Chapter 338: Graxar (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 338: Graxar (2)
Graxar knew it instinctively.
Beyond the blizzard.
He felt an overwhelming presence.
Ares, the man he had just traded blows with, was no easy opponent. However, Graxar knew that if he wasted his strength on Ares, he would never defeat the being waiting beyond the blizzard. That was why he had taken this gamble. He had flared his presence to draw Roman Dmitry out, knowing it was the only way the Orcs could win.
It was laughable.
Humans were insignificant and weak.
Yet, despite holding an overwhelming numerical advantage, a single human was making him feel this way.
"Chwiik. I, too, shall make a promise. If I win, I will conquer Arcadia and trample your country beyond the Endless Mountains."
No more.
Words were no longer needed.
Graxar gripped his axe tightly and charged, his body exploding with Aura.
Swoosh.
Rumble!
He was fast.
Despite his massive build, he closed the distance in an instant. Graxar's muscles swelled as he violently swung his axe at Roman Dmitry. It was a terrifying sight. The crimson Aura swirling around the blade made the strike look like something no human body could ever withstand.
Boom!
Ruuuuumble!
A powerful shockwave erupted.
The attack was blocked.
Seeing his strike deflected so effortlessly, Graxar unleashed a flurry of follow-up attacks to maintain his momentum.
Crash!
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
It was the exact same method he had used to push Ares back.
However.
The more he attacked, the more Graxar's expression began to crack.
When fighting Ares, he had at least felt the sensation of pushing his opponent back. But in this clash with Roman Dmitry, he felt an immense, unyielding wall. It was clear. Roman Dmitry was a powerhouse on an entirely different level. Realizing that ordinary methods wouldn't bring him down, Graxar abruptly changed direction mid-swing.
Whoosh.
He lunged to the right.
Then.
Immediately after baiting his opponent's defense, he spun backward and struck from the opposite direction.
Bang!
Mana exploded.
Adding explosive force to his spin, he left his opponent absolutely no time to react.
It was then.
Flash.
Stumble.
His balance faltered.
He was certain he had caught his opponent off guard, but before he knew it, his arm was deflected, and a burning pain flared across his face. He had avoided getting his head taken off by a hair's breadth. The counterattack had been so fast and sudden that a thin red line was drawn from Graxar's eyebrow down to his mouth.
'What the hell.'
His composure shattered.
He had expected Roman Dmitry to be strong.
But.
This was beyond comprehension.
Even he, who considered himself the strongest in Arcadia, couldn't properly read the attack. Without even a moment to steady his stumbling body, he was forced to block Roman Dmitry's onslaught.
Crash!
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
His head spun.
It was the exact same tactic.
Roman Dmitry unleashed a series of downward strikes, just as Graxar had done to Ares, and Graxar found himself pushed back relentlessly. It was an unfamiliar experience. From birth, Orcs possessed a monstrous strength that humans could never hope to match. Combined with his awakened Aura, Graxar had never once been overpowered in terms of raw strength. But now, he had no way to resist.
It was a simple clash.
Against a sword swung so predictably, as if daring him to block it, Graxar's very presence was crushed.
Crash!
Rumble!
He was pushed back.
Graxar gritted his teeth.
Seeing Roman Dmitry walking toward him slowly, as if he hadn't even exerted his full strength yet, Graxar realized things had gone terribly wrong.
...At this rate, I will lose.
Roman Dmitry was.
A monster.
A type of human he had never experienced before.
Just as he was a mutant among Orcs, Roman Dmitry was an existence that could not be explained by human limits. It was still hard to accept reality. He couldn't understand how a human could overcome their physical limitations to become this strong. But the battle had already begun. Knowing that the fate of the Orc race rested on his shoulders, he had to bring his opponent down by any means necessary.
"Chwiik! Shaman! Cast your spell on me!"
The veins in his neck bulged.
At Graxar's shout, the Shaman hastily channeled his magic.
External intervention.
It was foul play.
Even knowing this, Roman Dmitry's private soldiers did not show the slightest agitation.
The soldiers of Luna stamped their feet in anxiety, but since Roman's direct subordinates remained still, they couldn't bring themselves to intervene.
Whoosh.
Mana spread out.
The Shaman raised both hands, his eyes rolling back into his head.
"Aaaaaaaah—"
It was a bizarre sound.
