Chapter 16
Chapter 16
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: The Chasm Trap
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The Fire Mountain, situated at the southernmost edge of the Great Catastrophe, was not a particularly lofty peak.
Yet it stood as a vital gateway, almost like a checkpoint, for anyone venturing into the heart of the Great Catastrophe.
Once you entered the gentle slopes of Fire Mountain and pushed a little further inward, the easy terrain gave way abruptly to a long, deep chasm—as if the mild hills had been a lie all along.
The sheer cliffs lining both sides of the valley were crammed full of jagged, bizarre rock formations.
If even a fraction of them collapsed, anyone down in the chasm below would be utterly annihilated, with no hope of escape.
Atop the cliff.
Leaving Ralph and his group behind as bait for the orcs, Ian, Dane, and Sylvia had climbed up and were meticulously surveying the chasm's terrain.
"...Hmm."
From the cliff's edge down to the valley floor.
Ian's eyes gleamed as his gaze reached the bottom.
Having made his assessment, Ian slowly issued an order to Dane.
"Dane, set up explosive spells here and on the opposite cliff. When I give the signal, make the rocks come tumbling down."
"...Impossible."
Seeming to grasp Ian's plan for dealing with the Red Fang Orc Tribe, Dane slowly shook his head.
"So that's your scheme... Using this chasm's terrain to wipe out the orcs. The other strike teams from the clan aren't idiots who overlooked this spot for no reason. They couldn't do it, plain and simple."
Indeed.
The cliffs stretching along the length of the chasm were on a massive enough scale to slaughter the orcs en masse.
But that very scale meant collapsing such enormous cliffs would require an equally immense foundation of mana.
"To bring down cliffs this size... You'd need at least 5th-class mana, at minimum."
It wasn't feasible to deploy a precious 5th-class mage just to handle some orcs.
Besides, if a 5th-class mage were involved, there'd be no need to collapse the cliffs at all.
They could incinerate the orcs with their own spells.
It was terrain that demanded excessive investment to exploit.
Thus, Dane couldn't help but be negative about Ian's plan.
This greenhorn leader was dreaming up some half-baked, reckless tactics, so someone had to spell out reality for him.
"It's not too late. Join up with Ralph and the others and retreat..."
"What are you talking about?"
But Ian's eyes widened in surprise as he shot back at Dane.
"...Huh?"
"Who do you take me for, an idiot? How exactly were you planning to collapse this chasm?"
"No, you just told me yourself. You said to drop the rocks from the cliff."
"Right, drop the rocks—some of them. I'm not crazy enough to ask a rookie barely scraping 3rd-class to bring down a whole chasm this size."
"...Weird. Your words aren't wrong, but why do they feel so damn off-putting?"
"Humans always feel bad facing harsh truths. And besides."
Smooth!
Ian's gaze shifted to Sylvia, who had been quietly listening beside Dane.
"If I were thinking of some brute-force method like that, I wouldn't have bothered bringing Sylvia along."
Ian's eyes turned back to the ground below the cliff.
Perhaps due to the towering chasm blocking sunlight for ages, the valley floor was saturated with moisture from the surrounding air, turned into something like a swampy mire.
"We don't have much time. Once the orcs catch on and start moving, they'll be here in no time. Hurry up and get to it."
It didn't take long for the Red Fang Orc Tribe to notice the anomaly in their village.
The orcs who had set out for the shift change.
Kuruk and Karak, who should have returned right after they left, hadn't come back.
"Chwiik! Something's off. Looks like something happened to Kuruk and Karak."
"Chwiik! Report to the chieftain!"
If they were ordinary monsters—or the common orcs found across this land—it might have taken them far longer to make that judgment.
But the Red Fang Orcs had survived by employing every possible tactic to win the competition for dominance over the Fire Mountain region.
Among those measures was vigilance against humans, honed over long years of clashes near Fire Mountain, to the point where they mimicked human thinking to some degree.
That unique trait was why the Red Fang Orc Tribe had earned the favor of the Golden Eye, the true king of orcs.
Unlike dumb, fight-only orcs, they knew how to think.
Dadadadadada!
In the center of the Red Fang village stood the largest, most imposing log hut.
It was only slightly bigger than the others, but to the orcs, this crude structure symbolized power and authority.
"Chwiiiik! Chieftain! The sentries haven't returned!"
The orcs shouted loudly in front of the chieftain's hut.
Did their agitation reach inside?
The thick wooden door at the front of the chieftain's log hut creaked open.
Kiiiiiiik!
Thud, thud!
A massive orc, head and shoulders taller than the rest, ducked low as he emerged.
On his back hung a brutal axe, still caked in unwashed blood.
"...Noisy. I specifically told you to drop the snorting."
Feeling the chilling menace in the chieftain's low voice, perhaps.
The orcs who had rushed over to report paled.
"S-sorry, Chieftain. The guards didn't return, so we got startled and slipped up."
The orc behind him snapped to his senses and dropped the snort.
But Chieftain Urk's brow remained furrowed.
The snorting was gone, but proper respect still wasn't there.
Urk wanted nothing more than to cleave these primitives' skulls right then.
But the gravity of the grave report from their mouths made him hold off on raising his axe—for now.
"...They haven't returned? Did the later group blow the signal horn?"
"Chwiik, no. Something must have happened."
In response to Urk's question, the front orc unwittingly replied.
