Kingdom's Bloodline, page 424
'Believe in what?'
He breathed in pain. The sword and shield in his hands had started trembling due to being struck multiple times.
Through the use of the senses granted to him by the Sin of Hell's River, the teenager could sense that the orcs around him had increased in number. Most of them had weapons in their hands, and they were waiting beyond the encirclement quietly. Perhaps when there was an empty spot, they would immediately rush forth to replace their comrade, and perhaps they were also waiting for their comrades' victory in a bout of arrogance.
As he stared at the increasing number of enemies all around him, Thales began to believe that his luck had perhaps ended.
He knew that his opponents were too strong, be it in terms of their numbers or their power. Thales and the others practically had no chance.
He could only fight based on the instinct of never giving up, honed over the years he lived.
The Sin of Hell's River seemed to have reached its limit.
*Bang!* Not too far away, the sound of something being dealt a heavy blow shot up. Old Hammer fell to the ground in pain.
'Damn it.'
Thales sighed in his heart, then tumbled on the ground laboriously, only to find that he had rolled himself to an orc's feet.
His heart froze.
'It's it. That blue-faced orc.'
It lowered its head, and its face was as ferocious as ever.
In the next second, the spiked mace came charging to the ground!
*Bang!*
Thales threw his shield away. While dragging his hurting and sore body, he avoided that attack in an incredibly pathetic manner.
Golden sand flew into the air, blinding eyes.
Thales persevered, even though he could no longer keep his mind in focus.
He knew that to humans, one attack from these orcs could take their lives.
As for using the Sin of Hell's River to increase the chances of survival?
Come on now. Under this sort of intense battles, Black Sword's talk about not dying even though he was about to die would not happen.
There would also be no chance where he could bleed and he could activate his mystic power.
Once he was hit, he would immediately know whether the ferryman in Hell's River was just a legend.
Thales struggled up in great difficulty, but before he could gain his footing, a machete struck his sword.
*Clang!*
Under the powerful blow and since he was not steady on his feet, Thales did not manage to withstand the blow. His longsword fell off is hand and landed on the ground again.
His weapon crashed on the sand and let out a muffled sound.
'It's over.'
Thales trembled and could only feel a sharp pain in his arm.
'Compared to the spars against Jines and Wya, and even the fights against Nicholas and Monty… battles of this degree…'
He flipped over in great difficulty, and could only see that blue-faced orc in armor approaching him.
It revealed ferocious fangs against the prince, then slowly lifted its spiked mace.
"Freuca," the orc said coldly.
'Damn it.'
Thales felt his consciousness fade a little.
'Freuca… what exactly does it mean? Did I ever learn it during my classes in Dragon Clouds City?'
Dean and Louisa's furious shouts still echoed in his ears.
Thales panted with great difficulty and touched the area around him, trying to find anything that could allow himself to draw blood.
But he failed.
In the next second, the spiked mace fell swiftly!
Thales closed his eyes.
'Little Rascal, remember to learn orc language properly, okay? Or else, you won't even know why you died…'
At that moment.
*Thud!*
There came the sound of steel crashing against each other.
As sand flew and chaotic gusts of wind blew, Thales felt cold sweat break on his skin!
He opened his eyes swiftly.
The enemy's weapon missed. It landed just one inch beside his head.
Thales' heart had yet to calm down. He stared at the scene before him in a daze.
An incredibly thick, shark iron fork was stuck between the spikes of the spiked mace. It was the one that knocked off the mace's trajectory.
And that iron fork was connected to an even thicker, palmless wrist. The fork had been forged straight into bone.
The blue-faced orc who had been prevented from killing looked incredibly displeased. It turned towards the owner of the iron fork—the owner of the arm whose hand had been sliced off cleanly.
"Nazair!"
The orc roared madly. Even the blue paint on its face contorted.
It was incredibly agitated while it pointed at the fallen Thales. "Sel, freuca!"
But the owner of the iron fork simply shook its head slowly. The right arm, connected with the iron fork, still held off the spiked mace and did not let loose of its strength even in the slightest bit.
The owner said an unfamiliar word with a deep voice.
"Solnoir."
Thales watched their exchange with a dumbfounded expression.
"Solnoir." The owner of the iron-fork arm repeated calmly. "Solnoir, saattsel."
The blue-faced orc seemed very angry. Its breathing grew more ragged, and its gray skin rippled slightly.
But the owner of the iron fork seemed to be of extraordinary status. A few seconds later, the blue-faced orc roared and reluctantly put away his weapon. It threw Thales a fierce glare, and its narrow eyes were filled with hatred.
Thales laid on the ground, stiff. He only felt that he was about to lose control over his overused body.
The blue-faced orc raised his head and roared to the others around it. "Naq! Kandarl!"
In the next moment, as if they had received an order, all the orcs put down their weapons, regardless of whether they were previously engaged in a fight, and they took a step backwards.
Even that lizard soldier was bound using ropes by two orcs and restrained.
