The Warchief looked down on the main square. His hair was gray, yet it fell in abundance over his shoulders like a white lion’s mane. His face was covered in old scars and wrinkles, and his left tusk was broken and replaced with a silver tip, but his body still had the vitality of an adult orc. Golden rings covered his fingers, and the golden pelt of a strange beast covered his shoulders.
The other orcs revered him.
“Wolf, son of Dassyra. You are strong, and your strange art deadly. However, you have accepted the taint of Corruption. There is no place for you among our tribe.” The Warchief’s words echoed throughout the orc camp. “You can stay at the camp until your injuries heal. Then, you should leave. Any complaints, Chieftain?”
Dassyra kept her head low, and I couldn’t see her expression. If she had any complaints, she didn’t voice them. The Warchief gave me a fleeting glance, acknowledging my presence, and returned to his tent. When he disappeared inside, the orcs scattered and returned to their tasks. The ceremony was over. Wolf’s display of swordsmanship had been in vain, and our time in Umolo was limited.
Wolf's expression remained impassive, but I knew a storm was raging inside him. It wasn’t [Foresight] that told me, but a hunch. My first reaction was to approach and comfort him, but I stopped myself. Seven years have passed since Dassyra left Wolf at the orphanage. For seven years, Wolf dreamed about the moment of the reunion, but nothing was like he had expected: he returned and showed his worth, yet the Warchief branded him as an outsider.
Wolf followed Dassyra to her tent. My hopes about the private reunion going better weren’t high. Seven years was a long time.
“I’ll show you your lodging,” Little One said. “Please don’t wander far from the tribe’s district. I’m sure Chieftain Dassyra will want to know why you are here during a Monster Surge.”
I nodded. Dassyra was our only ally and our key to survival.
Little One gave us a short tour through the camp. Umolo was designed to shelter the tribes in case of a disaster. In addition to the warchief lodging in the main square, there were three permanent buildings: a public bath, a barn, and an underground refuge. I didn’t expect Umolo to have a water system, but Little One told us that the city was the product of hundreds of years of effort for survival. Disease ran rampant during medieval sieges, so having a sanitary system was a great addition to a city designed to hold a large population during dangerous times. Little One told us the water system was relatively new compared with the rest of the settlement, having been built only a few decades ago. The citadel and the terraces was at least four hundred years old, but the original settlement was even older.
I looked at the stone citadel dominating Umolo. The fortification stood defiant over the valley, but what caught my attention was the arched bridges ascending into the mountain. [Foresight] recalled an old memory and projected it into my eyes. Roman aqueducts.
“Those aren’t bridges. Those are aqueducts! You are bringing clean water from the mountains,” I said.
“There are no better stoneworkers than the orcs from Umolo,” Little One said with a hint of mockery.
Stone structures didn’t go along with the nomadic tribe's lifestyle, and Little One seemed to look down upon the orcs of Umolo.
I let [Foresight] examine the exposed sections of the aqueducts. They looked suspiciously Roman, with tall arcs of masonry similar to the Aqueduct of Segovia. The sight was breathtaking, yet something felt odd. Orcs were mostly nomads, and the permanent population of Umolo had to be a fraction of what it was now. Such aqueducts seemed overkill for the population's necessities; they seemed almost out of place.
“How many orcs live in Umolo?” I asked.
“Umolo is a big tribe. Around seven hundred orcs live here permanently, mostly farmers,” Little One said, vaguely pointing at the terraces cut in the mountain.
Aqueducts were overkill for a population of seven hundred living in an already water-abundant place. Umolo and the Greyfangs had their share of secrets, but I had neither the energy nor the time to unveil them. The Access Rune was a target on my back. Our time at Umolo was finite, and I needed time to plan our next steps.
A group of orc laborers dressed in simple undyed tunics finished setting up a tent and scattered without saying a word. I couldn’t help but feel like the tribe was a hivemind. They were too pragmatic, too efficient, and too clean. Maybe that was what it took to survive in the Farlands without a Class.
Little One guided us inside. The tent was spacious, with a skylight in the center that doubled as a chimney for the cooking station in the center. In a corner was a cask of clean water, a bag of an elongated grain similar to rice, and a dark crimson brick of what I could only identify as pemmican. In the opposite corner was a wooden screen and a water basin. Our luggage, or what was left of it, was already inside. Sleeping bags were lined along the wall—one for each of us—with a set of clothes neatly folded by their side.
“It’s child clothing, but… you know,” Little One said.
The smaller adult orc had to be about a palm taller than me.
