A Race That Submits to the Strong
Swishhhhh!
Golden arrows rained down from the ramparts, pouring into the orcs trapped in the gorge below. The arrowheads, empowered by Eleanor's magic, pierced even the thick hides of orcs fattened on monster meat. Kindly enough, the knights and adventurers atop the walls avoided fatal blows. Platinum-rank adventurer Hans, for instance, displayed godlike archery that merely grazed their skin. And that was plenty.
The arrowheads were slathered thick with sleep poison personally brewed by the Green Tower Master.
"Ku... kurk...?"
"My... head's... spinning..."
It worked like a charm. Even orcs with ironclad immunity from devouring filthy monster flesh gaped wide and yawned uncontrollably before the Fairy Yawn Flower, collapsing in heaps.
"Ku... kurk..."
"Kuuul..."
The orcs dropped their axes, staggered, and fell to their knees.
"Hey! Kurk! Stand straight!"
"Kurrk... Sleepy... wanna sleep..."
They were completely boxed in the narrow gorge. No dodging those arrows. Still, the orcs darted this way and that, desperate to evade. But then—
Pfsh!Crunch!Thud!
The ground beneath the fleeing orcs gave way with a squelch. Traps diligently dug by their own kin—the Red Fang Tribe, now Wintervalt's loyal laborers.
"Kraaagh!?"
"Kurrk! Fallingggg!"
Pit traps yawned open everywhere. The orcs plunged in with bewildered expressions.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Sharp stakes in those pits would have ended it right there. But Wintervalt was ruthlessly courteous in this war. No jagged rocks or weapons awaited them.
Swish...Swishhh...
"Ku, kurk!? What the hell is this!?"
From the pits emerged pitch-black vines and massive crimson roses. The red roses slowly parted their petals.
"Kieeeek!!"
"Fl... flower monster!!"
"Ku, kurk!? W-we're... gonna get eaten!?"
Veronica, the red-tongued carnivorous bloom from southern hidden realms. But these were the Green Tower Master's specially bred variants, planted in the pits.
Whoosh! Whipcrack!
Veronica lashed her vines like whips, coiling tight around the orcs' limbs. Normally, she'd devour flesh outright. But today, she hungered for mana.
The orcs began collapsing one by one, drained dry.
"Kurrk! Won't... come loose...!"
"Fucking vines dare...!"
No matter how they swung their axes, the vines didn't budge. Grown with the Heart of Verdant, they were as tough as steel trees and elastic as slime mucus. No aura-less chop could sever them.
Pssshhh...
In other pits, Fairy Yawn Flowers spewed sleep pollen, knocking out more orcs.
"Kur... rk..."
"Eyes... eyes... closing..."
Trapped orcs succumbed to the Tower Master's plants. The lucky ones who avoided pits were neutralized by adventurer arrows.
"......"
Tarkan watched his brothers fall to arrows and weeds with impassive eyes. As an orc warrior, could there be greater humiliation? Yet he felt no rage. He merely assessed the humans' level—and resolved himself.
"More tricks."
Tarkan slowly drew the Black Dragon bone axe from his shoulder, gripping it two-handed.
"Do you frail humans even know?"
Thud.
One heavy step from Tarkan shook the earth, exposing hidden traps. He advanced toward the steel gate blocking Wintervalt's entrance. The humans thought it contained him? Laughable. Shatter this flimsy door, and their games ended.
"Tricks only work between equals."
Thoom. Thoom. Thoom.
Black magic erupted from Tarkan's body like a storm. His axe trembled, spewing dark mist.
"First, I'll show you the gap in our levels. Dominance comes after."
To Tarkan, it was a light tap. A casual gathering of magic, swung once at the gate.
KABOOM!!
The axe crashed into the steel tree ramparts.
Crack! CracK!
Cracks spiderwebbed across the proud gate, unmarred through countless orc assaults.
Tarkan slung his axe over his shoulder, glaring up.
"Kailan, was it!? Listen well, leader of this place!"
His roar echoed past the walls into Wintervalt city.
"Great Chieftain Tarkan comes for your head!! You know our orc customs by now, right!?"
Black magic shimmered like heat haze over his shoulders.
"If you can subdue me with raw power, give it a shot. Hide behind your minions to cling to that pathetic life? These parlor tricks won't save you—I'll make that crystal clear."
"......"
Silence answered from the ramparts. Tarkan bared his fangs in a sneer.
"Still clueless, eh? I'll smash this wooden toy door in one go!!"
He raised his axe again.
Thoom. Thoom. Thoom.
Vicious magic, far denser than before, gathered on the blade. Tarkan stepped forward for his second strike.
"......"
Kailan watched it all via scrying orb, frowning. The door burst open as Cedric rushed in, sweating bullets.
"Y-Your Grace! Cracks in the ramparts. A couple more hits and..."
Cedric trailed off, voice quaking. Everyone in Wintervalt knew how unbreakable slime-mucus-reinforced steel trees were. That's why he trembled.
Kailan's fists shook too. Partly like Cedric's reason. Partly pure capitalism.
At this rate, their painstakingly built ramparts would shatter. Built by Viscount Arjen and laborers slurping Eleanor's hearty stews for months. Materials weren't free—transport, wages, food costs... all from Wintervalt's coffers.
And now, one dumb orc threatened it all.
"......"
Kailan sighed deeply.
'Guess the North still needs me. Can't have the walls crumbling like this...'
He dreamed of passing the ducal seat to a sturdy son with Eleanor, automating finances and defenses, then retiring leisurely with her. But with knights and walls this frail? No dice. Forces had grown since last year, walls tougher—but retirement felt galaxies away.
"Hoo..."
Kailan rose slowly. Half of Tarkan's 2,000 orcs still roamed freely near the walls. Smash the gate, and they'd flood in. Even bolstered Wintervalt guards would struggle.
'No room for capturing them alive then.'
It'd be brutal. But Kailan wouldn't let Wintervalt soldiers—or orcs—get hurt.
One way: Leader duel, orc-style. Accept, and turn rampaging foes into popcorn-munching spectators. Magic.
Kailan stood, grabbing Frost Fang from the wall. Cheaper to handle personally.
"My lord! I'll fight with my life—!"
"...Stay back with the troops and watch. This is between leaders."
"My lord...! Sniff... To think of this old man so highly...!"
Ignoring Cedric's dramatics, Kailan headed for the ramparts. Wife Eleanor fell in step naturally.
Atop the walls, Kailan gazed coldly at the massive orc raising his axe in the gorge.
'...A race that submits to the strong, was it?'
His blue eyes gleamed icy.
Fine. Good. Tarkan. I'll smash you... and claim 5,000 workers.
Grind-CRASH!
Cracks marred Wintervalt's invincible ramparts. The third axe blow loomed.
Thud.
Something heavy landed behind Tarkan. A man leaped from the walls, cold aura swirling around him.
Tarkan halted his axe, turning slowly. Black hair, wall eyes. The northern ruler who'd forced orcs to kneel despite endless assaults. Empire's strongest swordmaster.
Instinct screamed: This was their leader.
Tarkan's lips curled.
"...Finally came out, eh."
He growled approvingly, axe on shoulder. The wall-coward now faced him head-on.
"You're this place's boss?"
Kailan lightly raised Frost Fang one-handed. Blue aura already rippled along the blade.
"Yeah. As you wanted."
Kailan spoke flatly.
"Northern Archduke, Kailan Wintervalt."