Housing Subscription Cancellations Make Even Orcs Tremble

At Kailan's command, the servants bustled about.

Clink.

The orcs unfurled their massive palms to receive leather pouches. They all wore baffled expressions.

"……What's this?"

Krok, now fairly fluent in human speech, spoke up on behalf of the others.

Then Wintervalt's duchess, Eleanor, beamed a radiant smile.

"Your first paycheck."

"Pay… check?"

"Yes. It's the money you've earned sweating it out for a whole month!"

Krok untied the pouch with a dazed look. Inside gleamed thirty imperial silver coins.

"How much… is this?"

"Thirty 10-silver pieces. That's 3 gold."

"3 gold…"

"In our Wintervalt, we always give fair compensation to those who work. It's the duke's will."

Kailan, standing beside her with arms crossed, nodded solemnly as if on cue.

The food costs for these orcs are higher than expected. Better to pay them wages and let them spend it in the territory…?

The new city's commercial district would boom, and tax revenue would surge! A fiendish idea from the capitalist monster!

"And take this too."

Eleanor placed a small parchment in Krok's hand. At the top, alongside Wintervalt's crest, it read:

"Win… ter… valt…?"

Housing subscription was far too advanced a concept for orcs just starting to learn letters. But at least they could read "Wintervalt" now.

If I leave them illiterate forever, they'll get scammed someday.

That would kill their work ethic, leading to a drop in productivity.

Kailan nodded, pleased with his decision to teach them literacy.

"Work diligently and stay out of trouble, and we'll stamp this parchment for you. Fill it up with stamps, and you'll earn priority rights to a house in the new Wintervalt Orc City."

Krok's pupils dilated wildly.

Krrk. Look at him. He has no idea it's a ploy and loves it.

They were building massive houses for orcs anyway—what use was priority allocation?

"Th-that warm house… Even orcs like us can have it?!"

They knew better than anyone how cozy the homes they were building would be.

As Krok practically melted with joy, Eleanor drove the wedge home.

"Of course, you'll have to pay for the house, but with high subscription points, His Grace will personally lend you the money through a magical system called a 'housing mortgage loan.'"

"Lo-loan…!"

Krok's face flushed red. His shoulders trembled as he clutched the certificate.

"Now, as a special treat, take the afternoon off and explore Wintervalt's markets. Just be careful not to bump into anyone on the streets!"

The shopping district of Wintervalt's new city.

Over 200 orcs in blue work clothes came rumbling in.

"Oh my! It's just like the rumors—they're lining up so obediently!"

"The duchess's mercy has even tamed the orcs!"

"Hey, you big orc over there! My meat pies are to die for. Come try one!"

The territory folk didn't flee at the sight of orcs; they were too busy hawking their wares.

Over time, perceptions had shifted. The orcs sweated daily at construction sites, hauling materials diligently. They bawled over a bowl of meat stew just like anyone else.

An orc in Wintervalt work clothes was His Grace's loyal laborer. Or a fat-walleted customer fresh off payday.

Just recently, tales spread of an orc saving kids from a runaway cart, shattering the last barriers of wariness.

"Uh, umm…"

Krok shuffled toward the stalls. On the display, golden-brown meat pies steamed invitingly.

With trembling hands, he offered one of his new silver coins.

"This… pie. I'll buy."

"Aigoo, thank you! For a big fella like you, one on the house!"

The shopkeeper grinned, packing two enormous pies into a paper bag.

"Free? Th-thanks."

"Hey! Take your change!"

"Th-thanks."

"It's not 'thanks,' you big lug. Heh heh. Guess you need to learn money first."

Krok slipped away from the crowded avenue into a quiet back alley. He perched on a steel tree crate and took a massive bite of the pie.

"……!!"

Juices exploded in his mouth. Salty meat harmonized with the crusty bread. It couldn't rival Her Grace's meat stew, but…

"Meat pie… delicious…! Kurrk…!"

Tears streamed from Krok's eyes.

It was good. Food rightfully exchanged for honest sweat had true worth.

To wield weapons only for destruction and pillage—what a fool he'd been.