“It’s not like we could fit into anything else,” Ilya finished the sentence for him. She was pissed. However, I knew Ilya’s anger wasn’t aimed at the orc but at herself. She blamed herself for Wolf’s situation.
“Rest well,” Little One said, lowering his head to pass through the entrance. “I’ll let you know when Chieftain Dassyra is ready to meet you.”
I approached the beds and grabbed the orc's clothing. It was made of a thick, rough fabric made to last. Then, I realized I hadn’t changed clothes in a week. Ilya was faster. She grabbed the smaller set of clothes and cloistered herself behind the wooden screen.
“Do you want to check out the orc baths, Hallas?” I asked. I wasn’t particularly eager to share a bath with him, but I thought I could make him talk if I separated him from Pyrrah.
Hallas grimaced.
“Not a fan of sharing a bath with a bunch of green brutes. I’m going to patrol the wall,” Hallas replied, taking his bow and leaving the tent. He stopped in the doorway. “And you, Pyrrah. You are going to cook something. The monsters can attack any moment, so we must be prepared. Understood?”
Pyrrah dropped her clothes, grumbling. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
Ignoring the fact I almost got an unwanted bath partner, I grabbed the clothes and walked to the public baths. It was better this way. I needed a moment alone with my thoughts. I strolled through the camp, and not five minutes later, I was outside the stone building. Without [Foresight], I would’ve ended up lost.
An ancient orc with a hunched back at the entrance gave me a clean towel and asked if I needed new bandages. I accepted his offer. It’s been a day since the elves patched me up, and I hadn’t dared to look underneath the bandages. The orc nodded, and I entered the stone baths. There was a small partition in the center and four lines of wooden stools faced bronze faucets. Skylights illuminated the room, but the gray stone made it look dark and narrow, as if it were underground. It lacked Light Stones. I touched the walls. They were perfectly vertical, cut from a single piece of stone.
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To my dismay, there was no caldarium, only faucets. Orcs didn’t seem the sort that enjoyed long baths. I guessed they were too pragmatic for such activities.
“Do you know how to use them, young warrior?” The old orc asked.
I turned the faucet—they worked just like the ones back on Earth—and a thin stream of water fell into the drain on the floor. The water was cold, but after a week without a shower, it was everything I needed. Carving a Fire rune on the bronze faucet crossed my mind, but my common sense advised me against magical vandalism. The old orc then hung a basket with ointment and bandages on a rack, gave me a bundle of aromatic herbs, and left the room. There was no division between stools, but the bath was empty except for me.
I closed my left hand, and every single finger obeyed me. The Holone fruit had repaired my damaged tendons, but my body was far from recovered. I still felt like the Iceshard Matriarch had ran over me. I removed the bandages to find deep scars along my arm. Burn marks covered my fingers—not fashionable ones—and purple and green bruises followed the trail of the mana from my left arm across my chest and into my right arm. Luckily, my right hand was fully intact despite the mana lighting.
The Holone Grapes intrigued me. Unlike Alchemist potions, they weren’t the product of a System Class, yet they worked miracles. And without toxicity! Like orcs, elves had ways to create kingdoms without the assistance of the System. Introducing those methods to Ebros Kingdom might be a permanent fix to Corruption. The Lich’s words echoed in my mind. Bigger and meaner things live in the Deep Farlands. Even if I managed to steal the secrets behind the Holone Grapes, I doubted any human would surrender the powers of the System for the greater good.
I washed my body, deep in thought.
Fixing Corruption was one of my lesser problems. The Lich knew about the Access Rune, which meant I had a target painted on my back. My mere presence in Umolo threatened the orc tribes and everyone around me. I had hoped the tribes would protect the kids while I dealt with the Lich and the Access Rune, but the Warchief’s orders crushed that hope. There was no place for the kids other than by my side.
I closed my eyes, letting the water wash the accumulated filth away.
Until now, all my victories had been the product of chance. The Lich underestimated me for a second time, but I doubted that would happen again. I needed control. Runeweaving on the fly might not be enough to net a victory next time, and I didn’t want to pull another stunt like carving runes in my own body again. I examined my hand. The Vampiric Rune was fading away. I let out a sigh of relief. It was a small victory, but I would take it.
My best bet was to use [Rune Identification] on the enchanted ring and Ilya’s Cooldown Bow and hope I could scrape some useful runes.
The bathroom door opened, and I heard heavy steps against the rock—an orc. Little One, maybe? I turned my head to find Dassyra wrapped in a towel as big as a carpet. She sat on the stool behind me, so we were back to back. She turned several faucets.
“Your elven friend seems very interested in you. He has been creeping around the baths since you entered, but don’t worry, my men are securing the perimeter,” she said, her voice drowned by the water running. “Is he trustworthy?”
