A Pleasant Time with Three Hundred Orcs (2)
More and more orcs were pausing their slaughter of their own kind to glance up at the signboard. The shadows offered no safety anymore.
Nathan spat out a bloody gob of saliva and forced himself to his feet. He refused to die hunched over in pain, dangling from that damned ceiling like a slaughtered pig. Yeah. I'll fight. Fighting's all I have to do.
“You asked if he was the bastard who threw the cannon at us. What was the answer?”
The orc growled and swung another kick at him. Nathan crumpled as if his legs had given out. The heel whistled past his shoulder. Having poured the last of his strength into that dodge, Nathan collapsed forward.
The orc laughed raucously and drew his dagger. “A human with all his limbs tied. Easier to butcher than a rabbit.”
He stabbed straight down at the fallen man. The blade only sliced empty air. He hadn’t expected Nathan to rise again so quickly.
Nathan drove his forehead into the orc’s chin with every ounce of weight and fury he possessed. A wet crack split the air, like a watermelon bursting. The underside of the jaw—far from the brain, yet mysteriously the best place to rattle it. The most delicate, vulnerable spot in the entire skull.
Shattered teeth spilled from a slack mouth like gravel. The orc’s eyes rolled back and he toppled, mind already drifting somewhere far away.
“And a complacent idiot is easier to knock down than a human with bound limbs.”
Even this small victory carried a fatal price. Blood welled from the top of Nathan’s own head. Slamming into the orc’s thick skull had not been painless. He staggered sideways and leaned against the wall, desperate for a moment to breathe.
They gave him none.
The most heavily armored orc at the rear shoved one of his comrades forward. The chosen orc bared his teeth in complaint but eventually advanced on Nathan, weapon raised with wary care.
Rage surged through Nathan’s chest. Damn you, Aspen. If you weren’t even here to begin with, senior or not, I’m kicking your ass.
“Hey, what the hell? That one Sapiens fights pretty damn well!”
“Shit. I bet both would die before I hit two-fifty.”
“Pretty sure every spectator here bet the same.”
“Still, salvaging half the stake is something. Lucky for us one of them dropped the second the match started.”
The sudden voices drifting from behind the wall froze Nathan where he stood. His lungs seized, breath glued to his ribs.
“Tablet still says he’s alive?”
“Not dead yet. He was half-crippled from the start. Won’t take long.”
Aspen.
A vicious-looking orc’s short spear hurtled toward his face, yet Nathan remained perfectly still, listening.
Aspen.
“Oh, I know where he is. Saw it earlier. Crawling around, then getting stepped on—head popped like a grape. Hell of a show.”
-----------------
“What the hell are you doing to your own tribe, Nagrik! I’ll do anything—just spare me—”
“If you’ll do anything, then you can die for me!”
Nagrik split the begging tribesman’s skull without hesitation. He clicked his tongue and wiped the blood from his blade.
Avoiding a fight when lives were on the line? Pathetic bastards who didn’t even deserve to walk a battlefield. Among the wasteland orcs, the name of Dragon Slayer Nagrik was infamous—mostly because his enemies chose to beg rather than resist.
By Nagrik’s standards they were utterly contemptible, yet their cowardice made his work easier. No resistance meant simpler slaughter.
Any orc that approached the five of them had their necks severed without exception. Once Nagrik set the example, his remaining three subordinates butchered their kin with desperate fervor, terrified their lord would replace them the moment he found someone stronger.
Bakama, trailing a short distance behind, watched the carnage and felt savage glee bloom in his chest. Far ahead, the number of skulls on the signboard was steadily shrinking. A hundred left, maybe a few more.
Bakama knew the truce with Nagrik would not last. It would be awkward if only the five of them remained at the end. In his eyes, Nagrik was the only one who matched his skill. Once safety was assured, it might become four against one.
Of course, if he could persuade those three subordinates to switch sides it might work in his favor, but Bakama preferred a method more reliable than persuasion that could fail.
He rested a hand on his belt and quietly loosened the leather thong binding his mace, eyes locked on the back of Nagrik’s skull. The moment was perfect—while Nagrik still believed their alliance held, while he was busy murdering other orcs.
“Aspen—!”
Bakama hastily retied the leather. Nagrik had whirled at the strange cry and missed the treacherous motion by a hair.
