Zenbe Ajjae's Past
A shabby sailboat was making its way up the Opis River, buffeted by strong westerly winds.
I stood at the bow, gazing at a distant fortress. It was Bardru Fortress, bordering the Orc Plains. Turei approached me slowly and spoke.
"Human. Aren't you scared?"
"Of what?"
"Orcs are hostile to humans. Yet here you are, heading into the Orc Plains without a single guard."
I smirked.
"What's there to be scared of?"
"You trust us?"
I shook my head.
"Nah. I don't trust anyone. It's just that you guys can't kill me."
"Hah. Quite the confidence."
"Not confidence. It's a life truth I've learned from long experience. That's why I always go alone to dangerous places. Bringing guards just makes them baggage."
Turei glanced back slyly at Hubeo, who was slumped powerlessly in a daze.
"Then why bring that human?"
"He's kinda like me in some ways."
"How so?"
"Anything that walks on two legs absolutely can't kill him."
Turei read the aura emanating from Hubeo and nodded.
"Fair enough. He does look strong."
"Not that kind of strong."
"Huh?"
"His flattery's on master level. Even orcs who can think for themselves couldn't bring themselves to kill him."
"Really?"
"The only pity is he doesn't realize it himself. If he used that skill in romance, he wouldn't need to agonize like this... Tsk tsk tsk."
I clicked my tongue and stepped down from the bow. A world-class flatterer agonizing over love—watching from the sidelines was pretty pitiful.
Whispers of love and flattery share a lot in essence, after all.
I patted Hubeo's shoulder.
"Hubeo. Get ready to disembark. From Bardru on, we're traveling overland."
"Yeah. Got it."
Hubeo finally snapped out of it, wobbling to his feet. I sighed deeply watching him. Hubeo had always been sloppy back in the day, but not this frustratingly so.
Honestly, running away from home because he doesn't want to get married? Even if he excuses it as scouting enemy lines and meeting Grollmog, to me it's straight-up running away.
Guess I'll have to carve out some time later to help him out. Hubeo's my old buddy, but him trailing me everywhere is a real hassle.
Thousands of orc mercenaries had pitched camp before Bardru Fortress. It was Zenbe Ajjae's mercenary band.
Spotting us approaching, Zenbe Ajjae came out to greet us.
"Human's here, eh?"
"Yeah. No issues?"
"None. Nearby orc tribes visit often, but it's for trade, not hostility."
Bardru had recently emerged as a key hub for border trade with the orcs. The western great plains line had short distances between cities, speeding rail construction, and crucially, river trade via the Opis River allowed cheap, fast transport of grain unloaded at southern coastal cities all the way to Bardru.
This had greatly improved relations between Bardru and the orc tribes lately. Bring a tiny Chaos Piece the size of a pinky nail, and you could haul away more food than one orc could carry alone—no wonder the local orcs had no reason to raid anymore.
"Good to hear."
Zenbe Ajjae walked with me and said,
"Still, it's amazing. Kara just wanted to make money, but the orcs escaped starvation, and Bardru got peace."
It didn't stop there. Kara's massive grain imports let southern coastal territories rake in cash from rotting surpluses, Chaos Piece prices—which had skyrocketed—were trending down, brightening the magic engine industry's future.
Merchants loved the new business boom, laborers didn't worry about tomorrow's meals with jobs overflowing.
"That's the power of desire for you. Nations that harness it well grow strong."
"Like Kara?"
"Yeah. Kara Kingdom's about to get even stronger."
"How strong?"
"Dunno exactly. The world's got this nasty thing called cycles."
"Cycles?"
"Yeah. Desire breeds abundance, abundance breeds generosity of spirit, that births morality. But morality breeds poverty, poverty breeds misery, misery breeds desire again."
"The world turns in circles?"
"Yep. But it can't just be desire and morality, right?"
Zenbe Ajjae gazed at the distant sky.
"Fair enough. But does that apply to our lives?"
"Probably. Everything in the world cycles—human lives as part of it must too."
"True. Hey, human. What do you wanna be reborn as next life?"
I scowled hard.
"Anything but this. What kinda bullshit is this life? Sigh~."
"What do you mean?"
"It's all tangled up in the worst way when you look close."
"Maybe your mindset's twisted?"
I snapped,
"Argh, seriously!"
Zenbe Ajjae subtly widened the distance between us.
"See? Twisted."
"You're getting cause and effect backward. My life's twisted, so my mindset is too."
"Twisted my ass. Who else has life as good as yours? Loaded with cash. Three girlfriends, all gorgeous Great Saintesses. Plus, you're at the heart of world power with top-tier skills. What's missing?"
"Drop it. No more talk."
I squeezed my eyes shut, waved him off, and walked away. Any more, and I'd look like the bad guy. Even if he skipped my looks, point is, I've got it all.
Right after parting from Zenbe Ajjae, we entered the Orc Plains.
Countless orcs pulled carts across the vast grasslands, each bundle loaded with trade goods. Some had Magic Bullet Launchers holstered at their waists—definitely bought from Bardru Fortress. Kara's latest models had a lever for selecting fireballs, lightning bolts, or stone arrows, distinctly different in structure and magic runes from other nations'.