This… must be the 'civilization' His Grace spoke of.

Krok pulled out his precious housing certificate and stroked it gently.

I'll apply for overtime tomorrow. Gotta collect stamps fast and buy that house. Gotta work hard.

In that instant, a steadfast Wintervalt taxpayer dreaming of homeownership was born.

Then—

Whoosh!

A pitch-black crow swooped in, landing lightly on Krok's shoulder. Its eyes blazed red.

Gur the shaman's familiar.

"G-Gur…?!"

Krok froze solid.

Not just any orcs—5,000 warriors who could fight!

Tarkan was coming for Wintervalt in earnest.

"Shut up, Gur!"

Krok snarled at the crow.

"I staked the Red ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Fang Tribe's pride and lost one-on-one. I'm his subordinate now. No reason to obey Tarkan."

Open the gates and riot? What about his paycheck? His certificate? His warm house?

"Don't test my loyalty!"

The crow scowled at Krok's firm refusal.

Fwoooosh!

Dark magic erupted from the crow, coiling around Krok's head. Corrupted mana began re-polluting his freshly purifying mind.

"Grraaaah!!"

Krok clutched his head, rolling on the ground. His destructive instincts stirred.

Gur's vile voice eroded Krok's soul. His eyes lost focus, turning ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠red. His hands reached for his waist.

No bone axe anymore, yet they sought a weapon.

Rustle.

Then, a parchment slipped from Krok's chest pocket. The one he'd tucked safely in his work clothes…

"……Kurrk?"

Krok gazed at it, imagining: warm floors. A cozy home. Himself there, laughing over meat pie.

If I riot… this certificate…?

"Of course it'd be confiscated! No houses for convicts!"

He heard Her Grace's cheerful voice.

No…!

Krok's eyes snapped open.

My certificate… I worked so hard for a whole month for just one stamp…!!

The dark magic tormenting his head scattered like wind.

His dream of homeownership had triumphed over black magic itself.

Fury boiling, Krok seized Gur's crow.

"Cawwwk?!"

As he squeezed… Krok had a good idea.

An orc thinking was rare. A good thought? Revolutionary!

Krok released the crow slowly, reverting to his old brutish ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠speech.

"Kurrk…! Thanks, Gur…! Almost got fully brainwashed by those humans."

The freed crow fled to a shop roof, glaring down.

"Kurrk…! Got it…! I'll obey Great Chieftain Tarkan…! Open the gates when you want…! Send info regularly… Kurrk…!"

Tarkan's cave, home of the chieftain.

"Keurgh…!!"

Shaman Gur gasped, bracing against the floor.

Dangerous. Projecting consciousness through a familiar meant any harm to it rebounded on the shaman. Deep projections like this could kill carelessly.

"What happened, Gur?"

Tarkan, bored on his bone throne, rolled only his eyes downward.

Gur wiped spit and stood.

"Great Chieftain…! Krok says he'll obey. Open the gates on command and keep feeding human intel."

"Good."

"Yes…! With elite orcs rioting inside, humans won't dare interfere with your glorious battle."

"I see."

"But…"

"What?"

"N-nothing. That's all Krok said."

Indeed. Krok promised gates and intel.

Pretty cunning for him—slightly suspicious. But as a former chieftain, he must scheme occasionally.

Gur brushed it off.

A man lurked in the shadows, silently witnessing Krok and the crow.

Kailan in his black coat.

A guard mage reported dark energy; he'd arrived first, hidden, observing all.

As the crow vanished, Krok snickered.

"…Krrk. Gotta report to His Grace. Krok, you're a genius!"

"No need. I heard everything."

"Duke… Your Grace…!"

Krok naturally dropped to one knee in respect.

…Hoo. Obsessed enough with a house to beat back black magic, eh?

Kailan's blue eyes curved like crescent moons.

Tarkan marches with 5,000. Eco-friendly bio-drills—5,000 of them—for cheap labor.

Kukuku. Tarkan, I'll put your hoarded troops to very good use.

The monster duke and orc's laughter echoed through the back alley for a while.

"Krrk…!"

"Kurrk! Kurrk!"