Trouble Piles Up (3)
#98 Trouble Piles Up (3)
2022.04.18.
At the sudden appearance of the orc great chieftain, everyone dropped their tasks and rushed toward the mainland.
Betshel arrived soon after, but he was at a loss for words for a long while.
"What in the... that filthy...?"
He shook his head, pointing at the orcs with his finger.
Even at a glance, there were more than 30,000 of them.
Their side had around 1,400 after subtracting the deserters and casualties.
An overwhelming difference in numbers.
Unless the orcs had come here just to play, that gap was critically important.
"Elder, but there's still the sea between us and them, right?"
"Don't be too optimistic, lad. It's not that wide. Even orcs, who are hopeless at sea, can cross something like that. And there are orc tribes that fish as a whole!"
"We need to come up with a plan right away."
While Margel Island plunged into chaos, the orcs were just as flustered.
Kaladashyr, the great chieftain known as the Lord of Hybrids, scowled at his subordinate's report.
"What did you just say? That humans and dark elves have seized the island?"
"Yes, Great Chieftain!"
"What the hell...?"
The great chieftain, seated on his massive palanquin, propped his chin and fell deep into thought.
It was utterly absurd.
We're here to revive Tanares in the underground ruins... How did humans and dark elves get there first? Did they somehow figure out my plan?
No matter how much he pondered, that didn't seem likely.
The revival of Tanares was a top-secret operation, conducted with the aid of demons.
"What do you think, Human Reaper?"
The great chieftain yanked on the iron chain connected to his palanquin.
Clang-clang-clang!
A pained groan erupted amid the racket.
"Urk!"
At the end of the chain was an orc in wretched shape, bound and filthy.
His body was caked in filth and mud, covered in whip marks everywhere.
Untreated wounds crawled with maggots.
He was none other than the Human Reaper, Bargulgu.
Once one of the great chieftain's most promising subordinates, he was now utterly fallen.
"Krrk!"
Bargulgu endured the agony but couldn't respond.
His mouth was gagged to prevent him from biting his tongue, and the tattoos that held his hidden power had been carved away with a knife.
He was little more than livestock being dragged to slaughter.
"Heh heh, my apologies. I forgot your situation and asked anyway."
The great chieftain sneered vilely and turned away.
It was a nuisance, but he figured seizing the island would sort it out.
He always traveled with tens of thousands as escorts anyway.
Just attack as is.
But for now, he decided to send an envoy to gauge the situation.
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A few hours later.
After the orc envoy had come and gone, the island's command-level figures gathered.
"The orcs demand immediate evacuation from the island and massive reparations."
Arwen, who had met the envoy, reported.
Since dealing with orcs, dark elves were better suited than humans, she'd handled the negotiations.
"Hmph! In your dreams! Still, that's surprisingly moderate coming from orcs."
Betshel snorted but looked a bit surprised.
Owen nodded as well.
"It means attacking this island will be a real hassle for them."
"You're right, lad. We hold out to the end."
Having fought orcs his whole life as an easterner, Betshel was calling for a last stand.
Owen nodded again.
"Escape isn't an option anyway—only enough for those two ships."
There were three intact ships, but one had been sent to the Surpuk Duke.
Two ships couldn't evacuate everyone completely.
"Did you ask if we could repair the ships and leave, Arwen?"
At Owen's question, Arwen gave a wry smile.
"They said if the ships are wrecked, land on the mainland and leave."
"That's just telling us to die. They wouldn't let us go. Even if the great chieftain keeps his word, the other orc tribes won't sit idle."
Either way, fighting was the only option left.
The problem was the tactical objective.
Opinions split here: Humans led by Betshel wanted to fight to the death.
Arwen and the dark elves wanted to hold out as long as possible while repairing the damaged ships.
"Heroicus, that way most of the island's people can escape. Not everyone, but..."
At Arwen's words, Betshel roared.
"Nonsense! We were ordered to seize this island! If we can't cut off Margel Island's trade, gunpowder will be a huge problem going forward! We die here if we have to!"
Humans inevitably took gunpowder more seriously than dark elves.
The dark elves were here on the queen's orders to clean up their own mess, but humans faced dragons dying right away.
Plus, their commander was the hardliner Betshel.
He showed no intention of retreating.
"Sir Leire! If you're an eastern man, show some spine!"
Watching Betshel slam the table and bellow, Owen sank into thought.
Both sides' arguments couldn't be accepted.
There were limits to what could be done immediately.
Repair the damaged ships, or fortify the storm-battered castle for defense—one or the other.
Trying both would doom them all.
In the midst of the debate, everyone eventually turned to Owen.
His decision would carry major weight.
"Hmm..."
After brief deliberation, Owen made his call.
"We should resist until reinforcements from His Grace arrive."
Betshel clenched his fist in delight.
"Yes! That's the eastern spirit! The Leire family breeds brave sons."
The dark elves accepted it as Heroicus's view and didn't argue further.
"Understood. If that's Heroicus's will."
In the follow-up meeting, they decided to send one of the remaining two ships to the Surpuk Duke for further contact.
The allied forces' decision was relayed to the great chieftain via envoy.
"Hmm... What a pain."
Irritation surged in the great chieftain.
He wanted to head to the underground ruins and perform the Tanares revival ritual pronto, but things had gotten tangled.
Crossing a 500-meter-wide sea wasn't easy for orcs either.
And Margel Island's fortress was infamous for its sturdiness.
