[Necromancer] will be serialized. I suppose it’ll be one a day now?^^
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As the saying went, one should tap even a stone bridge before crossing it; in the current situation, he could not afford to carelessly face even a single insignificant lich.
“Chwiiik. Die.”
With a thunderous shout, one of the personal guards launched an attack without warning. In many ways, it was a far more powerful attack than that of a young warrior like Turka. His stance was solid, and there was discipline in the way he swung his glaive. Fundamentally, however, he could never be a match for Damon.
Thwack.
After blocking the glaive with one staff, Damon struck the hand gripping it with the other. The personal guard screamed. The fingers were densely packed with nerves, and the pain was correspondingly tremendous.
“Chweeek.”
Even so, seeing that he did not let go of the glaive made Damon think he was indeed worthy of being chosen as a personal guard. But now was no time to be caught up in admiration. Launching himself forward, Damon rushed at the personal guard, who was desperately trying to regain his stance.
The personal guard hastily assumed a defensive posture, but it was not enough. When the two staffs struck both ends of the glaive from above and below, even a fairly capable personal guard had no choice but to lose his grip. His hands could not withstand the shock transmitted through the weapon.
Thwack, thwack, thwack.
What followed after the glaive fell to the ground was a merciless beating. Damon struck the personal guard’s neck, waist, and thighs in succession, as though he were beating laundry. All were areas not covered by armor. The personal guard could not even muster the nerve to scream and merely trembled like an aspen. In the end, unable to watch their comrade being reduced to a wreck, the remaining guards joined the fight.
“You bastard.”
“Chwiiik. Stop!”
Two personal guards charged in, but Damon merely gave them a cold smile. Given the nature of staff techniques, a one-against-many confrontation was, if anything, more convenient for him.
Thud, thud, thud.
After several sounds like a drum being beaten, the three personal guards were stretched out flat on the ground. In particular, the guard who had been beaten first presented a sight too miserable to behold. The orc, who had once had green skin, had now turned into a black orc. Of course, that was because of the bruises.
After knocking down the three personal guards, Damon drew a deep breath and steadied his breathing. He had never known that sweat flowing over his entire body could feel so refreshing. Watching the fight, Chieftain Chugar let out an exclamation.
“Chwiiik. For a wandering orc, your skill is truly remarkable.”
“……”
“Have you any thought of joining our tribe? If you wish, I will accept you as a warrior.”
It was an exceptionally generous offer for a wandering orc, but Damon had never had the slightest intention of doing so.
“No, I’ll pass. Being affiliated with somewhere doesn’t sit well with me. If I did that, I’d have to throw away the name Outlaw of the Wasteland, wouldn’t I?”
“I cannot understand it. If you became one of our tribe, you would always be able to eat your fill.”
Seeing Chugar’s incredulous expression, Damon became serious.
“Enough of that nonsense. More importantly, when do you intend to let me see the ogre? The sooner the better.”
At those words, a strange light appeared in Chugar’s eyes. Only then did Turka’s words come back to him. The other party’s attitude of immediately agreeing to come to the village upon hearing the word “ogre.” That was vastly different from an ordinary wandering orc. Chugar abruptly threw out a question.
“Chwiik. Why are you so impatient to face an ogre? Do you perhaps have some grudge against ogres?”
It was a sharp question, befitting the chieftain of a tribe. Its purpose was to grasp the other party’s true intentions. But Damon was, if anything, even more experienced than Chugar. He deftly turned aside a difficult question that might have left him momentarily speechless.
“Have you ever eaten ogre meat? It’s a bit tough, but the texture when you chew it is truly excellent. Remember this… if I catch the ogre, all of its meat belongs to me…”
As soon as Damon finished speaking, Chugar’s attention was immediately drawn elsewhere. Their race was greedy for food to begin with, and ogre meat was not something one could easily get a chance to eat. Chugar’s immediate reply laid bare the greedy side of the orc race without the slightest filter.
“Chwiik. That cannot be. This hunt is being carried out at our tribe’s request, so the ownership of the meat clearly belongs to us.”
“Then that won’t do. I need provisions for a long journey, you see.”
“In that case, I will give you mutton instead. Chwiik. As you know, we have plenty of food…”
At Chugar’s words, spoken as though he were doing him a favor, Damon nodded as if he had no choice. In truth, there was no way he would be interested in ogre meat. Orcs, with their atrocious eating habits, might eat it well enough, but ogre meat was far too tough for a human stomach to accept.