Relief and fury warred inside Bakama. The one who had ruined his perfect timing for betrayal was the last person he expected: the human knight who had hurled a cannon at his army hours earlier.
“Goddamn it—! Where are you, Aspen? If you can hear me, answer!”
The man was walking straight through the seething mass of frenzied orcs, shouting at the top of his lungs and scanning the ground as if he had dropped something precious. Both arms still locked in iron cuffs.
Nathan knew exactly how insane it looked. Swimming through shark-infested waters smeared in blood would have been safer. It was the kind of reckless bravado that deserved punishment.
The orcs roared and swung their weapons. Yet things refused to go their way.
Is that human a mage?
Bakama entertained the thought for a brief, bewildered second. The man staggered through the swarm trying to tear him apart, yet somehow kept every limb intact.
Nathan simply walked. He ducked under grasping claws, paused just long enough for charging bodies to rush past, and let enormous weapons swing through the space his head had occupied a heartbeat earlier, flowing like a ghost.
The missed clubs, axes, and fists found other orcs instead. Those unfairly struck bellowed in rage and fresh brawls erupted. Nathan slipped through the chaos untouched.
It was an eerie display of skill. The human who advanced as if possessed, death sliding off him like rain, locked eyes with Bakama across the distance. Then he changed direction—straight toward him.
He stopped directly in front of Legion Commander Bakama and stood tall.
“I have a proposal.”
Up close, the sight was even more astonishing. A pale face drenched in exhaustion and venom, barely able to remain standing. Already soaked in blood from wounds that had only grazed him. The miraculous footwork from earlier now seemed like pure luck.
Yet what the human said next was more absurd than his battered appearance.
“I’m looking for a missing Double-winged Knight of the Federation in this mess. So stop the fighting. All of you orc bastards.”
Bakama let out a hollow laugh.
“You throw iron at my army and then stand in front of me like you own the place. I’ll give you credit for guts—”
“The white lions of the Human Union have no need for compliments from wild pigs and dogs. Did you get so hungry you ate your own eardrums? I said stop the fighting.”
A blatant provocation. Nagrik snorted with fury, but Bakama kept smiling.
“Stop what, exactly? Who the hell are you to order me?”
“A Lion Wing Knight. A pest-control specialist who catches and eradicates filth like you. Refuse to obey and I’ll smash your skulls to charcoal.”
Bakama glanced at the badge on the human’s chest armor. One lonely wing on a dirt-caked crest. Not even a veteran Double Wing—just an apprentice Outer Wing.
While the great chieftain struggled to keep a straight face, Nagrik violently shook blood from his curved blade and asked in a voice thick with killing intent.
“You know who we are and still dare to provoke us, you whelp in chains?”
“I know. You’re the incestuous bandit crew that rides on mommy’s back whenever you go begging to the Federation. You two are the bosses.”
Orcs too heavy for horses tamed wasteland bison and carnivorous boars for cavalry. One of Nagrik’s subordinates scratched his head with a bloody axe handle and muttered, “So you’re saying our mothers are cows and pigs…”
“I salute the brain that needs it spelled out. I was just talking, but it looks like you really are the spawn of beasts. Try listening better.”
His liver had clearly fled his body. The orcs’ rage slowly curdled into stunned disbelief.
“There’s no time. Stop the fighting in your little gang. Finding the missing Double-winged Knight comes first. After that, I won’t interfere whether you homeless beggars kill each other or crawl around begging for scraps.”
Bakama shook his head slowly. It had been amusing, but the joke had worn thin.
“That’s not how negotiation works. You have nothing to offer me.”
“I won’t repeat myself.”
“Say it a hundred times—it changes nothing. You seem to trust your strength, but it means nothing to me. I’ve already killed several Double-winged cats.”
“Strange. None of the Double-winged seniors ever mentioned you.”
“It was me who threw the spear that hit your fleeing friend.”
Nathan’s jaw twitched. “You’re the one who hit Aspen?”
“With a wound like that he’s already dead. What use is finding a corpse, little one-winged lion?”
Every time the orc chuckled darkly the tattoo on his face writhed.
“If wishes could cut throats I’d have died years ago. Don’t you know bravado can’t avenge anything, you livestock of the Human Union cowering behind your walls?”