The magic flowing from the Shaman was absorbed by Graxar, and the Orc leader's eyes turned blood-red. It was a different type of spell from a Berserker's. It was a high-tier spell that granted power by permanently consuming the Shaman's own magic. With its manifestation, Graxar felt the mana inside him boil explosively.
Step.
Rumble!
He kicked off the ground.
This time would be different.
The veins on Graxar's face bulged prominently, his eyes gleaming with murderous intent.
"Chwiik! Die!"
Rumble!
The wind tore apart.
The ground shook beneath his rushing footsteps.
His Aura exploded in crimson.
As if determined to cleave Roman Dmitry in two with a single blow, Graxar burned his very life force to fuel the strike.
At that moment.
Splurt.
Blood splattered.
Everyone's eyes widened.
Graxar suddenly threw his head back and fell backward.
Roman Dmitry's sword had sliced right through the burning crimson Aura, cleanly severing Graxar's right arm.
* * *
It was over.
An overwhelming victory.
At the sight of Graxar collapsing, one of the Orcs watching from behind screamed.
"Chwiik! Protect Lord Graxar!"
"Chwiik! Attack!"
Tens of thousands of Orcs.
They charged all at once.
Some rushed to tend to Graxar, while the rest, eyes blazing, unleashed their murderous intent toward Roman Dmitry.
It was a staggering sight.
Dmitry's soldiers also raised their weapons to respond.
"I will handle this."
But with that single command,
the soldiers lowered their weapons.
Even as they watched the wave of Orcs rushing toward them, Roman Dmitry's command was absolute.
Roman Dmitry walked forward.
Then, he pointed his sword at the Orcs.
'Heavenly Demon Sword Technique - Mid-Stage First Form.'
Flash.
Rumble!
Aura swept across the front lines.
The Orcs who hastily raised their weapons to block were instantly torn apart, and the Orc warriors who used Aura fared no better. Roman Dmitry continued to advance. Though he stepped on the corpses of Orcs who had been alive just moments ago, he showed no emotion whatsoever.
He was serene.
Facing the onslaught of Orcs, he simply swung his sword.
Slash.
Splurt!
The massacre began.
He cut down the charging Orcs at the front one by one, and when necessary, unleashed bursts of Aura to sweep the area. The enemies' attacks could not touch him at all. As if they had stepped into the domain of death, the Orcs met their end in gruesome ways the moment they clashed with Roman Dmitry. Whether their heads were severed, their chests torn open, or their bodies cut in half, not a single Orc managed to land a meaningful blow.
Swoosh.
He dodged an attack.
Whenever he deflected their frantic strikes, a brutal death inevitably claimed the Orcs.
Blood splattered.
He kept killing.
Corpses piled up like mountains along his path, and the faces of the Orcs grew pale with terror.
This was an entirely foreign situation to them.
Just as Graxar had denied the reality of Roman Dmitry's existence, a human this strong had never existed in their lives. Hundreds of Orcs died in a matter of seconds. Normally, sheer numbers would overwhelm a single opponent, but no matter how they threw themselves at him, they couldn't inflict a single scratch. Yet, they did not stop charging. Seeing Graxar collapsed on the ground coughing up blood, they felt they had to protect their leader.
"I told you. The price of defeat is the extermination of the Orcs."
It was no empty threat.
Right here,
he intended to slaughter every last one of them.
It was then.
"Chwiik! Stop! All of you, fall back!"
Graxar, collapsed on the ground,
screamed as he coughed up blood.
* * *
Graxar's state was wretched.
His complexion was pale, and his constant coughing of blood proved that his life was nearing its end.
Graxar gasped for breath.
Barely managing to swallow a breath, he looked up at Roman Dmitry.
"Chwiik. It was just as that bastard said. A monster existed beyond the Endless Mountains."
It was a cryptic statement.
Gradually,
his breathing stabilized.
As if experiencing terminal lucidity, Graxar continued to speak with a clear mind.
"Chwiik. A few months ago, a fellow came to find me. He knew of my plan to conquer Arcadia, and he offered to grant me power in exchange for my everything. Chwiik. When I refused, he said something interesting. He said there was a monster beyond the Endless Mountains. A monster I could never handle, one that would make sure the Orcs would never dare look beyond the Endless Mountains, even if we conquered Arcadia."
The monster.