In the end, they reached an agreement. Chugar summoned Turka and ordered him to guide Damon to the dwelling place of the human slaves.
“You will take fifty warriors and guide that one at once to where the slaves are.”
Of course, Chugar lowered his voice and even ordered him to watch so that Damon could not make off with the ogre meat. Having somehow understood it, Damon could only smile bitterly.
Inwardly, he sneered at the simple-minded orcs.
“Chwiik. Please come this way.”
This time, Damon found himself leaving under the escort of fifty orc warriors. As soon as they emerged from the village, Damon bombarded Turka with questions.
“By the way, why is there such a strange aura lingering around the village? It feels almost like the aura of magic.”
“Chwiik. You mean that.”
Because Damon had beaten down the personal guards, Turka’s attitude had become even more compliant. That was only natural, since the personal guards were positions that only the tribe’s most outstanding warriors could enter. Damon had beaten down three such individuals all by himself, so it was no wonder Turka felt intimidated. And by a wandering orc he had been looking down on all this time, no less.
“The truth is, an envoy of Lord Verkis is currently in the tribe.”
Damon deliberately pretended indifference.
“Verkis? You mean the red dragon of the Feldrian Mountains?”
“Chwiik. That is correct. One of his guardians has escaped, so an envoy came to our tribe.”
“I don’t understand. Just because a guardian escaped, was there really any need to send an envoy to the Chugar tribe?”
Completely fooled by Damon’s shameless act, Turka poured out facts that could be called top-secret matters of the tribe. Of course, each and every one of them was an important clue for Damon.
“Chwiik. To tell you the truth, it is a long story. The escaped guardian is a lich, and it is currently polymorphed into a wandering orc. Because of that, an order to hunt down wandering orcs has been issued to all the tribes. That is precisely why we went out hunting. Chwiik.”
Hearing that the wandering orcs across the entire continent had been placed in danger of death because of him, Damon felt a chill run down his spine. However, he showed no sign of it and instead wore an irritated expression.
“Well, well. That’s troubling. I was planning to head north, but it seems there’ll be plenty of headaches. Whelps like you will come swarming at me like bees.”
At those words, Turka pricked up his ears and looked at Damon. The young orc warrior’s eyes were filled with a light that seemed to be expecting something.
“Chwiik. If that worries you, please join our tribe. If you are a member of the Chugar tribe, no one will dare touch you.”
Damon continued speaking in an extremely calm manner.
“That wouldn’t be bad either, but I don’t think I can.”
“Why not?”
“What is my name?”
At the sudden question, Turka answered with a bewildered expression.
“The—the Outlaw of the Wasteland.”
“The Outlaw of the Wasteland has his own path. No matter how difficult that path may be, an outlaw must walk it. Even if death awaits me there…”
The words were so childish that even Damon, who spoke them, thought them laughable, but they were not so to Turka. Because of them, a longing to go out into the wide world began to grow lushly in the young orc’s heart…
As they exchanged various words, they finally arrived at the village of the slaves. Of course, Damon could not help but be interested in the humans who had become slaves to orcs, so he carefully examined every part of the village. The village was not very large.
It was a typical Truvenian village with roughly a hundred houses. What first entered Damon’s eyes was the helplessness that enveloped the entire village. A gloomy aura he had not been able to sense in the past was steeped dully throughout the village.
Damon entered the village entrance together with Turka’s warriors. Already, on the outskirts of the village, orc sentries stood guard in groups of five. Beside them, three or four villagers were weeding a field, and to Damon, the sight could not help but seem extremely awkward.
Humans working the fields under the protection of orcs. At least in the Truvenia of the past, it had been something unimaginable. As he passed by them, Damon carefully examined the farmers’ faces. Every one of them was gaunt, and not a trace of vitality could be found in their faces.
‘Then again, there’s no way these people would have any hope for the future…’
It seemed the farmers had already lost even their wariness toward orcs. Though orc infantry stood guard right beside them with fierce gazes, they showed no interest whatsoever. They were humans simply plowing the fields with mechanical motions.
At the sight, Damon could not help but feel anger surge toward the monarchs who had once ruled Truvenia. Because of their error in judgment, their descendants were now doomed to live their entire lives as slaves to uncivilized orcs. If only they had cast aside their petty pride, these people surely would not have ended up in such a state.
