Chapter 206
Chapter 206
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 206
Chapter Title: The Orc King's Domain
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The Dragon Mountains were a hellish place where monsters endlessly clashed over their territories in brutal turf wars.
The continent's perception of the Dragon Mountains hadn't changed throughout history—and truthfully, that perception had always held some degree of accuracy.
Until just recently, that is.
Crunch!
Jerome gripped a tree bursting with vibrant life, its flower buds just beginning to bloom, as he climbed the mountain.
"Huff... huff! Ugh, I'm dying here. Just how far do we have to go?"
Saladin, tongue lolling out like a pup on a summer day, wiped the sweat from his brow and asked.
Turning back to count the summits they'd crossed, Jerome faced forward again.
"Looks like we've got two or three more ridges ahead. Come on, just a bit more."
"Euuugh..."
Saladin's face twisted in dismay. Jerome couldn't entirely blame him.
What kind of territory is this ridiculously vast?
Even Jerome was inwardly stunned by the sheer size of the land claimed by Hatan and his orcs.
That's right. Just ten—no, five years ago, the Dragon Mountains had been the law-of-the-jungle hellscape teeming with monster skirmishes, exactly as the continent's people imagined.
But once Hatan and his orcs established dominance in the central region and pushed out the wyverns that ruled the northwest...
Excluding the lycanthropes in the south and the cyclopes in the northeast, orc influence now spanned virtually the entire Dragon Mountains.
Thanks to that, flashing the dagger Hatan had given him let them traverse the mountains with surprising ease.
"Baron, looks like leaving Lady Aria, Young Master Set, and Princess Seira to rest in Elrunheim was the right call."
Beskin said cautiously, giving Saladin's whining back a push.
"Yeah. Even if they're allies, we can't spill every critical secret."
Only three had ventured deep into the mountains: Beskin, Saladin, and Jerome.
Orcs, cyclopes, elves, lycanthropes. All were directly or indirectly tied to Banten—to Jerome.
Combined, those four territories covered nearly the whole Dragon Mountains.
With trade already underway with the elves, some were growing wary of Banten's rising power.
If word got out that the entire Dragon Mountains were friendly to Banten, not just the Holy Empire but even their allied southern continent leagues would eye them suspiciously.
No need to share everything with allies just yet. Once the massive foe that was the Holy Empire vanished, eternal allies didn't exist. Who knew how they'd react?
Though Aria and Seira aren't the type...
Their families and kingdoms might think differently.
No, seeing this vast land firsthand might flip even their minds in an instant.
"That aside, you are confident, right?"
Saladin, panting behind them, caught his breath and asked seriously.
"To complete your grand vision, lycanthropes and cyclopes matter, but orc power is absolutely essential. If you lose to Hatan here... it'll be a massive headache."
He was spot on. The mountains being mostly on Jerome's side only counted with the orcs included.
That's why he'd left the Blizzard Knight Order, Miron, and Misha waiting in Elrunheim, bringing only Beskin and Saladin into the heart of orc territory.
Before departing for Olivia, he needed to settle his makgora duel with Hatan and secure the orcs firmly as allies.
They'd fought wyverns together and escaped Ballista Fortress with their aid, but ties with the orcs remained ambiguous.
Not fully friends, yet not full enemies either.
Hence Saladin's warning. Defeat in makgora against Hatan would lift the taboo he'd imposed on the orcs.
Don't eat humans in the southern mountains.
That would spawn another massive enemy right above Banten, beyond Ballista Fortress.
A normal human might balk at fighting a former comrade like this, but...
"I know."
Jerome rolled his wrists, gauntlets on, loosening up.
"No one knows better than me."
Orcs weren't human. Trying to understand them through human logic was the wrong approach from the start.
That's why, since that day returning from Elrunheim, his resolve hadn't wavered for a second.
His final task before Olivia: win the makgora against Hatan.
The Silver Wolf tribe had once been the glorious representatives of the orcs.
Hatan claimed their fallen homeland as the orc stronghold, naming it Yarnvidr.
Starting by annexing nearby villages close to Banten, Yarnvidr grew through relentless expansion.
Now, it had become a sacred ground for all orcs in the Dragon Mountains.
Clang! Clang!
A fully armored orc dashed across Yarnvidr's lands toward their king's domain.
Crash!
"Chwik! What... is it! Chwiik!"
The king's guard halted him with massive blades.
Yarnvidr was the domain of the orc king, the mightiest warrior.
Not just anyone could enter that hallowed space.
The arriving orc shouted excitedly.
"Chwiik! Human... has come! The king's rival! Chwiik!"
"!"
The guards' expressions shifted.
The human called the king's rival.
No orc was unaware of him.
