Chapter 13
Chapter 13
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Hey, Pig! Let's Negotiate!
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Beskin's aura had frozen the forest trees solid, crackling as ice gripped them tight.
Crunch-crack!!
Those massive, ice-bound trees screamed as they shattered and splintered apart.
This was a forest, after all, and the air itself had frozen—yet that orc swung its axe like it was charging across an open plain with nothing in its way.
The sheer destructive power born from that overwhelming strength fused with blinding speed was a catastrophe in its own right.
But only if it actually hit.
Otherwise, it was nothing more than a wild, overpowered dance.
"Groooaaarrrgh!!"
The orc's roar echoed through the entire forest, a piercing fear aura that could chill the blood of anyone who heard it. It was enough to make the nape of your neck crawl.
Any ordinary person would have frozen in terror from that alone.
But there were no ordinary people here.
Whoosh!
While Beskin grappled with the orc,
Saladin's puppets, Mimi and Nene, darted from above, below, left, and right, hurling hidden daggers and poison from their bodies.
Like a drizzle soaking through clothes, Saladin's erratic strikes began drawing blood bit by bit from the orc's body.
The beast found Mimi and Nene a massive nuisance and prioritized smashing them first.
But.
Booom!!
I stood firm in its path. My power, Steel, was still just at the first stage, Iron Fist—more than enough to land me in critical condition if I took a direct hit.
But crude attacks like that? Pankration let me deflect them effortlessly.
Beskin seemed shocked—not just that I'd mastered a Heterogenous Power, but that I wielded Pankration too.
Still, he wasn't the type to waste time asking questions mid-battle.
As Saladin and I held the orc's attention, ignoring its terrifying roar and wild axe swings,
one of Beskin's sword strikes carved a fatal wound into the beast.
A massive gash slashing from its right shoulder down to the left side of its waist.
It was a grievous injury, but not a drop of blood spilled from the frozen flesh the instant the blade bit in.
"Grraaaahhh!!"
No blood flowed, but with the wound flash-frozen, the pain must have been excruciating. The orc thrashed wildly, swinging its axe in a frenzy.
Even Beskin couldn't afford to underestimate the raw force behind those blows and fell back to create distance.
"Grrrk... grrrk..."
Seizing the brief lull, the orc heaved ragged breaths.
Its wounds were all frozen solid—no blood in sight—but as time passed, its body heat began to thaw them, and blood started seeping out slowly.
On the surface, we had the overwhelming advantage.
But none of us—Beskin least of all, nor Saladin or me—could relax. Our faces stayed grim.
We all knew it.
That the orc, looking like it was on its last legs with wounds everywhere, was actually speeding up.
And its body...
Was gradually taking on more and more of an orange hue.
From a young age, he'd known he was different.
He'd been born far larger than his siblings from the same mother or any other tribe member.
The power surging from his massive frame and iron-hard muscles could overpower even the mighty trolls and ogres of the Dragon Mountains.
Naturally, he'd become the center of his tribe.
Whether it was because he'd bruised the chieftain's ego or been seen as a real threat to his position, he never knew.
But the chieftain's scheme destroyed everything: the Wolf Rider unit, the pride of the tribe he'd led, was annihilated in wyvern territory by those evil dragons.
His soul-bound partner and steadfast comrade on the battlefield, his blood wolf. The brave young orcs who'd followed him loyally.
All gone, returned to Valhalla.
With everything lost, he thought he had nothing left.
Until he hit rock bottom.
Returning home with the yoke of defeat, his tribe exiled him with contempt for begging to keep his worthless life despite losing every warrior.
His past deeds had spared his life, but what good was that?
His honor as a warrior was crushed into the dirt. His body lived on, but his soul was as good as gone.
Despairing, he'd sought to join the sacred souls in Valhalla.
That's when the great voice came.
The voices of the ancestral warriors, legends passed down in tribal tales.
It whispered to him.
Seek the sacred white flower.
Absorb its mystical mana, and you will rebuild the great empire of the orcs, as your ancestors once did.
After hearing that divine voice, he instinctively knew: the white flowers weren't in the barren Dragon Mountains, but in the fertile south—the lands of men.
So he walked. And walked. And walked some more.
It was a grueling pilgrimage, battle with human packs always a possibility, but it didn't matter.
He was the chosen orc. Humans might fear it, but he couldn't ignore the ancestors' revelation.
Along the way, he devoured every white flower he saw.
And finally, at the end of that long journey, he found it: the sacred white flower his ancestors had spoken of.
Joy surged through him. He could recreate their glorious history, rally his gathered kin, and drown that chieftain—who'd need a thousand deaths—in blood vengeance.
But before he could even begin...
This sudden battle drove the orc Hatan mad.
He'd achieved his goal, reveling in ecstasy, when he crossed paths with these humans by chance.
The strong one before him swung blades without warning.
The fight started out of nowhere, but dodging never crossed his mind. If you meet an enemy, you fight—that's how it was.
