Chapter 8
As the sun began to set, the group finished looting the remnants of the last orc horde, a group of over a hundred that they had easily dispatched.
"All that work with so little to show for it," the archer grumbled, restocking her quiver with enchanted arrows.
"Without insight into the math of the leveling system, we can only guess why," Pierce mused, searching for their next target. "Hell, we don't even know the level of these orcs."
"While I'm not tired, I don't think night hunting is a good idea," Ignis suggested, pulling out a lawn chair he'd scavenged earlier. "Let's find a place to rest for a bit."
"I concur," Pierce agreed, scanning the dimly lit city. "Your fire will bring every orc in Northwest Arkansas on top of us."
"I know a safe place nearby," Pierce announced, summoning his orange bicycle from his inventory. "Mount up!"
As the last rays of sunlight faded, the group ventured down a famous mountain bike trail, descending into a serene valley. A crystal-clear stream meandered to their left, while a network of intricate trails, adorned with jumps and berms, led towards a small lake, a popular gathering spot for local bikers.
The group slowed their pace as they approached a small alcove in the trail, where a lone campfire flickered. Pierce signaled his companions to draw their weapons and approach cautiously. As darkness enveloped the forest, the campfire became their sole source of light, casting eerie shadows across the surrounding terrain.
Peering around the large tree, the party witnessed an extraordinary sight. A massive female orc cradled the neck of an injured, ten-meter-long drake, her voice a soothing melody as she sang an unintelligible tune. The drake, its health dwindling, seemed to find solace in her touch.
The party approached cautiously, ready to react to any sign of aggression. The orc, sensing their presence, glanced up briefly, a flicker of recognition in her eyes, before returning to her mournful task.
"Hey there, who's your friend?" Pierce asked softly, his gaze drawn to the injured drake.
"I am Pierce, this is Evolon, Flint, and Ignis, and we are the Donner Party," Pierce introduced, pointing to each member in turn.
"Grok," the orc rumbled, her voice deep and guttural. "And this is Bromli. Now go ahead and finish us, get it over with."
The entire party was stunned. "Holy shit, they speak!" Evolon exclaimed.
"You are the first orc we have encountered that is willing or able to speak," Pierce remarked, raising his hands in a peaceful gesture. He signaled to his companions to stow their weapons.
Pierce cast a Basic Heal spell on the injured drake, Bromli. The spell restored 57 health points, but the drake's health percentage remained at a concerning 59%. He cast the spell again, bringing Bromli's health to 100%. He turned to the orc with a curious smile.
"You... you... why would you do this to us? We are sent to invade and dominate you. Why save us when killing is obviously within your means?" Grok asked, her head tilted in confusion.
"I am a healer," Pierce explained. "I heal you not as an enemy, but as a weary traveler in obvious need of help. By the way, let me top you off as well, so you understand our intentions are pure." He cast a healing spell on Grok, fully restoring her health.
"It matters not, for my life is forfeit," Grok replied, her gaze fixed on the fire.
"Why is that?" Pierce asked, as the group settled around the campfire.
"You see, I was never meant to be here," Grok explained, patting Bromli's side. "I am just the caretaker of these beautiful beasts, not a warrior or rider. Gringlon was out all night drinking and reported back to camp poisoned. I was to take his place, flying around dominating the air as the invasion proceeded below us."
"You seem like a nice orc," Pierce offered. "Can we make a trade? My group will help protect you and your drake if you can give us information." Pierce removed his gloves and warmed them by the fire.
"Pfft, where could we go that is safe? This excursion is going to march through your lands like an unstoppable wave upon the shore, wiping out any resistance like the grains of sand you are," Grok scoffed, reciting propaganda with practiced ease.
"Do you know the numbers behind your force, their levels, and what their goals are?" Pierce asked, not expecting much of an answer.
"Numbers you ask..." Grok mused. "Even though we had little time and funds to prepare, there are millions of orcs standing in formation on my home planet, waiting to march into battle for the single hope of finding it. They are tasked with procuring sustenance and bringing captives to the second gate for interrogation. What we seek is a highly guarded secret, but seeing how you wield that healing magic, I assume you already know." Grok growled, revealing her sharp fangs.
"Cadium?" Pierce whispered.
"Or its carriers... alive and at all cost," the orc replied.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
"Why alive?" Pierce pressed.
"Slay me and you shall find out," Grok hissed. "As I too am a carrier of the holy element. My unit has been passed down for more than a thousand generations as the clan Beast Master and trainer of the Flying Death!" She pointed to the small flag attached to the drake's tail, depicting a three-clawed hand slashing forward.
"Flying Death, that sounds like some fierce death from above shit!" Flint exclaimed, bowing his head in mock respect.
"We once flew in the thousands, scouring planets, killing and eating to our hearts' content," Grok reminisced. "But the leaders neglected us, and through attrition, our numbers dwindled. Their greed only paid for nine Drakes and riders for this excursion, as breeding or acquiring more Drakes is extremely costly. This is how the Beast Master of House Rishblavkoknush has fallen to die on this Manaless rock full of weak Humans."
"Was that you in the air fighting with those Jets? Their bullets seemed to bounce off without doing any damage at all," Pierce inquired politely.
