring.
"What's going on? Why the fuss?"
Owen pushed through.
All stared landward.
He looked too—and doubted his eyes.
"No... What in the world."
The mainland shore swarmed with orcs.
Easily tens of thousands.
Suddenly why?
This was the northwestern fringe of orc lands.
Beyond Margel Island, barren desolation.
Too odd for an orc horde to appear here abruptly.
Because of us? No, impossible.
They'd seized the island mere days ago.
No time to dispatch a punitive force.
They likely didn't even know of the trouble yet.
So why this massive army out of nowhere?
Even Owen's sharp mind drew blanks.
Then a boat approached.
"Scout's back!"
Dark elves had sent a telescope-bearing soldier to recon.
The boatman reaching the shore below spotted Owen and yelled,
"Heroicus! We spotted a banner—it's the orc great chieftain's! No doubt!"
Chaos erupted atop the walls.
Owen's jaw dropped slightly.
"Great chieftain? Why's that mad bastard here?"
Everything defied logic.
Why drag tens of thousands to this backwater?
Owen ground his teeth, dizzy.
"Guess spotting that turtle dragon really does bring typhoons."
As the proverb said, big troubles piled up just like this.
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