10 Minutes Earlier…
Rhatheth, Daggerfall.
14 th Banem, 1092.
A flock of migrating birds gently flew over Daggerfall’s tropical grasslands. Every year, they would relocate to Ederwood’s tropical rainforests to escape Markoth’s harsh cold. Then, when the month of Banem arrived, they would begin the long journey back home. Their migratory path took them through the tropical grasslands of Daggerfall, a region these migratory birds did not fancy because of its lack of trees.
“Hahaha! Grovitch, you shit stain! You bagged yourself a big one!”
Euphoric laughter booming across the hated land drew the flock’s attention. The birds looked down, but then instantly increased their speed when they spotted the cluster of green-skinned creatures walking across the field. Within moments, no traces remained in the vicinity.
On the ground, the laughter was revealed to have originated from one of two orc hunting parties on their way back from their latest expedition. The hulking green masses trekked alongside their giant boar mounts, laughing as they compared the newest catch against the other party’s. This mission had lasted an entire week. That was a week spent scouring for prey during the day and sleeping under the stars at night. The Orcs missed their warm straw beds. They could not wait to return home and go several rounds with their women.
Daggerfall’s grasslands lacked the widespread exotic beasts found in the region. The land’s hot and humid climate, coupled with its sparse rainfall, meant few creatures chose this place as their home. However, the abundant grasslands made it a haven for herbivores. The Orcs made this place their home for centuries as they sought to escape the world’s eyes.
Several millennia had passed since Ferulic designed the first Orcs from the vilest of humish desires. When they were first created, Orcs knew nothing but slaughter and mayhem, and they did indeed plunge the world into chaos, which garnered much hatred from other humes.
Fortunately, the passing of centuries continually diluted the madness within the Orkish bloodline. Roughly one-thousand years to this day, a mysterious man helped the Orcs purify their bloodline. This action directly promoted the Orcs from being labeled as savages on the levels of kobolds to a sentient race that could take their place next to the other humes.
However, the world was not ready to forgive the orcs for their past crimes just because they had become sentient creatures. If anything, the orcs’ sentience meant they could finally get to enjoy watching the orcs wallow in pain at losing their loved ones. But as fate would have it, the orcs did not lose their strength or battle lust even after turning sentient.
The orcs were all too happy to engage the other races in a prolonged war that resulted in heavy losses on all sides. Eventually, the world leaders realized the pointlessness of the bloodshed and came to an agreement with the orcs. Daggerfall’s lands were ceded to the orcs in return for the orcs’ promise to never step out of it.
The orcs agreed to this arrangement. The entire Orkish tribe packed up and moved to Daggerfall. Upon arriving at the land, they split up into dozens of nomadic tribes spread across the country. These nomadic tribes would sometimes run into each other on the grasslands, and be forced to contest over a hunting ground.
In the past, both tribes would fight until one was utterly routed. The new tradition, however, was that a few selected individuals from each tribe would do battle. The winners would claim the hunting grounds while the losers would have to continue searching for a new hunting ground.
This way, the orkish tribes ensured their fighting prowess did not decline despite the relative peace.
The village of Rhatheth was one such nomadic village. The orcs walked alongside their giant boar mounts as they laughed and boasted about the looks of ecstasy on their women’s faces and the loud cries of pleasure that would make their neighbors jealous. Each orc claimed he was the manliest ‘man’ amongst the group, with some going so far as to display their excellent ‘thrusting’ game.
“Stop!”
The orcs’ boisterous atmosphere seized as one of the party leaders raised his hand. The leader’s eyes narrowed as he peered into the horizon. “Grovitch. Is that smoke I see?”
The orc called Grovitch was the leader of the second party. He stepped forward with a waraxe balanced on his shoulder and squinted as he too peered into the horizon. His features instantly twisted as panic shook his heart. “Durst, That’s smoke! But, the village’s still so far away. Why do we see smoke from here?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t like it,” Durst replied, his voice tense with worry. “Hurry!” He roared and quickly jumped onto his mount.
By now, the trailing orcs could also see the smoke on the horizon. Panic seized their hearts, as the orcs quickly mounted their boars and chased after Durst’s back.
Durst’s breathing grew haggard, and his eyes turned red as the village came into view. Indeed the smoke was coming from the town! The thick plumes of smoke were too eye-catching in the plains. Durst’s heart leaped to his throat as a terrifying notion took root in his mind. “Riyhad! Merthyl! Please be safe!” The orc captain cried out as he pushed the giant boar far beyond its limits.
Durst paled once he was within three hundred meters of the village. Fire and smoke scorched the land and consumed many huts. The perimeter walls had crumbled to dust, and corpses dotted the earth around the perimeter. The orc captain jumped off his giant boar once reached the village bounder and examined a nearby body with a grim look.
Grovitch dismounted and walked up to his friend’s side. He took in the gruesome scene with a stony gaze. “This was a massacre.”
“They were assassinated,” Durst corrected. He pointed at the orcs’ necks. “One clean cut each. The enemy is skilled.”
“Enemy? You think one person did all this?” Grovitch looked at the long stretch of bodies.
“I’m certain,” Durst said as he pointed at three nearby corpses. “The cuts are uniform across at least four bodies. The same blade used with the same technique. Unless the enemy can clone himself, this is the only reasonable explanation.”
“This was not done by an orc.” Grovitch’s voice cracked, and he suddenly paled. He would not have been as worried if orcs did this. There existed unwritten codes of conduct in Orkish communities for the rare chance that an orc tribe was driven to the point of desperation that they needed to raid another tribe. The raiding tribe shall only kill until their target was subdued and women and children were not to be harmed.