“No. Not trustworthy,” I replied as soon as I recovered from the surprise. “But he isn’t a threat either. I thought they might be useful if I had to fight against the Forest Warden.”
“Good call. Elves have capable warriors,” Dassyra said, putting her towel to the side and leaning into the faucet. “Wolf updated me about your situation. You are deep in skeeth shit, Rob. Janus played you well, and I know the System gave you a mission.”
I sighed. It was even worse than that, and I felt terrible for putting the orc tribes in the line of fire between me and the Lich.
“The Lich is chasing me, Dassyra. I have an Access Rune. It allows its user to modify the System. If the Lich gets it, the whole kingdom might be in even deeper skeeth shit,” I replied.
“Can’t you modify the System to give you a Lich-killing skill?” Dassyra said.
The way she casually waved off my problems almost made me laugh. “The Lich will search for me and use all the resources available to get me. Umolo is in danger, and no, I don’t have some magic Lich-killing skill. I don’t want to touch the System and break it.”
“Well, Robert. The more enemies, the more honor for the tribe,” Dassyra replied, and I knew she considered that particular matter closed. “If you join my scouts, I can give you two weeks in Umolo. After that, I don’t think I can keep disobeying Warchief Callaid’s orders… unless a leadership change occurs.”
I knew Dassyra was smiling.
“I’m not here to stage a coup,” I replied, wondering how serious she was about the ‘leadership change’.
I shoved those thoughts aside and focused on more pressing matters. Two weeks to get stronger and improve my runeweaving wasn’t the worst deal I had accepted. Since college, working with impossible deadlines was second nature to me. Besides, something in Dassyra’s voice told me she had something planned. I didn’t ask and decided to enjoy the cold water.
“How did the meeting with Wolf go?”
“Awful,” Dassyra replied. “He told me you were more of a parent to him in half a year than I was in the last seven, which I probably deserve. He then left to tend to the wounded warriors. Still, I’m happy. You have made him strong. Wolf is growing into a fine orc.”
I couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty.
“The laws of the tribe are wise. There is no place for the weak in the Farlands, so half-blooded orcs should be left with humans until they gain their orcish strength. They stand between two worlds, so it’s better to let them choose freely. Seven and a half years in the tribes. Seven and a half years with humans,” Dassyra said.
“Wolf couldn’t choose,” I pointed out.
“He did, and he chose well. If Wolf had left his friend Ilya to die, I wouldn’t have accepted him in the tribe,” Dassyra replied, her voice dropping. “The Farlands have become more dangerous in the last decade, and I’m unsure about the future of the tribes. We have lost many warriors, but Warchief Callaid is as prideful as he is stubborn and refuses to make Umolo our permanent home.”
I noticed a hint of sadness in her voice.
After a moment of silence, I spoke again. “Aren’t you mad about Wolf’s Class?”
“Samuel Byrne taught me to see things from another perspective. We orcs put the tribe over the individual, but I realize that’s not the only way of living,” Dassyra shrugged. “Even now, after the tribe rejected him, he is healing our wounded warriors. We reject the System, but we never seem to reject the fruits of other people’s sacrifice.”
An idea popped into my mind.
“You don’t object to using items created by System users then?” I asked.
“No. We are open to trade with the people of Farcrest if the winter kills our crops or we are in dire need of weapons. Warchief Callaid even has a few enchanted rings,” Dassyra said. “Why?”
I grinned. “It’s nothing. Just an idea.”
“I don’t know if I like where this is going. Byrne used to say the same.” Dassyra wrapped herself in her towel. “Get ready to fight, Rob. If you want those two weeks, you better show the tribe you can carry your weight. And they aren’t easily impressed.”
Dassyra left the bath, and I waited a few seconds before getting dressed. The idea was taking shape in my mind. I asked the old orc if I could take the basket with the bandages and ointment, and he nodded as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I took a step outside, and Ilya appeared behind the basket of pelts. The orc's clothing was too big for her, making her look even smaller than she was.
“Is Wolf’s mother mad at me?” She asked, defeated.
“Nobody is, Ilya. Don’t beat yourself over it. It’s not like you could avoid the Mana Stalker hitting you,” I said, patting her shoulder.
She didn’t seem convinced.
“But Wolf—”
“Wolf wasn’t sure if he wanted to return to the tribes. He’s like his father. Curious. He wants to see the world, far and wide,” I said. “And the world needs good healers now more than ever.”
Ilya nodded and gave me a quick hug.
“So, what now?” She asked.
“Now, we prepare to kill every monster between us and the orphanage.”