The orcs spread out, revealing Louisa, who was panting harshly while leaning against her sword and surrounded, and also Dean, whom Louisa supported.
They also revealed the owner of the iron fork.
Thales could see it clearly now.
This was another orc, and a special orc to boot.
The armored blue-faced orc could already be considered to be big, but this orc was even larger than the former. It was practically the height of two adult men, but this was not its greatest characteristic.
It was its skin.
The orc's skin was pure black, and was much darker than its companions around it.
There were a pile of thick, snow-white pelts on its shoulders, and it looked like it came from some creature. Hidden under the pelt was black metal armor. Clearly, its status was incredibly high.
There were three parallel, ferocious looking scars on its forehead. They stretched to its nose bridge, and they looked like claw marks. Its lips were faint gray, and it had more fur on its head.
Thales frowned.
'Its… the leader?'
But the remaining mercenaries cried out in surprise.
In the next second, the pure black orc leader curled its black lips and raised its thick left arm. Its hand held onto a human hostage's neck tightly, and he simply allowed him to struggle in vain while he was in its grip.
"No, no." Louisa's voice quivered slightly due to her tears. "No."
Dean sighed. "Mickey."
While he had his throat seized, Mickey shuddered. His eyes were unfocused, and his hands held on to the unique orc's huge arm limply. He could not fight back at all.
Thales shook his head in despair.
'It's over.'
The orc let out a sound similar to laughter. It threw the weakened Mickey on the ground, then lifted its cut wrist and directed the iron fork at the remaining mercenaries.
In the next moment, the pure black orc spoke slowly.
And it caused Thales and the two mercenaries to turn pale with fright, because what came out of the orc's lips was the common language of the Western Peninsula, spoken fluently and with the accent of those in the desert.
"Humans." The orc's deep voice seemed to even make sand tremble. "You fought bravely. You took away the souls of four of our brave men from our tribe. You also won our respect."
Louisa widened her eyes in shock. As for Dean, he frowned.
There were dozens of orcs around them. When they stood together, they formed a dense, black layer. They held weapons in their hands while they stared at the mercenaries with killing intent rolling off them, but they kept silent and held their breaths. No one made a sound.
"Hence, with our pride as members of Shattered Stone Tribe, as long as you surrender to us, your comrades, including this solnoir…" It kicked Thales, who was beside its feet, and said in a solemn and stern manner, "Will be able to continue living."
Thales moved slightly.
He remembered now.
The pure black orc had used one word: Solnoir.
In his classes in Dragon Clouds City, he learned that the glacial orcs had a similar word, but the pitch and suffix was quite different: Solnar.
The meaning was… a young cub.
Translator's Note:
1. Han blade: A weapon from China, the ancestor of all Chinese swords used for war.
Chapter 374: Foreign Blood |
In the cold desert night, the orcs panted loudly and raised their torches up high, having just successfully ambushed the merchant group.
They spoke in a language that was slightly similar to glacial orcs and walked back and forth within the group's disorderly campsite, rummaging around and gathering their spoils from the battle.
Meanwhile, at the merchant group master's camp, starting from Dean and Louisa, Old Hammer, Quick Rope, Mickey, and the other humans who surrendered and were held captive, they all held their heads in their hands and walked in a straight line. They were escorted by heavily armed orcs to see the leader of the orcs.
Thales was also one of them and walked behind Dean. Perhaps due to his age and build, unlike the others, Thales did not have an orc escorting him by pressing on his back roughly. However, walking on the sand, passing by many fierce-looking members of the foreign species, while his enemies' gazes and weapons bore down on him on both sides still sent a chill down his spine.
The murderous aura of the orcs and their appearances were rather unsettling. Almost all the orc fighters were covered in new and old wounds, and were obviously battle-seasoned, brave men. They glared scornfully at the captives and intentionally tapped the weapons in their hands.
As he listened to the tapping sounds, Thales could not help but recall the time his diplomat group walked past Northland's infantry regiment beyond Broken Dragon Fortress six years ago. The same anxiety, the same suffocating feeling...
It was just that the current situation was even more despairing.
Three unique orcs stood in front of Tormorden's goods some distance away from the dozens of orc fighters, and gazed coldly at the approaching captives.
They were not strangers to Thales.
There was an orc with a cold expression, and whose lips were painted white. An abnormally large black bow was hanging from its shoulder. It was the one that had killed Palka the mercenary with one shot in the duel between marksmen from earlier.
There was another ferocious orc carrying a greatsword. Its upper body was bare, it was muscular, and had its forehead painted black. It ran its hand over the wound on its chest and flashed a hideous smile. Kant the Northlander had died under its sword.
And there was that hideous orc who was gently stroking its spiked mace, blue paint on its face. It had been chasing after Thales since the fight. Now, it fixed its gaze on Thales and ground its teeth in hatred.
It mouthed a word at the prince from afar: Freuca. The blue-faced orc clenched its fists and tightened its grip on its spiked mace.
'Freuca, Freuca again.' Thales whispered quietly, sensing that things were far from good.
