Chapter 111
Chapter 111
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 111
Chapter Title: A Personal Vendetta
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"Chwiik... Wyvern hunt?"
Aura.
This was unusual.
I'd only brought it up because it seemed like a decent deal.
Yet, despite his severe wounds from the Cyclops, Hatan's body erupted with a chilling wave of hostility.
No, that energy wasn't mere hostility.
'It's killing intent. And it's profoundly vicious.'
The killing intent pouring from Hatan was gloomily sticky—far too sinister for a warrior like him, who embodied valor more than anyone.
'...Did I say something wrong?'
Hatan's out-of-character demeanor made me tread carefully too.
Everyone has their stories, whether human or orc.
"......"
Hatan fell silent, his emotions evidently stirred.
But only for a moment.
"...Chwiik, sorry about that. I lost my composure in front of a guest."
He quickly reined in his killing intent and apologized.
He didn't explain why, though, and I didn't press him.
'He'll speak when he's ready.'
I had no hobby of digging up others' scars.
"Chwiik. Very well, Jerome. I'll gladly accept. But on one condition."
Killing intent flashed in Hatan's eyes again.
"Chwiik. Among the wyverns in their nest, there's one with a single eye. Chwiik. The others don't matter, but that lizard... I will kill it myself."
Hatan caressed the axe blade beside him, grinding out the words.
"Chwiik. I'll carve off every strip of flesh... slowly. Chwiik! Until it wishes for death instead."
"Ugh, what kind of orc emits killing intent like that..."
Aria emerged from Hatan's tent, shuddering as she hugged her shoulders.
"Definitely not your average orc."
Set, standing beside her, rarely agreed with Aria—but he did this time, clearly startled by Hatan's aura.
'No wonder. It surprised me too.'
It was the first time I'd seen Hatan unleash such viscous killing intent.
"By the way, Young Master Jerome. Do you have ties with orcs as well?"
Set shifted topics, eyeing me curiously.
"Banten territory's trade with Elunheim was famous, so I figured that much. Leaders on both sides are throne-sitters, after all—strategic alliance made sense."
Set's gaze passed Sir Baukalrak nearby and settled on the orc guiding us to our tents.
"But Sir Baukalrak here... the Lycanthrope clan aside. And now even orcs know you. Not ordinary ones, either."
His eyes returned to me.
"Young Master Jerome, what exactly are you? Are you really the infamous wastrel of the Shield Family?"
Aria perked up her ears, equally curious.
Fair enough. Just a few years ago, I was a worm deemed unworthy of the "wastrel" label. Now, I was forging ties with all sorts of powers.
Even if change has limits, it must seem inexplicable to Set and Aria.
'Philador Kingdom too... I've stirred up quite a bit.'
I chuckled softly and addressed Set.
"As for my identity, Young Master Set..."
Gulp!
Aria and Set's pupils dilated.
"I'm just a man struggling not to regret anything. Haha."
Set squinted at my cryptic words; Aria's head drooped in disappointment.
"Tch, if you don't want to say, fine. Whatever. I just need to achieve my goal. I'll uphold our deal until then."
Set muttered openly, 'Then I'll naturally learn what kind of man you are,' before heading to his tent, mood soured.
Aria, Beskin, and Saladin followed suit.
Alone in the quiet tent, I sprawled out, stretching limbs wide.
"My identity, huh..."
Who would believe it?
That I was the one whose countless past mistakes and wasted time had led to losing my nation and house without a fight.
What I'd told Set was sincere.
'Let's give our all, enough to have no regrets.'
I couldn't predict how my actions would unfold.
Slaying the Cyclops lord and raiding the wyvern nest might collapse Dragon Mountains' balance, dooming the continent.
Impossible to know. I lacked foresight into altered futures.
I could only correct past errors one by one, mend them, prevent them.
Just as my idleness earned me "worm,"
the verdict on my deeds would come from Cardia continent's people, not me.
At dawn, the orc camp stirred with military precision rivaling human armies.
They checked gear, stood watch, formed ranks.
'Impressive. Good call saving Hatan.'
If I could wield these sturdy orcs as planned, a massive piece of my Empire war blueprint would fall into place.
Squeeze.
My gauntleted fist clenched instinctively.
"Chwiiik! Orcs!"
Hatan, the orcs' king atop the platform, bellowed.
"Chwiik! It was a long, grueling war! Those Cyclops hordes blocking us—subjugators of all races!"
Boom!