"The Metal Beasts could not penetrate the shields of the Flying Death!" Grok explained. "But as a Trainer, I lack such magic, and their arrows caused much damage in little time. All of my children fell soon after their shield timers ended. I have a Motherlike bond with my Drakes, and Bromli here is the last alive in the clan. Without the Pack, there is no reason to continue living." She spoke resolutely, her gaze fixed on Pierce. "So all I ask in return for this trade is a quick end."
"Nonsense," Evolon interjected, her maternal instincts kicking in. "You are both strong, with or without a pack! Fight at our side and return the favor to those bastards that sent your children to their deaths without a care."
"What you say may be possible," Grok replied, "but Bromli is the last of his line, and I will not put him in harm's way. You have saved us, and for that, I owe you a life debt, but if any harm comes to my last child, I will slaughter you all with my last breath!" She glared at each party member, her eyes filled with a fierce determination.
"Can Bromli understand us, and does he understand distances like kilometers?" Pierce asked, a spark of inspiration igniting in his mind.
"You can tell him, and he will understand," Grok replied, petting Bromli's head.
"Two and a half kilometers to the north is a cave with a large sign that says 'Bike Park,'" Pierce instructed. "Bromli should be safe there. Just follow the paths marked 8, 7, 6, 2. We can then find a way to stop this invasion, maybe get our people back, and get your revenge all at the same time."
After a series of grunts, hisses, and clicks, Grok replied, "So you say, and so it will be."
Bromli, the drake, rose to his feet and with a powerful flap of his wings, soared into the night sky, circling the area once before heading north, disappearing into the darkness.
"I am eager for revenge, but do you have any sustenance I can eat, or do I need to hunt before we proceed?" Grok asked, her gaze fixed on the dark woods.
Pierce summoned a large bag of beef jerky and tossed it to the orc. "So, how did you know I am a Carrier?" Pierce asked, gauging the orc's knowledge of their magical capabilities.
"Carriers can sense one another," Grok explained. "The more you carry, the stronger the sense. Other clues were how you wielded your healing magic spells quickly so many times without waiting, and the ability to heal over one hundred health in two casts leads me to believe you are a carrier with a very high level, at least fifty or sixty."
"What if I were to tell you I had five Cadium?" Pierce asked.
"I would say you were either supremely lucky to have found five, or you managed to slay four others to gain their Cadium," Grok replied. "I would tell you to never let anyone know this, ever, or you will be hunted by much more than this paltry excursion with nowhere to hide until you are brought before the council, killed, and your magic distributed to those loyal to the council. But that being said, there is little chance you carry such power, as I have only ever met two carriers of five, and their power far exceeded yours, puny human." Grok laughed.
"What is the average amount of Cadium for a warrior?" Pierce asked cautiously.
"One, never more than one," Grok replied. "Far too precious and expensive to have more than one. Warriors do not dare kill a Carrier of Cadium or they will be seen as too powerful and will be killed themselves to redistribute the magic to more loyal warriors that know their place in the hierarchy. Only Lieutenants, Generals, World Leaders, and Council Members may have more than one. The rumor is the order is 2, 5, 10, and 20, not that I have ever seen more than five myself. Usually, their levels are so high it's tough to gauge how much of their power is Cadium and how much is attributed to levels." Grok explained, biting into the bag of jerky.
"This leveling system, what can you tell me about it? What is the maximum level?" Pierce inquired.
"Grok is only level 4," she explained. "I just took over as Beast Master, and leveling is strictly regulated within the clan so no one can challenge the leaders. My father chose to pass on the Cadium to me when he reached level 9, the maximum we Trainers are allowed to reach. I have seen level 20 Lieutenants, and heard of up to level 50, but there are rumors of a maximum level of 100, though with little proof behind them."
"The ability to sense the power of another comes with being a Carrier," Grok said. "I am sure you have felt it, even when you look at me. You should have a deep feeling of wrongness when you look at a being more powerful than yourself."
"I have felt no such feeling," London admitted. "If anything, this all feels far too easy, like we're going through the motions as orcs fall at our feet." His friends nodded in agreement.
"Your level must be 10 levels or higher than what you face then, the point where they are so easy you do not gain experience from them," Grok explained, a wide grin spreading across her face.
"That must be it," London realized. "Without asking, we have no way to tell the level of our enemies."
"Oh, these fodder are all level one inexperienced nooblings," Grok said. "I will accompany you and share what I know, but you are so powerful I doubt you need the likes of me in combat. Tomorrow I will follow from behind and observe, then figure out how I can best help the Lord Pierce, and the Mighty Donner Party!" she declared with a flourish.
The party chuckled. "We require four to six hours of sleep," London asked. "How about orcs?"
"Orcs are bred for battle," Grok explained, eating the whole bag of beef jerky, plastic and all "We require four hours of light work or two of sleep per day to remain at peak combat effectiveness."
"We will sleep in shifts," London replied. "And while I am touched at your proclamation of a life debt, I hope you are not offended by a Human always being on watch, just in case." His party members nodded in agreement.
"Trust is not easily earned in the clans," Grok said, closing her eyes. "But Honor is Honor, and a Life debt is a life debt. In time, you will come to know Grok's word is stronger than Crantium, and likewise shall never be broken."
The four party members silently played Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine the watch order, an old D&D habit now applied to their newfound reality. As the day drew to a close, they found themselves at the beginning of a strange and wonderful adventure, filled with magic and endless possibilities.