However, these three unique orcs could not conceal the authoritative bearing their leader possessed as it stood behind them.
The pure black orc with the broken hand wore a rare, snow-white fur shawl. It looked at the iron fork on its left wrist with its head lowered, and sat on a large pile of goods in a nonchalant posture, as though it had become one with the silence around it. It waited for the captives' arrival while the torches shone on it.
From the distinctive height and posture, its status was obvious.
The captives were brought one by one before him and lined up horizontally. The boorish escorts forced the defeated people to kneel before their leader by pressing them down or kicking them. Thales panted a little and kneeled on the sand.
In the darkness, the greatsword-wielding, half-naked orc beside the leader puffed and gestured for its subordinate to toss it a torch.
It raised the torch and cauterized the wound on its chest. It sighed in satisfaction while the merchants gasped and the fire sizzled.
After sealing its wound with fire, the orc walked past every single kneeling captive and illuminated their faces with the light from the torch.
Thales squinted from the brightness and the heat.
The leader who sat on the pile of goods gazing at its iron fork slowly lifted its head and looked at its war trophies.
The number of merchants who survived was much more than Thales had imagined. At least eight or nine of them knelt among the captives. They, too, held their heads in their hands and trembled under the orcs' stares. Perhaps it was because the fight began too suddenly, and because the opponents' ambush was too successful, but those who wielded weapons were basically annihilated without mercy during the first round of fighting. The others who did not have time to pick up their weapons were soon left quivering in their boots by the destruction. Under the orcs' hideous faces, weapons that dripped with blood, and the terrifying growls, they plopped their faces down on the ground, curled up and raised their hands in surrender without anyone telling them to do so.
When he saw their expressions clearly, Thales dared to say that these merchants had never seen so many orcs in their lives.
The flames flickered in the cold wind. Confronted with the orcs' hideous faces, the captives' hearts were filled with despair and hopelessness.
The frightening silence lasted for quite a while. During that time, the chilly wind of the night, together with the noise of those rummaging through their belongings a distance away, made the scene appear rather dreary, like an execution ground.
"Outsiders."
The pure black leader finally spoke. Its words, uttered through its contorted and horrifying lips and teeth, were heavy with the accent of the desert, just like all the others who lived there. It spoke so fluently and authentically in the common tongue that it was unbelievable that those words came from an orc. "Who among you… is in charge?"
Many of the captives who knelt on the ground turned subconsciously. Thales saw from the corner of his eyes that the large-bellied Tormorden also held his head in his hands and was kneeling at a remote position.
But that extravagant master of the merchant group, whose ancestor knew the Virtuous King, who was swollen with arrogance, and who talked endlessly when it came to business was no longer around. Instead, occupying his body right then was a pitiful man who shivered nonstop. Tormorden seemed to be frightened by the orcs' appearance. He desperately shrank his head back and did not even dare to lift it.
The fat Tormorden knelt on the ground and trembled like a leaf, trying hard to curl up his muscles and bones, as though he would suffer more losses with every inch of body exposed.
Faced with the leader's question, he said nothing.
The pure black orc looked around at the captives, sneered and said with its sonorous voice, "Hmph. So, outsiders, there's no one among you who's qualified to negotiate with me, even though I'm starting to think about who to let live and who to kill?"
These words made the captives tremble even more violently.
'This is an orc who has a good command of the human language,' Thales thought. 'This is uncommon. And according to what Dean said, they aren't exiles who move alone and are scattered all over the desert, but are part of a large tribe?'
When he thought of this, Thales noticed that beside him, Dean had sighed. The latter shifted his knees and prepared to stand.
However, before the bald mercenary could move any further, there was a small commotion on the other side of the group of captives.
"We have surrendered, and you promised us our lives, orc."
A lady in armor lowered her hands and stood from among the kneeling crowd. She straightened her body and stared at her enemy with a calm expression.
"F*ck." Thales heard Mickey on his other side curse softly.
"I am..." In the darkness, Louisa's expression was a little dark and gloomy, but her voice was extremely clear and steady. "I am Louisa Dante, the leader of this troop."
Totally unarmed, she said softly, "You can negotiate with me."
There was another commotion. This time, the orc fighters, who spoke in deep and gruff voices, were the ones who caused it. They sounded like they were growling as they whispered to one another.
The facial features of the pure black orc moved a little. It changed its posture, resting its elbows on its knees and leaning forward. It seemed to be very interested in this woman, who stood like a crane among chickens when nobody dared to speak.
"I only promised to let this person and that solnoir live." The orc pointed at Mickey and Thales with the iron fork on its wrist. "The other outsiders weren't included. As for you…"
The three orcs standing around their leader looked at one another. They flashed their teeth and let out a sonorous bark of laughter that sounded to Thales like the cold wind howling.
"Look, even my Holy Guards are laughing." The leader turned to Louisa with a smile. "Have the people outside the desert degenerated to the point where they need a powerless female to lead them?"
On the other side, Old Hammer and Mickey cursed softly.