He slammed his massive battle-axe—bigger than his torso—into the ground, declaring,
"Before the next moon rises, we shall annihilate them!! Chwiik!!"
"Chwiiik!! Long live the Great King!!"
"Chwiiik!! Glory to the orcs!"
As morale soared, Hatan lifted his axe, pointing at me and my group.
"Chwiiik! See them? Humans who came to aid us—true powerhouses! One matched me blow for blow in Makgora!! Thus, victory is ours!!"
Orcs' spirits peaked at news of equaling their king.
"Chwiik!! Equaled the clan chief?!"
"Chwiiik! Then we can win!! Chwiik!!"
"Chwiiiiiik!!"
Hatan, basking in the fervor without glancing my way, asked,
"Jerome."
"Yeah."
"Chwiik, how do you plan to take them down?"
"Hm..."
"Chwiik, odd for me to say mid-war, but they're truly strong. Chwiik."
Hatan rolled his neck, wincing at his shoulder wound.
"Chwiik. With you and the Lycanthropes, we can win. But head-on? Casualties will be heavy. Chwiik."
"Can't have that."
I frowned at his words.
For my plans, the orcs needed to remain intact.
Mass deaths in a clash would slash their influence here.
This range tolerates no weak majorities.
'He knows that, so he's asking me.'
Even as a smart High Orc, Hatan was orc at core—innately stubborn, strategically vulnerable versus other races.
Cyclops, by contrast, were mythically wise monsters, despite one-eyed ogre looks.
"First, lure them from their home ground."
Battle basics: fight where you're advantaged, foe weakened.
Dragon Mountains' northeast: volcanic zone.
Cyclops, "monster smiths," thrived in fire and heat.
Orcs dwelled forests and plains.
Harsh volcanics disadvantaged orcs badly.
'Already outnumbered; terrain penalty seals it.'
"Chwiik, how? Many battles, but they've never left their turf once."
Of course.
Cyclops sought domain control, not orc lands.
No reason to venture out.
So, create an irresistible lure.
"Hatan, assign one orc scout—good with paths, knows Cyclops terrain."
Hatan's eyes widened as I outlined the plan.
Dragon Mountains northeast, Cyclops land of Gaia.
Near continent's northernmost edge, yet warmed by volcanic heat.
Gaia's lord and Cyclops king, Argus, frowned while wrapping his waist in bandages.
"Ugh...!"
Familiar lately, but this pain—so alien before—was tormentingly unfamiliar.
A hideous wound snaking from right thigh to waist like a serpent.
"Who'd have thought an orc wielded such power."
Bandage done, Argus twisted testingly, muttering.
Orcs.
Dragon Mountains' most populous low-tier monsters.
Innate warriors, yet to Argus: mindless brawlers lacking intellect or conviction.
Fools believing death in battle sent them to "Valhalla," their sanctuary.
Half a year ago, unchanged—until meeting one orc.
"Hatan... was it."
Argus knew the range teemed with strong monsters, assumed himself unmatched.
Yet never dreamed his first scarring foe was an orc.
"Regrettable."
Half-year deathmatches revealed truth.
Hatan's might was real.
His axe swung not for slaughter alone.
Overlord's path.
Conviction to crown orcs true masters of Dragon Mountains.
Argus felt the burden of his race on Hatan's shoulders.
'In different circumstances, we might've been friends.'
But no choice.
Beyond Gaia lay human plains.
Long observation taught him:
Border human lords were monsters, generation after generation.
Those monsters eyed inward only because Cyclops blocked them.
If Cyclops fell.
If orcs invaded human lands.
'Orcs might inflict initial damage.'
But how often did Hatan-like warriors grace orc history?
Post-Hatan, no equal leader. Certain.
Humans bred similars via accumulated lore.
Long term: humans prosper, orcs decline.
Humans learning of fallen gatekeepers would invade the range.
'Can't let that happen.'
Magical realm or whatever—human terms.
This range: final haven for countless non-human races.
Not denying orc ambitions, but Cyclops duty: guard against humans.
Thus, impossible to endorse Hatan.
Argus eyed his body.
Once smooth, now scar-riddled.
All from Hatan clashes.
"...Not long now."
Hatan's body mirrored his—wound-covered.
Argus knew best; he'd inflicted many.
But limits neared.
Prolonging mutual strain led to mutual loss.
Thus, next battle.
Or the one after.
Decide then.
Savoring bittersweet end to rare worthy duel,
"B-big trouble!"
A frantic guard burst into Argus's dwelling.