A Pleasant Time with Three Hundred Orcs (4)
Aspen. Have you really lost your mind? More importantly, get out of the way. That monster is targeting me.
He didn’t have the strength to force the words past his throat. Nathan’s exhausted mouth merely twitched in silence. Meanwhile, the monster’s gaping maw drew closer and closer.
Aspen bent his body as low as it would go. Then, at the instant of collision, he twisted and swung his blade upward. The crescent arc traced by the dying knight sliced clean through the monster’s jaw, bone and all.
An utterly impossible sight. The monster, its mouth carved wide open, threw its head back in agony and roared. Nathan cheered inside. That technique. The very same one Aspen had used to knock the novice Nathan flat on his back all those years ago. Hard to believe, but it had worked on even this absurdly massive beast. Like a rabbit sinking its teeth into a man.
Yet the monster’s charge did not stop. Off-balance, it could no longer control its body. The rear leg of the giant crustacean, loaded with inertia and crushing weight, came down. Aspen, still recovering his stance, had no time to dodge.
The sickening sound of a human body slammed by several tons of mass. The ground-shaking footsteps of the synthetic behemoth. The blood-boiling roars of the crowd. Nathan couldn’t tell whether he had failed to scream or whether the violent noise had swallowed his cry whole.
Nagrik, who had fled the moment he spotted the monster, was stunned. In all his life he had never seen a more perfect arc. As one who lived by the blade himself, he almost wanted to beg for instruction. Yet even the human knight’s lifelong mastery could not overcome the monster’s sheer mass. The redhead struck by the inertia-driven charge flew like a paper doll and smashed into the wall.
The monster paid a heavy price as well. The chimera, its maw torn open, thrashed in pain, spraying blood in every direction. It was like an avalanche of scale and muscle. Several orc competitors were swept up in its rage. Watching his own kind die in the rampage, Nagrik clenched his fists. Not in anger, but in delight at having less work to do. After all, among the orcs strong enough to survive this long, there might still be worthy rivals.
When the monster finally slammed into the wall, staggered, and collapsed, Nagrik even broke into a wide grin.
“Dead or unconscious, the bastard’s got guts.”
After that, Nagrik and his subordinates made short work of the orcs who had barely survived the monster. Only a handful remained. The commentator had said the fight would continue until five were left, so Nagrik’s pack could have ended it anytime. Yet Nagrik chose to delay the finish a little longer.
“Find that knight’s weapon.”
Nagrik had always been interested in the weapons of the strong. It wasn’t mere greed for collectibles. A great warrior held a very orcish view of the world: the strong naturally claimed the finest things. At least among orcs, that was how it worked. The sword of the strong. A blade powerful enough to carve open the maw of a giant monster. Nagrik wanted it in his hands no matter what.
The survivor is the true victor. The spoils belonged to him.
“You humans don’t know how to avoid a bad fight and end up dying like dogs, yet you swing around gear that’s far too good for you. From now on, I’ll be keeping it. Find it, now!”
The words came from a man who despised his own kind for avoiding battle and begging for their lives. His subordinates wisely chose not to point out the contradiction. If they dug too deep, they might find themselves on the begging side.
At Nagrik’s gesture the subordinates moved forward and scoured the spot where the chimera and knight had collided, flipping corpses and digging through sand and dirt. Several minutes passed.
Suddenly, jeers erupted from the stands. Nagrik knew nothing of the long-eared race’s customs, but he possessed enough sense to recognize condemnation when he heard it.
The complaints of spectators starved for stimulation. Nagrik’s brow twisted. These fragile creatures who would snap if you so much as touched them were screaming for violence from behind their safe barriers. Disgusting. Yet his power over life and death likely depended on their patience.
“There’s no time. Hurry up, you morons. It has to be right around here…”
In the end Nagrik began rummaging through the corpses himself. Suddenly something twitched at the edge of his vision. The movement was tiny, but Nagrik’s sharp senses caught it instantly.
“Still alive, are we?”
The faint twitching, as though even playing dead was exhausting, belonged to the young knight he had run through with a single thrust alongside Bakama earlier. Impressed, Nagrik raised his curved blade without hesitation.
“Fine, I admit it. You really are hard to kill, brat.”
Thud. The sound of steel sinking into solid flesh. Far too close. Nagrik felt a strange sense of déjà vu. Huh. That’s odd. He hadn’t swung yet.
Nagrik staggered, clutching his throat. The broken base of a longsword was buried beside his windpipe. The two subordinates beside the orc rushed forward. Nathan, who had risen like lightning and stabbed, immediately tried to yank the blade free. But the sword was tangled in dense muscle and refused to come out. The knight quickly kicked Nagrik in the neck. Nagrik sprawled, and the knight lifted the hilt. Yet the blade remained lodged in the orc’s neck. Aspen’s sword had not survived the final impact.
Nathan didn’t hesitate. He hurled the broken sword and buried it in the forehead of the next charging orc, then bared his teeth and rushed the last one.
Pulling the metal from his own flesh, Nagrik shook with fury. He had obtained the knight’s weapon as desired, but not by having it jammed into his own neck. There had never been any secret to the sword. It carried no ancient enchantment, nor was it masterfully crafted to withstand a monster’s charge. The broken half now stuck in Nagrik’s neck proved it.