That was Roman Dmitry.
He hadn't known at first, but after facing Roman Dmitry, he understood why that being had said such things.
"Chwiik. I refused to the very end. Because I knew he was a devil, I could not sell my soul."
Stagger.
He forced his body up.
Blood poured from him.
His right arm was completely gone, and though he held his head high, his former imposing aura was nowhere to be found.
He laughed.
Facing death, Graxar did not regret his choice.
"Chwiik. The conquest of Arcadia was a choice made of my own free will, and my thoughts on that remain unchanged even now. Roman Dmitry. You may call what we did cruel, but for us, it was something we absolutely had to do."
* * *
Bipedal like humans.
Using tools.
Omnivorous.
Thinking and acting on their own.
Though their origins were undoubtedly different, Orcs were certainly a race similar to humans.
But.
Being similar did not mean they were the same.
Orcs and humans were different.
Just as they were born with monstrous strength, they differed in many ways.
Among those differences,
there was one issue that plagued the Orcs.
It was their high fertility rate.
While humans carried a single child in the womb for over eight months, Orcs gave birth to not just one, but four or five children in a mere three months. Just as humans occasionally had twins, Orcs sometimes gave birth to more than double that number.
In the past, high fertility was a blessing.
But ever since Arcadia was blanketed in cold, it became a curse that dragged the Orc race down.
The ground froze.
Animals died off.
As food became scarce, there was no longer enough to feed the young Orcs.
The Orcs needed a change.
If they couldn't naturally prevent high fertility, they had to at least find a way to sustain the lives they brought into the world.
When Graxar was young,
he learned a shocking truth.
At that time, the Orc race had already adapted well to the cold of Arcadia, and he heard of a tradition called burial. At first, his parents told him it was a way to guide sick and elderly Orcs to a peaceful death—by ending their lives and burying them in the ground, they were freed from the suffering of the mortal world.
But.
The truth was different.
The sick and elderly Orcs.
They were merely useless mouths to feed, and for the survival of the race, the Orcs used them as food.
It was shocking.
The Orcs' method of survival was far too cruel.
The sick and aging Orcs despaired at their fate, accepting their "burial" with wretched faces like livestock led to the slaughterhouse. Yet, none refused. Knowing that they themselves had survived up to this point because of this tradition, they hoped to be of help to their race even in this manner.
It must have been from then on
that desire began to boil in Graxar's heart.
Far away,
he heard that humans lived in abundance, building storehouses.
They, who gave birth to so few, lived happily with just that, while the Orcs could never be satisfied with their reality. Thus, he dreamed of conquest. Rather than devouring their own kind, why not subjugate another race and use them as food? From a certain point, that thought consumed his mind.
Then one day,
an event occurred that set his desire ablaze.
Upon returning home after a hunt, he found the mother who had given birth to him being gnawed on by his young siblings.
"Chwiik. My child, do not be angry. This is our destiny."
It was his mother's choice.
The cold grew harsher,
and food supplies hit rock bottom.
In a situation that even burials could no longer resolve, looking at her children dying of malnutrition, the mother had no choice but to make an extreme decision. She had nursed them. Even as she was bitten and her blood splattered, she encouraged the children—who were still too young to think rationally—telling them it was the right thing to do.
That day,
his world collapsed.
Graxar felt that something was deeply wrong.
If there was a God,
why did He make the Orcs this way?
Cursed with harsh cold and high fertility, he had no choice but to watch his mother die with his own eyes.
He resolved to wage war.
He overthrew the existing rulers
and seized power.
It was not by anyone else's design; he desired to do it himself.
He rejected the devil's contract.
He did not want to defile a choice made for the survival of his race with a filthy contract.
And now,
Graxar looked up at Roman Dmitry.
Looking down with a blood-stained face, Roman Dmitry would surely keep his word to exterminate the Orcs.
He was that kind of man.
Just by trading blows, Graxar knew how ruthless Roman Dmitry truly was.
"Chwiik. You damn devil."
He looked up at the sky.
Even if it was the wrong choice,
Graxar could not just stand by and watch the Orcs go extinct.
"...Take everything of mine, but in return, give me power. A power strong enough to protect my race."
At that moment,
space distorted.
As it twisted, a hole resembling the Abyss was revealed, and from within, a violet energy surged out.
And then,
that energy enveloped Graxar's body.