The knight’s legs trembled as strength deserted him. At least he no longer had the power to hurl cannons.
Confident now, Bakama rested his hand on the mace. One swing would take the head clean off.
Yet the knight did not retreat a single step. He simply raised eyes burning with fierce light.
“Come on, then.”
Either the human couldn’t read the stance, or he was insane. Bakama took his hand off the weapon and laughed again.
“This is very suspicious. What trick are you hiding to be so confident? Going to strangle me with those tiny cuffs?”
“Shut your mouth and come at me, you pest. I’m begging you to fight while I’m still chained. Is the great warrior of the wasteland actually the piss-soaked whelp of a coward?”
“Now I’m truly angry.”
Bakama drew the mace and growled, aiming it at Nathan.
“My name is Bakama.”
“So what? Want me to send your mother a death notice?”
“Tell me your name, blood-stained Federation dog. I dislike killing men whose names I don’t know! I desire an honorable battle. I will remember your homeland and family. And on the day I burn your nation, I will seek out your bloodline and—”
“You don’t even care that your own soldiers are busy killing each other, and the bastard who just tried to smash his subordinate’s skull from behind dares speak of honor. Even a village dog stealing grain from shit sometimes dreams of becoming a wolf.”
Nagrik flinched and glanced at Bakama. Before his rival could voice the suspicion, Bakama charged at Nathan in a fury. The assault was personal, yet coldly calculated. He had to shut the human’s mouth. If the failed ambush was revealed, Nagrik would attack instantly. Killing the chained human would be far easier.
It was a miscalculation.
On the battlefield, a knight was not bound by the same rules as ordinary men.
“You orcs,” Nathan said as the mace rose high, casting its shadow, “are surprisingly honest the moment you start fighting.”
The thick ring of the chain snapped and flew away with a clear ring. Far too easily. He had deliberately blocked their attacks with the chains until now, weakening the links for this exact moment.
Bakama’s eyes widened, but it was already too late. A fist loaded with elastic power smashed into his Adam’s apple. The strength that had shattered steel, however loose the chains had been, landed like an iron weight. Part of the neck bone splintered beneath the skin.
With a choked grunt, strength fled Bakama’s forearm. The heavy mace tilted backward and his stance collapsed. For roughly half a second his legs were wide open.
Nathan did not miss the gap. The shackles on his ankles had already been undone. He drove his foot squarely into the orc’s testicles.
Crunch.
The sound of something hard smashing through flesh. But it was more than that. Nagrik and his subordinates would later swear they had heard something burst.
Bakama literally left the ground. He fell and could not rise again.
The legion commander thrashed on the ground, eyes rolled back, foaming at the mouth in agony.
Nathan seized the orc’s thinning hair and dragged him up from his private hell. He pulled a dagger from Bakama’s back pocket and pressed it to his throat.
“Stop the fighting.”
“You… bastard… I’ll kill…”
“You told me to give my name, remember? You should be begging for my mercy first. And before that, you should help me find my friend. Speak. Tell them all to stop what they’re doing.”
Nathan growled and hauled the orc upright, pressing the dagger harder against his throat until the blade seemed ready to sink in. But Bakama only let out a resentful groan.
Why? Damn it, did I kick too hard? Or does he think I’m the one in a hurry?
If it was the latter, Nathan swore he would not let this orc die easily.
The best plan his seventeen-year-old mind had been able to devise was on the verge of collapse. Desperately he shouted.
“You’re the legion commander! Tell them to stop the fighting!”
“Not anymore.”
A heavy pain bloomed. Nathan found himself lifted into the air and stared down at his own stomach. A lightning bolt of agony burned through his side. Nagrik’s curved blade had punched through Bakama’s belly and back, skewering Nathan as well.
Only then did he understand. The orc commander’s silence had not been defiance. It had been resignation. He had realized his rival would never miss such an opportunity.
“Thank you for making things easier, Federation knight.”
Clutching the hole in his side, Nathan gasped for air. Nagrik kicked Bakama’s corpse aside and retrieved his mace from the exposed flank.
He had been about to leave when he paused. Behind him the human whose breath had not yet stopped was crawling forward, writhing.
The great warrior of the dragon-hunting tribe shook his head, stepped onto the human’s back, and raised Bakama’s mace. He took careful aim at the knight’s head. The weapon cleaved the air.