Chapter 272. Leave a Beautiful Trace Behind (3)
On the continent, orcs were indisputably classified as monsters—just like trolls and gnolls, they were marked high on the extermination priority list.
Caron gazed at the orc army encamped in the distance and let out a low whistle of awe. He remarked, "These aren't the orcs I had in mind."
They were too well-armed to be written off as mere monsters. While not clad in full plate like human knights, their armor looked skillfully crafted, likely the work of competent blacksmiths. Their weapons, too, were well-maintained and polished.
Orcs were often described as brutish and dim-witted, but the ones before him didn't resemble that stereotype in the slightest.
"They've even set up a proper camp?" Caron muttered.
Though hastily constructed, it was fortified with makeshift barricades and traps placed at regular intervals. It was a crude yet intentional defensive formation.
Orion responded in a low voice, "The orcs who settled in the Rahal Mountains have been influenced by their matriarch. Unlike other tribes, they've developed a surprisingly coherent civilization."
"Still orcs though, aren't they?" Caron asked.
"In terms of intelligence, they're not inferior to humans or elves," Orion replied firmly.
"Then I'm even more curious why they've suddenly decided to block our path. How strong are they?" Caron asked.
"The ones they call 'berserkers' fight until their heads are severed. They're not just enemies—we've got a long and bloody history with them," Orion answered. There was a faint tremor in his voice, a thread of restrained rage woven through it.
Even so, Orion clenched his fist quietly and continued, "But in recent years, the orcs haven't launched any major invasions into the Great Forest. Some small raiding parties came down for plunder, but nothing on this scale."
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Caron gave a slow nod, then said, "If we fought them, the casualties would be high."
"We wouldn't lose," Orion replied, "but... You're right."
Caron turned his gaze back toward the orc army. Despite seeing the elves approaching, the orcs didn't advance. They stayed still, unmoving.
"If they wanted to fight, they'd have attacked before we could form ranks," Caron noted.
For now, it seemed unlikely that their goal was open battle.
The army of green-skinned warriors radiated pressure from sheer numbers alone, but Caron simply smiled at the sight. He remarked, "Well, this is interesting."
It was his first time facing orcs in this life. Even in his previous life, such encounters had been rare. There simply weren't any suitable habitats for orcs within the empire's borders.
"Caron, something's coming from that side," Leo said, pointing ahead.
One rider approached atop a massive wolf, carrying a white flag. The figure was huge, easily dwarfing any human male. His body was packed with muscle, and even from a distance, his presence was overwhelming.
The green-skinned, muscular non-human stopped before Caron. With gleaming fangs that left a strong impression, the rider silently dismounted from the wolf. Then, he tossed a pouch he had been carrying in his cloak.
A metallic clink and the unmistakable scent of blood wafted through the air. Without hesitation, Caron unsheathed Guillotine and lightly slashed the pouch open.
Thud.
A severed human head rolled out. The eyes were still wide open, as if death had struck before even a blink.
Shhhh.
Leo drew his sword in response, and the elves nocked their arrows and took aim at the orc.
Caron, however, calmly stared down at the head with mild curiosity. Then Seria, standing beside him with a hardened expression, said, "I can sense faint traces of holy energy."
"Is this someone you recognize?" Caron asked.
"...It's not as if I know every priest alive," Seria replied quietly.
Showing up unannounced and throwing a human head onto the ground—that was as good as a declaration of war.
Whoosh.
"I don't get what you're trying to do," Caron said coldly. "Do you want your head cut off just like that one?"
A chilling bloodlust seeped from Guillotine as Caron tightened his grip. But the rider, unfazed, calmly dismounted from his wolf. And then, something utterly unexpected happened.
"Caron Leston," the orc said.
It was human language—specifically, imperial speech laced with a strong eastern accent.
"This is a gift for you," the orc continued.
Caron blinked, then muttered, "I didn't expect that. Is imperial speech a common tongue within the continent?"
"I heard most humans speak it," the orc replied. "Allow me to introduce myself."
He planted the white flag he had been carrying firmly into the ground, then lightly thumped his chest with a closed fist. He continued, "I am Srom, chieftain of the Blackclaw clan. I came here to speak with you, Caron Leston."
