Chapter 421: Orcs
Aen had slaughtered everyone in this tribe.
Resources in the Exile Lands were severely scarce, and this small tribe, including the half-grown children, numbered fewer than a hundred. Yet among them, there were as many as eight Tier Four warriors.
That was an astonishing ratio.
But even without activating his Dragon Soul Form, Aen was already at Tier Five. Once he entered the Dragon Soul Form for the massacre, he was a solid Tier Six.
Whether it was these Tier Four warriors or the average Tier Three savages of the tribe, to Aen in his Dragon Soul Form, they were nothing more than one-punch kills.
The tribal shaman, who was conducting the ritual, was the last to die.
Before his death, the shaman’s eyes were filled with despair as he trembled and said, “Those who enter the Land of Sin will bring calamity upon themselves. It is the cruelest calamity, one that will doom the tribe and all Orcs.”
“This is my sin. I shouldn’t have thought of sending her into the Land of Sin in search of a path for our tribe. At least by maintaining our traditional ways, the tribe wouldn’t have perished so soon.”
Aen didn’t want to listen to the ramblings of this mad shaman. He directly stomped on his head, crushing it into pulp.
Only then did Zeke walk over, holding a bound blank book in his hands, draped in a thick snow bear fur coat.
Compared to Aen, who had removed his outer coat and wore only inner leather armor, his arms exposed, Zeke looked more like someone from Greenwood.
And Aen, once a merchant from Greenwood, now seemed completely accustomed to life in the North, embodying what Northerners believed to be the form of a king.
Zeke said, “It seems these people have forgotten they are Northerners and now call themselves ‘Orcs’.”
Looking at the lifeless mother whose internal organs lay exposed, Aen sighed and said, “I too was once a Greenwood native born in Greenwood. Am I not now considered a Northern savage in their eyes?”
“Seeing their behavior, I start to question whether my decision to bring them under my banner was a mistake.”
“Their ways are even more primitive than Northerners.”
Zeke merely lowered his head and scribbled in the book. His gaze lingered on the shaman’s shattered head, and without lifting his head, he said, “Your decision is, of course, correct. Judging from their earlier behavior, they are indeed qualified warriors. Once domesticated, they will become the most powerful weapons in your hand.”
“And their actions were only exposed because you witnessed them. Before the North was unified, there were indeed maniacs who found joy in killing.”
“In fact, not just the North — even in the so-called civilized Greenwood, such things still happen. The New Testament Era hasn’t been around long. Those who witnessed the cruelty of nobles and priests from the Old Testament Era haven’t all died off. Even now, in this New Era under the Lord’s radiance, there are still places untouched by that light, unchanged from those old days.”
Aen sighed again and said, “Of course I know what you’re saying. Before the Second Western Campaign, someone offered himself to me for food. I still recall that dream — it was not a pleasant sight.”
“It felt like a constant reminder that the natives here aren’t truly noble-minded warriors as they seem. At their core, they’re no different from what we’ve seen here.”
“But if we want such things never to happen again in the North, then we must appear to loathe them with all our hearts.”
“Whether we truly feel calm or enraged, at least on the surface, we must act with hatred. Only when we, the ones in power, show our hatred for such uncivilized behavior will those beneath us imitate our stance.”
Zeke replied calmly, “Then are you calm or furious in your heart right now?”
Aen answered, “That doesn’t matter. What matters is—when you look at me, do you think I am truly angry, or just showing it? That’s the only thing that matters.”
Zeke said, “I feel your anger.”
Aen did not respond.
Zeke continued, “But I must offer this counsel. The traditions followed by these Orcs are the oldest and most primitive — the most crucial being submission to the strong, dependence on the strong, obedience to the strong.”
“When you were slaughtering them, when you displayed your overwhelming power and crushed their warriors one by one, none of them thought to flee. They simply knelt, begging your forgiveness, and pledged loyalty to you as the new tribal chief.”
“When you had killed half of them, the remaining ones didn’t even resist. They just howled in madness and knelt there, awaiting death, as if you were their god, and being killed by you was your right — they had no right to resist.”
“It is a belief so twisted, yet for you, such a belief is the ideal condition for conquest.”
Aen said, “Even if, as you said, they submit to the strong, I am not the strongest in the world. The day someone stronger appears before them, they will turn their fangs toward me without hesitation because of that tradition.”
“They will bite their former master like loyal mad wolves.”
“How can such people be allowed to dwell within my territory?”
Zeke said, “People can be tamed — just as humans once tamed wolves and made hounds, just as Greenwood tamed the North, just as you tamed the Northerners.”
“These Orcs can, of course, be tamed—into loyal hounds of the kingdom.”
Then Zeke shook his head at his own words, correcting himself, “Rather, they will become the loyal hounds of Ismir.”
“Ismir, the dragon of the North, soars through the heavens, its wings spread wide, shielding the sky, while on the ground below, its loyal hounds herd the flock for their dragon master.”
His voice rang out as though singing into the biting wind, carrying vastness and echoing into the distance.
It was a singing style he had developed — one that belonged to the Northerners.
Unlike Greenwood’s softer, melodic tones, Northern bards sang in a rough and bold style, like men singing into the freezing wind, singing of Northern blood and valor.
This boldness, this passion, this unrestrained spirit—were things bards from Greenwood’s monasteries could never replicate.
For the commoners of the land, this style felt closer to heart, more worthy of admiration.
Thus, even without the magical aids used by Greenwood’s bards, Zeke had driven them entirely out of the North and seized the power of speech from top to bottom in the region.