Then what the hell kind of humans were they?
Only now did Nagrik remember that the vanguard who had pursued them across the Unclaimed Highlands had been wiped out. Their heads had been smashed, so he had assumed they had simply killed one another. In the meantime the knight, still tangled with the last subordinate, fell—only to rise again. The subordinate did not. His own dagger protruded from his temple, eyes rolled back.
Nagrik, kneeling and gasping, turned. Clutching his wound, he staggered away.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Nathan’s hand clamped around the orc’s ankle like a steel manacle. A collective gasp rose from the watching elves, as if on cue in some twisted play. It had not come from Nagrik.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it!”
Only seconds remained before the 99-to-1 bet collapsed. Voices of disbelief and denial drifted through the stands like ghosts. The crowd buzzed with terror and despair. If this continued, what would they scream later? Give me my money back, you fat bastard? This arena rigs its fights? Here are 101 reasons not to invest in the Floating Arena? The very thought was horrifying.
The arena owner clutched his head as if ready to tear out his hair, then slammed his desk hard enough to crack it. He seized the terrified secretary by the collar and roared.
“Kill that bastard! Fire the heavenly punishment launcher! Now!”
The secretary barely managed to turn his head and relay the order into the communicator on his collar.
The grip around his ankle tightened like an iron shackle. Though the opponent weighed less than half as much as he did, Nagrik could not shake him off. He flailed and fell.
“This is all because of you bastards.”
Because of you bastards, Aspen. Nathan couldn’t even bring himself to form the word “dead,” not even in his mind. Even though the sword had been driven in by his own hand, he could not allow the orc to take it. What kind of blade did he think that was? Who did he think it belonged to?
Nathan hauled on the captured leg with desperate strength. Nagrik finally ripped the sword from his own neck and swung the broken blade. An instant before it reached his face, Nathan caught the orc’s wrist with both hands. His elbow, thrust forward like lightning, shattered Nagrik’s arm bone. Twisting the hilt free from the screaming orc’s grasp, Nathan spat bloody foam and rose—then suddenly released the ankle and ducked.
A lightning bolt slammed into the subordinates who had been aiming for him. The very same orcs who had been watching blankly as Nagrik was betrayed now conspired to kill both Nathan and their lord. Their pent-up resentment must have run deep; the betrayal was agreed upon in a heartbeat. But that spark of rebellion was instantly reduced to ash along with the lightning.
The arena owner felt his blood pressure soaring toward a stroke. His fat hand trembled as he stared at his tablet. The arena’s virtual customer board was flooded with vicious messages. If fury was flame and profanity was kindling, the entire channel threatened to erupt into an inferno.
Among the flood, the most chilling post had no profanity at all.
The owner’s voice cracked with rage. “Take the bastards who just shot those orcs, break every limb, and feed them to the monsters! Switch gunners and open fire again! You’re really going to let that piece of shit kill the top favorite?”
Fortunately, the soldiers’ lives were spared the monster pens. While the secretary, reluctant to throw a colleague under the bus, hemmed and hawed as though he hadn’t heard, a new message arrived on the owner’s tablet. The moment he read it, the fury vanished from his face as if it had never existed.
“Tell everyone on site to lower their launchers.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, yes—it was all your arbitrary decision. I never interfered with the betting. If anyone asks, that’s the story. You don’t want to end up in the monster trough yourself, so remember that!”
The secretary’s face went deathly pale.
Nathan had not escaped the nearby electrical discharge unscathed. The sensation was like being clubbed by a blunt weapon again. Convulsions wracked his entire body, yet his eyes remained locked on the orcs. That was why Nagrik’s last remaining loyal subordinate could not muster the courage to attack. The sight of his comrades reduced to charred corpses had shattered his will. It was understandable. Cannonballs that flew instead of cannons, flying-saucer abductions, a chimera, and now lightning from the sky. The orc’s eyes, usually brutal, had gone strangely innocent. He glanced at the electronic board. One more death and the count would reach five. Then there would be no reason to involve himself in their fight. Let the terrifying Nagrik and the insane human slaughter each other.
The orc who had chosen flight began backing away from Nathan, moving slowly like a man retreating from a predator. He never noticed Nagrik behind him—until his back collided with the chieftain’s forehead.
The startled orc felt the curved blade erupt from his chest. Nagrik roared and slammed his subordinate to the ground. Nathan, still trying to shake off the electric shock, flinched in surprise.
“G-great… warrior… sir.”
Still clutching the neck wound that refused to stop bleeding, Nagrik panted with humiliation. He had already killed countless subordinates; sending one more should not have shamed him. Yet to avoid a fight in order to survive—against a mere whelp whose blood had not even dried. Had there ever been a more disgraceful day?
“Sp…are… me…”
Nagrik glanced at the board. Six skulls remained. The leader hurriedly crushed the dying subordinate’s skull. The board flashed.
Nagrik sighed in relief. “It’s over. Five. We’re done.”
Scrabbling at the ground with arms and legs, Nagrik muttered as he tried to crawl away. Nathan walked slowly after him. He didn’t understand the trick, but with only one opponent left the task had become simpler.
“If you still had that much strength, the two of you should have attacked me together.”
Nagrik, still scrambling desperately, screamed at the empty air.
“It’s over! Five are left, just like you promised! Stop that beast-like bastard—!”