Taking a walk always worked wonders for Francis’ mental wellbeing. Getting some fresh air and clearing his head (or removing someone else’s) was a good way to gain some perspective.

The moral solution to the orc problem was obvious. Killing them all before they could raid the capital seemed like the right thing to do. Unfortunately for Francis, he had fought in enough wars to know that things were rarely so simple.

From what he understood, the kingdom of Grumble had a history of invading or otherwise pissing off their neighbors. When things were going well, they went to war. When things were going badly, they went to war as well (usually with each other). It was more or less their default setting.

Currently the lords in charge were taxing and tariffing the hell out of all trade in the region. Francis knew that it was only a matter of time before they began waging economic warfare on his city. That was assuming they hadn't already started.

There were rumblings of big tariffs headed their way as well as a plan to rebuild Olympia. Both would hurt Brexis, which would in turn make things harder for his people. Francis couldn't allow that.

He had promised to resurrect Brexis and protect those under his care. That meant the Marine was obligated to consider every option before making a decision. He couldn't charge headfirst into a fight, or avoid one, without considering how it might affect his people.

Technically Francis was an officer, and worse yet, a high ranking one. He would have preferred to be just another grunt, doing grunt things with great enthusiasm. Instead he was deciding which nation to go to war with and considering the consequences of his actions.

The Marine didn't enjoy the added responsibility. Usually he had other people to deal with the consequences of his actions, like the brass or the UN. Francis had always assumed that if he ever truly screwed up, he would be too dead to care.

Apparently he was in charge now, and as much as it sucked, he was still going to do his duty. But the Marine didn't have to do it alone, or on an empty stomach.

Francis flagged down a guard who was on patrol. His feet had taken him most of the way down the mountain while his brain was otherwise occupied. “Hey, do we have any orcish restaurants here in Brexis?”

The rotund guard was happy to help. “Oh, yes. We have quite a few actually. Were you wanting something more simple, or was it fine dining you were after?”

“Orcs have fine dining?” Francis asked.

“Yes. They're quite known for it, in fact,” the guard informed him, “Of course, most of the staff at those establishments are humans or elves. Apparently there is no greater sign of orcish culinary genius than farming out all the heavy lifting to others.”

There was a slight hint of humor in the overweight guard’s face, but no obvious malice. “Personally, I prefer the other kind of orcish establishment. They have good beer, and the food may be bland, but at least it's cheap and hearty. Things can get a bit rough when there is a tournament though. You have to watch out for that.”

“Tournament?” Francis asked, “Like a sporting event?”

The guard shuddered. “Don't ask. It's practically a national pastime for them. They tend to get a bit over excited when one is going on, but it usually dies down quickly afterwards.”

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“Noted,” said the Marine, “I don't suppose I could persuade you to show me the way to one of these orcish restaurants. It would be my treat.”

The man nodded to himself as he considered it. “Well, things are quiet enough, as per usual. I don't think old Sir Auldric would mind if I escorted the big boss around the city for a bit. My name is Chance, by the way.”

The Marine stuck out his hand. “I'm pleased to meet you, Chance. My name is Francis.”

***

They stood in front of what looked like a pub, but had the longest name Francis had ever seen. “I wonder if they spent more money on wood, or paint?”

Chance chuckled. “It's an orcish tradition. Names are important to them.”

“It's still a bit long,” Francis pointed out. He preferred bars and restaurants with simple names, like “The Pit” or “The Zoo”.

“Everyone just calls it ‘The Toe’. There's no reason to say the whole thing out loud. That would be silly,” Chance said as he led the way inside.

The King’s Second Cousin’s Brother’s Son’s Distal Phalanx (otherwise known as “The Toe”) was a cozy establishment. There were plenty of open tables and an orc wearing suspenders standing behind the bar.

Orcs, as Francis had learned, came in all shapes and sizes. Their green pigmentation was apparently the result of some kind of dye, which had an unknown cultural significance. He didn't think too much about it. Everyone had their quirks.

The orc behind the bar was tall, with broad shoulders. He stood somewhere between “fuck off big” and ridiculous. Francis wasn't sure what level the orcish bartender was, but he couldn't imagine that it was below ten. The Marine also spotted what he recognized as a military bearing.

“Welcome gentlemen,” the bartender said in a curiously soft voice, “What will you be having today?”

“Just the usual, Neil. Two meat pies and a liter of whatever is good.” Chance tried to pay, but Francis beat him to it.

“I'll have the same,” the Marine said, “My name is Francis, by the way.”

Neil gave the god a nod as he handed over their beers. “Yes, I thought it was you. I'm flattered to have the patriarch of our new home visiting my humble establishment.”

“Either that, or you're pissing yourself because this is a front,” Francis replied as he took a sip, “We used to do the same thing in my world. You make good beer. But your posture and how you hold yourself is a dead giveaway.”

The momentarily bartender froze. “Ah, I see. And would this be a friendly visit?”

“Extremely,” Francis assured him, “We’re going to drink our beers, eat our pies, and by the time we’re finished you're going to have one of your bosses come sit down with us.”

To his credit, the orc didn't fuck around or pretend to be innocent. Francis could admire that in a person. Straightforward was usually the way to his heart.

“Well, that could be arranged,” Neil said, “I suppose we could call it a ‘diplomatic back channel’ or something of the like. Give me a few minutes to get your pies and I'll go ring Mary to let her know you're here.”

Chance turned to face Francis once the orc was gone. His expression was priceless. “How in the twelve hells did you know that this was a front?”

The Marine laughed. “I can spot an old soldier from one and a half kilometers away, and they fucked up on the beer.”

“It tastes fine to me,” Chance said as he took another sip, “What's wrong with it?”

“It's too cheap. Most beer in Brexis is two for a silver. This stuff is imported. But it's still the same price, and they certainly aren't making their money back on the pies.”

Francis knew they were listening in, but he didn't care. The Marine made a mental note to go have a talk with Sir Auldric later. They needed to keep an eye out for any orcish pubs that immediately raised their prices.

A little while later Neil returned with their meat pies. Chance hesitated, but Francis wasn't worried about being poisoned. His gear made him immune, and it would be stupid of them to pass up an opportunity to talk. They could always try to kill him later if things didn't go well.

He did make sure to send a mental message to Willow with an update on what was going on. Francis might act a bit reckless from time to time, but he wasn't stupid.