Massive casualties were expected.
"But no choice. My subordinates are all idiots, one and all. Krhahaha!"
The half-ogre great chieftain couldn't comprehend the pure combat machines that were orcs.
Clinging to negotiations to minimize losses would only shake his support.
Even if rivers of blood flowed, he had to order the charge—that was the great chieftain's position.
To the ever-rational great chieftain, such belligerence was contemptible.
"Fight! Fight!"
"To battle! Sound the drums!"
Tribesmen were already grabbing axes and hammers, raising a racket everywhere.
Watching them impassively, the great chieftain smirked.
Those on the island want to die, and these fools do too. Perfect. Let the death-wishers slug it out.
While the fierce battle raged, he planned to leisurely head to the underground ruins.
Even brutal orcs would bleed rivers breaching well-defended walls.
But they'd accept it as warrior's work, so the great chieftain wasn't worried.
What an easy race to exploit!
He felt he'd done right expelling Kalaku, the undefeated legion commander who'd fretted over the orcs' future to the end.
That orc legend, who repeatedly bested the empire's guardian Duke Glendower—called a monster—had been swept into the great chieftain's schemes and forced to flee.
No one knew if he lived or died now.
If he'd stuck around, he'd have caused all sorts of trouble.
To the great chieftain, the remaining orcs were nothing but fools.
Thus, he intended to use the orc race as sacrifices for his ambitions.
"Krhahaha!"
A deep, organ-like laugh rumbled from the great chieftain's mouth.
He rose and bellowed.
"Warriors of the Great Plains! Descendants of glorious ancestors!"
Though he despised the orcs inwardly, outwardly he played the perfect leader.
His voice was superb, laced with charisma that stirred battle lust.
"Waaaaah!"
The warriors responded with heated excitement.
"All know this land around Margel Island holds a tragic history. Humans invaded long ago, driving out our ancestors and building colonies! They captured them, enslaved them, tortured them, sold them!"
No need to mention how the already riled orcs went berserk at such tales.
"Kill the humans!"
"Kill the humans!"
The great chieftain smiled in satisfaction at the chants filling the air.
"But our ancestors repelled the vile humans and reclaimed Margel Island and its surrounds. Think on it! Was that achieved easily? Only after offering rivers of blood to this soil did they claim victory."
The mood sobered instantly.
Yet the orcs' eyes burned fiercely toward the great chieftain.
He barely suppressed a sneer rising at the sight.
Nothing beats rage for manipulating the masses. And a race perpetually pissed off like these? Effortless!
Half his blood was orc, sure.
But the other half—ogre mage lineage—made him see himself as a cut above.
Now infused with demon power, he felt no kinship with them at all.
"Yet look! Humans have returned to this land! These pirate-like scum suddenly appeared and slaughtered Margel Island's brothers, dumping them into the sea. Warriors! This topples the foundations our ancestors built here! How can we stand by with open eyes? Take up arms and rise! Seize the island!"
"Waaaaaaaah!"
The orcs answered with thunderous cheers.
The noise was ear-shattering even from afar. And from that day, they began preparations to assault Margel Island.
First, they gathered massive transport ships.
Then, linking them to form a pontoon bridge across the sea.
"How many ships do we need?"
At the great chieftain's question, the engineer orc replied briskly.
"Our transports are large, so about 40 should suffice! Fishing boats would need twice that or more."
"Got it. Requisition the right number."
The great chieftain had no intention of leisurely building 40-odd ships here.
Orc craftsmanship was so crude, who knew how long it'd take.
He ordered ships seized from nearby coastal tribes.
Soon, orcs bearing the great chieftain's orders scattered everywhere.
Local tribes would be crippled in fishing and livelihoods without their boats, but that wasn't his concern.
"You have one month. Complete the pontoon within!"
Half a month later.
No battles had erupted around Margel Island yet.
Just the constant tap-tap of construction filled the area.
The orcs' pontoon was taking shape impressively, while humans and dark elves toiled sleeplessly to repair the fortress.
The Surpuk Duke and dark elf queen were also hastily preparing reinforcements after the expedition's report.
A massive bomb ticked on the verge of explosion, yet the sea remained peaceful.
Countless sea creatures migrated with the currents, painting a beautiful scene.
A fantastical sight invisible to those fixated on battle prep at sea.
This season's North Sea currents flowed west, carrying remnants of the dark elf fleet shattered by the recent typhoon westward.
Wood shards, supplies, debris spread wide across the waves.
Some washed ashore on uninhabited isles—but one wasn't a real island despite appearances.
Grrr rumble!
A low, island-wide groan echoed.
It looked every bit a rocky isle, but was actually a colossal creature.
Kuaram Kam, the turtle dragon dark elves revered as a divine messenger.
But this one was peculiar.
Normally, their massive bulk attracted barnacles and parasites galore, yet its surface gleamed unnaturally clean.
The reason? Recently, it'd benefited from humans and dark elves on a beach.
Grr rumble!
The turtle dragon groaned again.
It smelled a familiar scent from the drifting wood debris.
The same aroma as the wooden houses those small beings floated on the sea to aid it.
But utterly wrecked?
Curiosity and faint worry stirred in the turtle dragon.
This indifferent beast rarely cared for others, but benefactors were different.
Especially with one memorable human in their group.
Faintly, it recalled a small human reaching out to it.
Grr...
Seemed like it had to check.
So judging, the turtle dragon lumbered back against the current, tracing the debris' flow.
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