Urk's eyes chilled at the words.
"...I see."
Urk closed his eyes, pondering the report.
Soon, having finished his thoughts, he ordered the orc standing behind him.
"You, gather all tribesmen here. These intruders seem like more than a minor nuisance."
If the original sentries had just deserted out of the blue, all this would be pointless.
But Urk deemed that possibility very low.
They had finally joined the colossal force of the Great Catastrophe led by the Golden Eye, under the banner of Golden Heaven.
No one without extra lives would dare target Fire Mountain now.
Desert in this perfect setup?
Even idiots among orcs wouldn't make that mad choice.
Besides, in the Great Catastrophe's survival-of-the-fittest, a lone ordinary monster like an orc moving solo was as good as suicide.
Thus, the report left only one conclusion.
Not just the original sentries Kuruk and Karak, but even the shift-change orcs—all dead.
And without time to blow the horn.
Of course, that alone wasn't justification to mobilize nearly 100 village orcs.
Yet Urk was deploying excessive numbers for one simple reason.
"Heh, Chieftain. Something fun happen?"
A voice thick with curiosity echoed from inside Urk's log hut.
"...Nothing much. Just some rats scurrying about."
He couldn't let the 'guest' inside his hut see him flustered over mere intruders—it would undermine his dignity.
"Hmm, really? Well, fine. Handle it well, then. The boss has high expectations for you, Urk."
"...Of course. I'll take a little stroll."
Kiiiiik!
Closing the wooden door on the guest who whistled and cackled endlessly, Urk turned and began striding out.
"Ah, right."
As if casually recalling a half-done chore, Urk paused.
Whoosh! Slash!
Fresh red blood coated the still-wet blade of Urk's axe.
At the same instant, the head of the orc who had snorted soared high into the sky.
"Primitives who can't shed their beastly instincts have no place in the reborn Red Fang Tribe."
"...!!"
Urk coldly addressed the orc who had frozen in shock after receiving his order to gather the tribesmen.
"Just to check—you're not another idiot who needs orders repeated twice, are you?"
"N-no, Chieftain! I'll spread your command through the village right away."
The orc stammered out common tongue words.
Orcs' oral structure made clean speech without snorts incredibly tough.
But boundless attachment to life overcame that hurdle in a flash.
Thud thud thud!
Urk clicked his tongue shortly at the orc's fleeing back, not even waiting for a reply.
"...Tch. Still a long way to go."
In the Great Catastrophe, where the strong lived and the weak died, orcs ranked among the weakest monsters.
Yet the Golden Eye had been born an orc and risen to claim vast swathes of the Great Catastrophe as hegemon.
He often gathered the orcs under him and declared:
-Words of power are the first step in defining one's dignity and thought. All under my command, orc or otherwise, must use the continental common tongue without exception.
Urk had immediately ordered his tribe to correct their habits.
He had become chieftain of the Red Fangs and seized Fire Mountain, but Urk had no intention of settling for this.
Fire Mountain was merely the start.
He would climb ever higher, become the Golden Eye's closest confidant.
And eventually, devour even the Golden Eye's seat.
'Good timing, actually. Time to show that one—we're no ragtag bunch.'
Crisis was opportunity.
Handling this incident flawlessly would earn even greater trust from the Golden Eye.
By proving the Red Fangs were elite orcs capable of holding the human frontier.
Steeling his resolve, Urk headed toward the gathering spot as his tribesmen assembled.
Kiiiiik!
The door of the hut slowly opened, where only the severed head of the orc who failed to fix his snort rolled lonely.
"Urghghghgh!"
The emerging 'guest' stretched languidly, just like a human might.
Smooth!
"Ugh, so boring."
Thud!
The 'guest' casually picked up the orc's severed head rolling in front of the log hut and tossed it aside.
"Hmmm... Sitting here alone zoning out is just dull. Maybe sneak out for a peek?"
Who knew—something fun might be happening.
Step, step!
With all the Red Fang orcs gone, the 'guest' leisurely strolled through the now-deserted village.
Was it because of the 'guest' in the village?
Chieftain Urk's actions were lightning-fast.
Nearly 100 fully armed orcs charging in one direction would have terrified any ordinary villagers near the frontier into instant incontinence.
"Chieftain! Found them here."
Hearing how the tribesman who snorted cluelessly at the chieftain's hut got his throat slit on the spot had an effect, it seemed.
Proper respect still didn't come easy, but the snorting was mostly gone.
Urk quickened his pace at the shout.
His eyes took in the fallen tribesmen's corpses.
The shift-change orcs lay hacked apart and scattered.
"Hmmm..."
Urk's gaze swiftly scanned the bodies.
Heads split from crown to base, chests slashed diagonally long.
Scattered signs of struggle around.
Looked like a decent fight.
'...Nothing special.'
Intruders who could only scrap evenly with mere village guards.
He'd feel ridiculous dragging the entire village here for this.
"Where were the original sentries' bodies found?"
"Chw... A bit further out from here."
Smooth!
Having strung together a long sentence—carefully avoiding snorts by pausing between words—the orcs cautiously presented Kuruk and Karak's bodies.
Kuruk, dead with an arrow through his brow.
Probably caught off-guard in a moment of lax vigilance, killed instantly without a fight.
'Trash.'
Urk callously kicked aside Kuruk's corpse. His eyes flashed as he examined Karak's.