The one who'd fought a heart-pounding battle alongside their king against the elves.
The one who'd greatly aided in slaughtering the wyverns, mortal foes of their king.
The one who'd gifted arms to the king and orcs—arms the guard and runner now wore.
And the one who'd imposed a harsh taboo on their king and kin.
Jerome von Carviot.
He was heading to Yarnvidr.
"Chwiik! Then, to the king at once...!!"
"Chwik. It's fine. He's already heard from inside."
The guards moved to part, but Hatan was faster.
Thud!
Hatan, battle axe slung over his shoulder, grinned, baring fangs.
A gust carried falling leaves toward him; he extended his axe.
Slice!
The leaf touched the axe's razor edge and split in two, fluttering down as if always so.
No vibration—just the blade's impossible sharpness.
Not his old chipped axe from before.
This was handmade by the cyclops king, Argus, as a token of friendship.
"Chwik! Jerome, you've brought me many grateful moments."
Without him, war with the cyclopes would have dragged to mutual destruction.
Their kind would have suffered massive losses.
And vengeance against Dokan's wyverns, eternal enemies, might never have come.
Sweep!
Hatan surveyed the refined gear on his orcs.
Without Jerome, dominating the mountains so swiftly would have been impossible.
However.
"Chwiik! Ask if I have zero regrets? Not quite."
Southward expansion blocked by his taboo. Northward, blocked by agreements with Argus and Jerome.
Paradox: Jerome made him central mountains' overlord, yet also caged them from human lands.
"Chwik. Promises kept. As you said, Jerome, when we strike north human lands soon, I'll aid fully."
Courtesy as kin-transcending friend and rival.
But no intent to throw this makgora. Full force, instead.
If Jerome lost, merciless invasion southward.
Even if Jerome's father meant heavy orc losses—irrelevant.
Orcs were warriors and raiders. They seized desires without restraint.
He was their apex. As king starved of human flesh for years, taboo lifted demanded action.
A man felled by his axe lacked caliber even for northern promise.
"Chwik! Come, my friend and rival."
In the high-latitude Dragon Mountains, where spring arrived late.
Despite central warmth, Yarnvidr orcs' hearts blazed hot.
Blinding sunlight.
Cloudless sky.
On such a fine day, could one see Banten or Ballista Fortress from the peaks?
Idly pondering as they walked, the path ended at a vast plateau teeming with lush green figures like a forest of the mountains themselves.
"Whoa, check that number. Orcs multiply like no other."
Saladin eyed the Yarnvidr hordes with dismay.
Despite countless fallen in Elrunheim, Gaia, Death Valley wars.
The gathered throng erased any sense of those losses.
Before Hatan, orcs' weaker combat versus other monsters hadn't extinguished them here—thanks to that resilience.
Falling, crushed, yet rising like lies.
Under Hatan's rule, unscathed, their vitality shone true.
If that horde poured into Banten at once, even Heaven's Shield's land would suffer heavily. One hand couldn't block ten.
Jerome's vision would shatter.
Saladin swallowed dryly, glancing aside; Beskin's face was grim.
Both knew from Jerome's negotiations.
Sparing Hatan: masterstroke or fatal error?
They stood at that crossroads.
Impossible? Make it happen, Jerome. Your grand picture isn't this flimsy.
Unlike the tense pair, Jerome's expression stayed serene.
Step, step.
Approaching the plateau, green-skinned orcs parted naturally, making way.
Step, step.
Their gazes locked on the group—on Jerome.
But malice or rage? Hardly.
Yearning, anticipation instead.
Those eyes told him.
You're all the same.
To him, orcs weren't full friends or foes.
He'd aided revival, king's vengeance—but imposed taboo.
To them, this makgora was festival.
King wins: freedom. Jerome wins: bide time, build power, await glorious war.
Mattering now: only if their king claimed revenge.
Step!
At the green wave's end, one orange dot.
The lone High Orc, battle axe planted, hands overlapped on the hilt.
High Orc and orc king Hatan raised his head slowly as Jerome arrived.
"Chwiik! Long time, Jerome."
"Yeah. First since owing you at Urk Plains. A year?"
"Chwiik! Truly long wait."
Hatan, towering head and shoulders—no, two—above kin, rose slowly.
"Since fighting you in Elrunheim four years back, no thrill like that. Chwiik! Argus bout, wyvern revenge—different somehow. Chwiik! That ecstasy, warrior's rush at life's brink."
Hatan's bulging muscles twitched; the axe's blade gleamed in sunlight.
"Grant it to me again. Chwiik!"
Pfft!
Knowing the stakes, Jerome still chuckled at Hatan's fervor.
Told you—you're all the same.