‘If those bastards saw this, it would be quite the spectacle. They’re probably bitterly regretting in the afterlife that they failed to ask Arcadia for help, aren’t they?’
Thinking this and that, Damon walked toward the center of the village. On the way, he encountered several villagers, but they behaved the same way. Even though more than fifty fully armed orc infantry had entered the village, they acted as they normally did.
Of course, from the way they flinched and avoided them, Damon could clearly tell that they were quite afraid of the orcs.
Damon examined the faces of the villagers in detail. A woman, little more than skin and bones, carrying a scrawny boy. A young man, emaciated to the point of looking like a skeleton, struggling even with a small bundle of firewood on his back. Among the villagers, it was difficult to find even a single person with any flesh on them. No, there were hardly any people with a normal physique to be seen at all, so it was easy enough to guess what the village’s circumstances were like.
‘It seems the orcs strip them of everything, leaving only enough for them to barely stay alive.’
He felt pity, but since there was nothing he could do for them, Damon silently continued walking, following Turka’s lead. The place where the orc infantry arrived was a broad open space located at the center of the village. Directly in front of it stood a house so old it was practically falling apart; it seemed likely to be where the village chief lived. Arriving before it, Turka shouted harshly.
“Chwiik, village chief! Come out at once.”
Surprisingly, he spoke in fluent human language. It was the common tongue that had once been used among the kingdoms of Truvenia. Since it had been an extremely long time since Damon had heard it, he could not help but feel a strange sensation.
Creak.
The door opened, and a middle-aged man of small build appeared. His body was all skin and bones, no different from the villagers. What was somewhat unusual was that the village chief looked to be barely forty years old.
‘Strange. Normally, a village chief should be the eldest and most senior person in the village.’
Under Damon’s questioning gaze, the village chief carefully approached Turka and bent at the waist.
“You have come, my lord. What brings you here…”
In the village chief, who kept bowing and scraping, the dignity of the humans who had once ruled all of Truvenia had vanished without a trace. Livestock being raised by the orc tribe. That was the only impression Damon could get from the chief.
‘Poor people.’
Unaware of Damon’s troubled feelings, Turka shouted in high spirits.
“Chwiik. I’ve brought a warrior to face that ogre bastard. No one will be sacrificed anymore, so set your minds at ease.”
After he finished speaking, Turka turned and looked at Damon. The village chief’s powerless gaze turned toward him as well. Because Damon looked like an orc, there was no change in the chief’s expression. Even so, Damon could faintly sense that the man did not look upon him favorably. After briefly looking Damon over, the chief turned to Turka with a miserable expression.
“Already, fifteen of our villagers have been taken by the ogre. You must kill the ogre, or the villagers will not be able to go out to work. If not, it is beyond my ability to manage. So please……”
Seeing him rubbing his hands together over and over, it was clear that he had suffered greatly at the hands of the orcs.
“Chwiik. This time, there will be no mistake.”
Turka thumped his chest and boasted. But seeing no change in the village chief’s eyes, it seemed he did not put much faith in Turka’s words.
“I humbly ask this of you.”
Outwardly, at least, he bowed his head as though he had received a great favor.
“Chwiik. That aside, what I mentioned last time has surely been prepared, hasn’t it?”
The village chief’s face instantly darkened. From the look of it, Turka seemed to have made quite an unreasonable demand. Of course, as the man was a slave, it was obvious he had no choice in the matter.
“B-but many people have already been taken by the ogre, so we are severely short of hands. If only we had them……”
“Chwiik. If you cannot, then I’ll have no choice but to drag you away instead.”
In the end, the village chief lowered his head.
“I-I understand. I will gather the people by tomorrow.”
It seemed some sort of exchange had taken place, but Damon had no way of knowing the details. He could only suppress his curiosity inwardly. Leaving the village chief with his face twisted in despair, Turka turned away.
“Chwiik. Let us go.”
Turka walked off somewhere with the warriors. As Damon followed behind him, a flash of killing intent passed through his eyes. He, too, was human, and he could not help but feel anger rise within him at Turka’s insolent treatment of the village chief. But thinking of reality, Damon calmly settled his heart.
‘Once I’ve built up enough power to face a dragon, I won’t let these bastards be.’
Suppressing the rage boiling inside him, Damon silently followed after Turka. Someday, he would return and show them what he was made of…….