Now those orcs could hunt even easier with them, and in the future age of ruin, fight monsters more efficiently.
Turei rode up beside me.
"White Mask."
"Yeah?"
"Why does Zenbe, an orc great hero, side with you—a human—against us orcs?"
I stared at Turei blankly.
"Ask him yourself. Why me?"
"It's a question that could tarnish Zenbe's honor if mishandled. I'm not even worthy to speak to him casually."
"Why? You're just a hair below him in realm, aren't you?"
"You say that 'cause you don't know about Grollmog Great Chieftain and Zenbe's war. We orcs revere Zenbe as a great hero alongside Grollmog and High Rock Mountain Tribe's Shalita Chieftain—but plenty rank just those two, excluding Shalita."
I blinked.
"Why?"
"Shalita doesn't qualify. He surrendered too easily to Grollmog's Red Fangs Tribe. But Zenbe fought fiercely despite being outnumbered and never yielded till the end."
I looked intrigued at this first hearing of Zenbe Ajjae's past. The Zenbe-Grollmog war was famous even in human society, but details were scarce.
"What was the war like?"
"A legend, in one word."
The unification war between Grollmog's Red Fangs Tribe alliance (200,000 warriors) and Zenbe's Blue Earth Tribe alliance (100,000) raged for nearly three years, drenching the northern Orc Plains in blood and birthing countless hero myths.
Tur, who slew a thousand foes alone at Nurin Gorge. Ulbus, the Ice Lake ghost who overcame 4-to-1 odds in the only naval battle. Shalita, one of the orc three heroes, racking up feats across the plains.
But the standouts were the leaders: Grollmog and Zenbe.
Zenbe was then a young chieftain. Son of Upe, the previous great hero ruling western Orc Plains, and the tribe's strongest berserker, he confidently led the alliance.
Then word came of an odd wandering orc elder named Grollmog taking over tiny Red Fangs village in central-west by soloing all warriors. No big deal at first. But when he crushed Shalita—central plains ruler and Zenbe's father Upe's sole rival, one of two top-master berserkers—things changed.
Rumors flew Grollmog was a Mind Master. Blue Earth alliance shook—orcs' racial trait of submitting to the strong resonated. Fringe tribes flipped first, then unrest brewed within Blue Earth.
Fearing his father's legacy crumbling, Zenbe made an extreme call: war on Red Fangs.
Elders opposed, but Zenbe pressed on. Better to bet now with some chance than fade; he trusted his might and Taitania's divinity.
I chuckled.
"Zenbe Ajjae was pretty reckless back then."
"No. He sustained that disadvantageous war for three years."
The war unfolded fiercely at first, evenly matched despite numbers. Zenbe even notched big wins sometimes.
But as it dragged, Red Fangs' numerical edge prevailed. Blue Earth fell into dire straits.
Zenbe grew anxious at mounting defeats and shrinking territory. Endless surrenders and dying subordinates haunted his sleepless nights, fearing Blue Earth's glorious end under him.
Yet he planned boldly: infiltrate deep, smash Red Fangs core, behead Grollmog. Win reverses the war; lose, and Blue Earth vanishes—a gamble.
Thus began the immortal "Ice Blood Path" battle.
Zenbe led 12,000 elites, detouring north to Ice Lands, slicing Red Fangs' waist. Many lost to cold and storms, but they crushed foes, nearing Red Fangs territory.
En route, Zenbe routed Shalita's hasty reinforcements, etching his name forever among orcs.
Finally at Baltar Plains, he faced Grollmog's forces—numbers even. Both sides depleted, Red Fangs short on frontliners.
Zenbe charged to victory horns, meeting doom at Thorough Cliff: Grollmog.
Long white hair flying, Grollmog swung a massive double-headed axe at Zenbe.
Taitania roared to burst. Wrists throbbed near-breaking. Yet Zenbe dueled dozens of exchanges, capping the great war.
I tilted my head.
"Weird. Zenbe held Grollmog for dozens of bouts? Did Grollmog go easy?"
"No. Zenbe endured Grollmog's mental assault too. (Shalita pissed himself instantly.) That's why we rank Zenbe right under Grollmog."
I nodded, shifting stance. Enduring mental attacks? No argument.
"Yeah, that ajjae's stubborn as hell."
"So Grollmog spared him despite no surrender."
"Spared? Isn't that an insult?"
Turei looked awkward—valid point. Defeated orcs refusing surrender demand death; victors must oblige.
Sparing brings deep shame: "Not worth killing."
"Grollmog expects from Zenbe."
"Expects?"
"Said it earlier: Many orcs reject Shalita. But all acknowledge Zenbe. When Grollmog steps down, only Zenbe can succeed as Great Chieftain."
"For real?"
"Yes."
I scratched my head furiously. Grollmog avoids war with Yosrahim Empire knowing his death fractures orcs.
But surprise: Zenbe Ajjae as successor. Awkward now, heading to block war by meeting Grollmog—who secretly craves bout with Cloud Grandpa.