He was an orc, after all: the great warrior race that found its purpose in battle.
He figured he'd dispatch these humans lightly and move on. Outnumbered badly? No matter. He was chosen. He could crush them.
But his confidence proved empty.
"Grraaaahhh!!"
Swoosh!
He swung his axe in a frenzy. Was it the sacred white flower's power? Despite his wounds and fatigue, the weight of his trusted weapon felt lighter by the moment.
But even those accelerating swings were useless against the human before him.
No matter how ferocious the blow, if it didn't land, it was worthless.
Still, Hatan wasn't worried. His strikes were catching up to the human's movements. Soon, he'd crush him.
Then those pest-like humans and the snack he'd eyed interfered.
Everything went to hell.
Shwick-shwick!
Endless annoying metal bits flew from the toys the pest human controlled.
"Chiiiik!!"
He blocked most overhead with his axe's broad face, but...
Plink! Plink! Plink!
Trick was, there were two toys.
Those toys were slowly but surely racking up wounds, becoming a real threat.
So Hatan dropped his guard to smash them with his axe—but
Claaaang!!
The snack human blocked his axe.
A frail, tiny thing—how the hell was he stopping it?
Slash!
In that gap, the strong human's greatsword raked his sturdy thigh. A leg wound like that crippled movement. Fatal.
Alone, he'd have chomped them both in seconds.
Together, moving in sync, they were a nightmare.
Hatan felt urgency. Time was short. If this dragged on, the human army he'd shaken off would catch up.
Of course, the sacred white flower's power was seeping into him, bit by bit.
But too many wounds before it fully integrated—that was the problem.
Any more, and survival wasn't guaranteed. Even if he lived, it'd derail his grand ambitions and revenge.
What to do?
"Chiiiik."
Hatan steeled himself and gripped his axe tighter.
He was an orc.
The heir to the greatest ancestors.
No matter the wounds.
No matter if he died here before fulfilling his vision.
He would never abandon his honor as a warrior.
As he rallied his resolve, the snack human's mouth opened.
"Whoa, damn. That thing's seriously tough."
I felt blood trickling from my hands channeling Steel, staring in awe at the orc still locked in fierce combat with Beskin.
It wasn't just an orc anymore—it had transcended that level.
My Steel had already pushed past stage one toward two.
Plus, with Earth and Pankration honed into my body, my fists were weapons in themselves.
Any normal foe would've been pulverized long ago.
Yet this monster orc dismantled my Steel punches in an instant. While facing Beskin and Saladin at the same time.
And despite the fatal leg wound from Beskin.
'No wonder my brother and Raik struggled. What now?'
The orc was still growing stronger, inch by inch. I could sense the Blizzard Knight Order and soldiers approaching from afar.
Duh—with the forest exploding like this, it'd be weirder if they hadn't pinpointed us.
A healthy High Orc? No chance.
But this wounded one? Mobilize the full force of the knights and soldiers, and we could take it.
But was that best?
Killing the orc was necessary—for Saladin, and for the plan I had in mind.
But it'd probably cost most of the Blizzard Knights and family troops their lives.
'Damn it! That'd make me no better than my brother, who botched the mission!'
Worse, even. Saladin or Beskin could die too.
I had to admit it: miscalculation.
Undervalued the damn thing.
In my past life, my brother's journey to Philador Kingdom was delayed because Raik's wounds took so long to heal.
This 'incident' might not have been the whole reason for the food negotiation failure, but it sure contributed.
Fewer variables, the better. If Beskin took a fatal hit now, or the knights got wiped... I'd end up with the same failure as my brother.
No—worse.
At least he hadn't lost his heir status over it.
'Think.'
My brother was stubbornly devoted to 'knightly honor.'
The guy would've never retreated, no matter the cost.
'Think.'
I was different. Merchant, mercenary, rebel. I'd use any means to reach my goals.
Fall back and borrow Viscount Edwin's forces or nearby territories?
No—the orc heals, and casualties pile up.
Request a full royal subjugation?
No—instantly, my hard work vanishes, and I'm just a royal trophy.
Ask the main family for backup?
No—the Sword Family gets there first geographically and steals the glory.
So, fight to the death right here?
The absolute worst. This whole expedition's core was Father's mission.
This was just a side issue. No point flipping priorities.
'Think, think. There has to be a way to kill the orc and come out ahead... Huh?'
As I weighed options, scanning the battlefield, something odd caught my eye.
That split-second hesitation when the half-broken High Orc paused in the lull.
Species gap or not, what it meant was clear.
Internal conflict.
Sure, the flicker vanished fast. Resolve hardened in its eyes instead, grip tightening on the axe.
Like death-squad zealots at war's end.
I couldn't explain why, but seeing that sparked a solution to this endless chicken game in my head.
Just as the orc rallied and charged, I yelled at it desperately.
"Hey, pig! Let's negotiate!"