"Your Majesty, wouldn't it be better for us to return to Gorkaki for some rest before continuing to Shaxai instead of chase Korath?" The orc shamaness asks.

I ignore the insolent question.

Instead of flying through the mountains, we are skirting around them until we reach the point where Korath's lair should be. We will pass through a significant part of Darog's territory, particularly the mines. It's a much longer route, but less troublesome than flying through snowy mountain peaks.

We could have flown along the coast of the bay of Zord, but Sarak wanted us to go through Darog territory, so if something happened, we could return to Gorkaki more easily.

[https://i.imgur.com/eRLnMn2.jpg]

The shamaness sighs as she clings to the scales on my back.

"Perhaps it would be wise for us to stop for a rest before entering Korath's territory?" She insists.

"I agree, Your Majesty." Now Salutar joins her.

"Fine!" I give in. "We will stop when we spot a village."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." They both express their gratitude.

Maybe a few days of rest won't hurt. The past two months have been quite exhausting.

The mountains won't be going anywhere. Neither will Korath.

Furthermore, there are certain urgencies that I need to deal with. And I need Salutar to be well-rested to attend to them…

§ § § § § §

After some time, we spot a small village near the foothills of the mountains. It seems to be mainly composed of goblins, hobgoblins, and beastfolk. Despite being a remote settlement, they recognize my presence as soon as we land.

"Vareg Bahal," "Vareg Bahal." The villagers murmur in Goblinoid. It means "The Copper Emperor."

They start scurrying about, seemingly preparing the village hastily to receive me. We watch the commotion until the village elder finally comes to greet us.

"Vareg Bahal..." The goblin elder speaks while bowing to the ground. "Forgive our lack of preparation. Our village didn't expect such a visit. But tributes are already being prepared."

"Tributes?" Orc Sarak asks, intrigued.

"Accept our offerings as tribute for your generosity. Our sacrifice is humble but honest." He says, pointing to a male hobgoblin and a female goblin dressed in robes.

"They are pure. Accept them, and allow your blessing to continue over our village."

Oh, this kind of tribute.

It's common for intelligent beasts to demand sacrifices from villages to appease their hunger and wrath. At least it was until I took these lands.

"I didn't come to eat your people, elder. But I accept your hospitality. We are on a journey to the Montains of Korath and then to the Forest of Kasvil. Provide us with shelter and food. At least, a different kind of food..."

I say as I shift into my humanoid form. These country bumpkins see a wyvern flying towards them, and immediately they think I've come to eat their virgins.

"Ah... Of course, of course." He says, a bit startled as he sees me transform. Then, the old goblin dismisses the immaculate offerings and starts ordering the villagers to prepare food and a place for us to spend the night.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Salutar..." I call the trow caster. "I'm going to find a place to bathe. You should do the same." I order, a little embarrassed.

I admit that I've let these ungodly urgencies get the best of me. Sometimes, I condemn myself for acting like a beast in heat.

A rat that took a bite of expensive cheese and now can't live without it.

How low I've fallen... I'm sure wherever you are, Camilo, you're laughing and mocking me, aren't you?

But before anything else, a cold bath!

§ § § § § §

Sarak takes off her clothes and enters the water slowly. It's too cold.

The orc shamaness decided to bathe in a pond not far from the village. The moonlight gives her gray skin a silvery hue.

But she notices a sinister figure approaching. Who would dare to disturb an intimate moment of a priestess of Hashthir?

"Who's there?" Sarak asks.

She approaches the shore to grab her staff.

"It's me. Salutar" The trow reveals himself.

The orc quickly submerges her body to hide her intimate parts. Her physique is delicate for an orc, more like that of a human woman or even an elf. Quite different from the female orcs of the Vrared.

"I'm dying for a bath. Do you mind if I join you?" The trow asks with a mischievous smile.

"That would be inappropriate. Go and come back when I'm finished." She answers, embarrassed.

"What a shame. It's so cold near the mountains. I could warm the water for both of us..." He teases while a small flame rolls between his knuckles, like a coin.

The orc hesitates for a few seconds. Like elves, trows are known for their arrogance and beauty. And Salutar seemed to be above average even among his kind.

His dark purplish skin and bright yellow eyes made for an ethereal contrast. His gray hair shone in the same silvery hue under the moonlight. He looked like a creature from the Astral Plane.

As the trow mage turns his back and starts to walk away, the orc shaman changes her mind.

Hot water and a handsome boy were two things even she couldn't refuse in a place like this.

"Wait... You can join. As long as you warm the water." She says, embarrassed.

With a smirk on his face, Salutar starts to undress and enters the pond.

"It will only take a moment." He says as he begins to move his hands under the water. Small gas bubbles start to form as the temperature rises.

"Very nice, isn't it?" He asks after heating the water to a comfortable temperature.

"Yes…" Sarak answers, still embarrassed. "You're bolder than you seem." She comments.

"Why?" He asks, oblivious.

"Few men would dare to try to bathe with an orc priestess."

"Ah... Orcs from Darog are really soft. Years living among the goblins must have done that to you. If you were a trow lady, you wouldn't care. You'd probably invite me to bathe with you even without me asking."

"It's not about me being female. It's about me being a shamaness."

"And what's the point?"

"We are respected. While some of our ancestors in the Vrared tried in vain to fight the beasts of these lands, we decided to try to appease them. It was an orc shaman who convinced the unicorn herds to attempt coexistence with the goblinoids on the steppes. It was an orc shaman who persuaded Korath to spare Vermekh when she tried to sweep the city away with a storm. It was an orc shaman who convinced Akalani not to scorch this land."

"I see. You are quite persuasive."

"We are faithful."

"Like the kobolds?" He mocks.

"Our faith is not in Akalani. At least, not only in him. We believe that this world can be better. And that he can make the world better. The world as it should be."

"Haha."

"You have no faith, trow?"

"I do. But I'm not a fool. I grew up being ruled by tyrants. More than faith, I have fear." The trow grabs his arm as he confesses his concerns.

"I fear that he might decide my home is no longer useful and that our forests should become coal to fuel the hobgoblin forges and the gremlin workshops. I fear that he might judge my people as traitors because of the trows of Eskira. I fear that he might wake up someday in a bad mood and burn me to ashes."

"No! He would never do any of that. None of it." Sarak tries to comfort him as she strokes his face.

"How can you be so sure?"

"I have faith. And you?"

"I don't know..." He looks genuinely concerned. "But I think I can have faith in you." The mage gives the shamaness an affectionate look.

And she reciprocates.

The signs of affection quickly turn into lust.

Both of them inevitably surrender to the moment, watched by the moon.

However, near the pond, a creature resembling a chameleon also watches the scene, completely camouflaged. It climbs down from the tree and crawls away. Its body begins to contort as it takes on a humanoid shape.

The shape of an elf.

And once again, something seems to crack inside Jean.