"You throw a human's head at me and expect me to call this a conversation?" Caron replied.
If Srom was truly the chieftain, then he had to be the one leading that orc army. And yet he had come alone. Perhaps it was a sign of his confidence in his strength, or of sheer madness, or maybe both.
Srom casually pointed at the severed human head lying in the dirt and explained, "That man gave us information about you. He told us you were moving with the elven main force, and that now would be the best time to strike a crippling blow against the Great Forest."
The elven forces stationed in the Holy Kingdom were the finest warriors the forest had to offer. If they were wiped out, it would indeed be a catastrophic blow to the forest's power.
But Srom bared his tusks and continued, "But we do not move according to human will. We are not your slaves. So I took his head—and brought it to you."
It seemed the man had been one of the clergy from the Order of Truth. Most likely, he had tried to manipulate the orcs into launching a massive attack. In that sense, he had succeeded—the orc army had indeed mobilized.
Still gripping Guillotine, Caron locked eyes with Srom. He looked ready to strike at any moment, saying, "You've trespassed on Holy Kingdom soil. This is an act of aggression. I'd be fully justified in killing you right here and now."
"True warriors do not fear death," Srom said evenly. "But now is not the time for bloodshed."
That answer intrigued Caron because it meant the orc had come to talk, not to fight. Perhaps it was because of all the prejudice against orcs, but Caron had secretly expected to end up in a brawl with them.
However, the situation was unfolding a little differently.
"If we set foot in the Great Forest, war with the elves would break out," Srom continued. "So we had no choice but to wait here."
"And you thought the Holy Kingdom would be easy to walk over? You do realize I'm the Warrior in this place," Caron replied.
"By the war god's oath, we have harmed no one," Srom said.
"I guess I'll find out if that's true soon enough," Caron said.
He reached into his pouch of dimensional space and pulled out a chair. Then, he casually set it down and sat with one leg crossed over the other in an arrogant sprawl. He continued, "But since the chieftain came in person, I'll at least hear you out. Go on."
Srom's voice rang out with firm conviction. "For the survival of our people, and to break the ancient chains—we, the Blackclaw clan, want to stand with you, Caron Leston."
"Not to fight me?" Caron asked.
"The enemy of our enemy is our friend. We hate the demons just as much as you do. We will no longer live as slaves to the demons," Srom answered.
He wasn't speaking of peace; he was speaking of revenge.
Caron liked that. He rested his hands on his knees and gave a small nod, then said, "If it's a conversation you want, I'm willing to have it."
Whether they would become friends or enemies—Caron could decide after hearing the whole story.
Caron then turned his head slightly and gave Leo a subtle nod.
Leo immediately understood what Caron meant.
It seems like I need to request reinforcements, Leo thought. That meant Caron was going to keep the orcs talking so they would have time to request backup.
"Srom, Chieftain of the Blackclaw clan," Caron said, voice calm but sharp. "I'll hear what you have to say. Speak freely."
Just as always, Caron didn't engage in battles he couldn't win.
***
Three hundred years ago, during the era of Rael Leston, orcs had existed back then as well. And during that time, they had stood on the side of the demons. Since then, for three full centuries, orcs had been shunned across the entire continent.
Savage, barbaric, and monstrous beyond reason—that was the reputation the orcs carried. And yet, the one standing before Caron now—Srom, the chieftain—was shattering that image bit by bit.
"Our race must be freed from the grip of dark mana," Srom said. "And to do that, the demons who enslaved us must be wiped out first."
"So basically, you're betraying your former master?" Caron asked, his tone cool and unreadable.
"They're not our masters anymore," Srom said firmly. "We no longer follow the demons."
Three centuries had passed, and the traces of dark mana flowing through orc blood had thinned to an astonishing degree. Unlike other orcs across the continent, those of the Rahal Mountains seemed to have been strongly influenced by the World Tree.
Srom didn't feel like a monster at all. He came across more like a regular member of a foreign race—intelligent, composed, and rational.
He reminded Caron of the giants in the western lands. If Utula, the Grand Chief of the Giants had been here, he probably would've taken a great liking to the orcs.
And to top it off, the reason for this unexpected encounter actually made sense.
"You conquered the Holy Kingdom, Caron Leston. So naturally, I assumed you'd soon begin a full-scale assault on the Demon Realm. But before that, you'd stabilize the continent, right?" Srom asked.
Caron smirked and replied, "I won't deny it."
"In the process, you'd start by wiping out the monsters. And that would include us—orcs, who've always had poor relations with the elves," Srom continued.
This orc was a sharp one, and he was right. Caron had every intention of locking down the rear lines before starting a war with the Demon Realm. The orcs and gnolls of the Rahal Mountains were on his priority list.
Which meant... This chieftain had come here for one reason: To secure his people's survival.
Caron gave a small nod as he studied Srom. He understood now just how desperate the orcs were. But still... The history of three hundred years ago lingered like a shadow.
"Let's say I agree to make you my allies," Caron said. "How do I know you won't turn on us, like back then?"
"You don't trust us?" Srom asked.
"It's not you I don't trust. It's the blood running through your veins that I don't trust," Caron answered.
It was true that most of the dark mana had faded, but that alone wasn't enough to justify taking in such a dangerous force as an ally. Caron needed certainty. He needed to be sure they wouldn't stab him in the back. Without that, trusting them would be no different from suicide.
"Orion," Caron said.
"I'm listening," Orion replied.
"What are your thoughts? The orcs of the Rahal Mountains have always been your people's enemy. If the elves don't like them, then I don't like them either," Caron said.
There were still too many hurdles for the orcs of the Rahal Mountains to overcome in order to join.
But an unexpected response came from Orion. He said, "If you're considering accepting the orcs, I'm open to it."
"Didn't the orcs invade the forest again and again?" Caron asked.
"At least they never tried to chain us up like the humans did. And if we can form relationships with humans now, then why not orcs too? Caron, these orcs know what honor is," Orion explained.
Having clashed with orcs many times before, he now looked at Srom with a conflicted expression. He continued, "The Rahal Mountains are one of the most dangerous regions on the continent. If they've managed to survive there for this long, their strength is the real deal."
Caron stroked his chin in thought. It's a solid idea.
He could stabilize his rear flank and strengthen his forces at the same time. If the orcs joined them, both the Holy Kingdom and the elves would be free of the threat they posed.
It was a gain with almost no downside. It was unexpected, but a welcome variable in his grand plan.
"Alright," Caron said at last, raising his gaze to meet Srom. "But there's a condition, Srom."
"Tell me," Srom said.
"Send the rest of your orcs back to the mountains, and you'll come with us to the Great Forest," Caron said.
"Does that mean you plan to hold me hostage?" Srom asked.
"Something like that." Caron replied.
Surprisingly, Srom nodded without protest and said, "I accept your terms."
"Oh, and one more thing," Caron added.
Thud.
He drove Guillotine into the ground beside him and stood up with a casual grin, saying, "You'll need to prove you're worthy of being our ally."
Caron tapped the pendant around his neck. In response, the armor protecting his body, Kavana, dispelled itself.
Srom bared his teeth in a wide grin and said, "Just as bold as they say. I understand your meaning."
"If we use weapons, someone might die. Let's settle this with our fists," Caron said.
"We orcs have hunted with our bare hands since we were children. Our fists are far stronger than you think, Caron Leston," Srom said.
"Real friends bond by beating the crap out of each other," Caron replied.
"If you'd been born an orc, I dare say you would've become a legendary hero among us," Srom said.
"...Is that a compliment?" Caron asked.
"Of course, Caron Leston. I recognize you as a great orc warrior," Srom answered.
"Let me return the favor with a punch," Caron said.
Srom shrugged off his armor, revealing a body packed with muscle that rippled as he moved.
Watching a human and an orc prepare to throw hands, Leo let out a long, exasperated sigh. He thought, Only lunatics gather around lunatics.
For some reason, this scene didn't feel strange to him anymore.
A moment later...
Boom!
A thunderous boom echoed through the air. It was so loud it was hard to believe it came from fists colliding.