Grovitch had initially assumed this was the doing of a nearby orc tribe, but Durst just confirmed that wasn’t the case. Would that not mean his children could be in danger? “Durst. I’ve got to check on the kids. You should see if your wife and daughter are—”
“Aaaah!”
A loud wail filled with pain, misery, and rage nearly tore out their eardrums. One scream turned to five, then ten, until they could no longer figure out just how many people were shouting.
Durst’s face twisted with worry. He turned to look at Grovitch who wore a very similar expression. “Where are the men?”
“I sent them into the village to search for survivors,” Grovitch said. His eyes suddenly turned red with rage as a thought surfaced in his mind. “Do you think they were ambushed?”
“Only one way to find out,” Durst said as he rose to his feet. He nodded at his friend, and they both grabbed their war axes before running into the village.
Durst’s eyes scanned the village streets as they ran toward the source of the screams. His brows furrowed in confusion as he realized he could not find signs of any corpses despite the burning buildings. Did the enemy kidnap their people? The orc captain’s eyes burned with fury.
If they dared to harm a hair on his daughter!
The orc captains recognized the source of the screams to be the village square. Both men picked up the pace, and after rounding the corner, they finally had the village square in view. However, they were stunned to find their path blocked by the orcs from the hunting party, all of whom had their head raised, bellowing in equal parts despair and rage. Some orcs sat listlessly on the earth, their gazes empty and bleak. These broken spirits were ready to give up on life at that moment.
Durst once again experienced an upheaval in his heart. What in the world could make so many brave warriors scream out this way? Dark clouds covered the orc captain’s heart as he attempted to push his way through the crowd.
The wailing orcs were about to unleash their anger on the rude bastard pushing them, but their expressions changed when they realized it was their captains. Their subsequent actions only served to increase the worry in Durst’s heart.
“Captain! Don’t go! Captain!” The orcs shouted with pain and tears as they struggled to hold back Durst and Grovitch.
The captains were not stupid. The terrifying truth began to take root in their minds as they absentmindedly pushed their men out of the way. Both orc captain’s eyes were as heavy as stone, their noses stinging with the sharp smell of fresh blood. They needed to confirm this truth for themselves.
“Captain!”
“Stop! Captain!”
“Please wait, Captain!”
By this point, even the listless orcs had begun holding back the captains. The orcs desperately did their best to prevent their captains from entering the village square. Unfortunately, both Durst and Grovitch were captains for a reason. They successfully pushed their way into the village square, where a bone-chilling sight greeted them.
Mountains of corpses filled up the square. Old, young, infants, women, men… hundreds of corpses were piled up amongst thick smoke and fire. Thick blood flowed between these mountains, gushing like a river toward the plains. At the center of these mountains, a group of orcs was hurrying to untie some headless bodies that had been hoisted on poles.
“AAAH!” Grovitch’s cry tore through the village as he recognized three children on the poles. “Mutch! Drackt! Fundu!” Grovitch called out to his sons, but how were they to answer their father’s calls without their heads? Grovitch ran over and pushed the orcs who had been trying to untie the bodies out of the way.
The orcs had been trying to remove the bodies from the pole with as much care as possible, but Grovitch in his current state did not care about any of that. With a swing of his ax, the poles came crashing down, bringing his children’s corpses with them.
Luckily, the orcs he pushed away recognized the danger and caught the pole before it hit the ground. They proceeded to gently lay the pole on the ground, and quickly untie the children. They then stepped aside as Grovitch grabbed the tiny bodies and hugged them to his chest. “I’ll kill them! I’ll slaughter them all! Daddy promises you! I will not rest until I find the ones who did this! I will bring you their heads! I promise! I promise! I promise!”
Grovitch’s men raised their heads and bellowed in rage alongside their captain. This was a sin that must be washed in blood. No one would rest until they found the culprits!
A few meters away from Grovitch, Durst watched as his men cut down his wife and child’s bodies from the pole then gently place them on the ground in front of him. Durst knelt to the ground, hollow eyes looking at the bone bracelet on his daughter’s left.
“Hehe, everyone’s going to be so jealous!”
“Do not take pride in other’s jealousy.”
“Daddy, why are your tusks so big?”
“It’s because daddy is strong.”
“Daddy who’s stronger? You or Uncle Grove?”
“Hmph. I’m ten times the orc that bastard is.”
“Daddy. I wanna be a warrior when I grow up.”
“Heh, I’ll train you until you’re the best.”
“Daddy. The boys said love is weak. Am I weak? I love you.”
“If that is true, your father is the weakest man of all. I love you more than anything in this world.”
Durst’s men broke down as they watched their captain converse with the bodies of his wife and children. They had never seen their leader so vulnerable. It felt like he would directly crumble to dust under the slightest pressure.
Contrary to their expectations, Durst rose to his feet after taking the bracelet from his daughter’s arm. His eyes regained a sharp glint as he looked at his men. “Their heads?”
The orcs shook their heads. “We didn’t find any. They may have taken them as trophies.”
“I see,” Durst muttered and shook his head. “Burn the bodies. A great evil has taken place here. We cannot let our people suffer after death. Also were there any survivors?”
“Just one,” the orcs reported. “He was heavily injured and could barely speak. Luckily, our healer managed to keep him alive long enough to utter a single word.”
“What did he say!?” Grovitch roared.
“Dwarfs.”
“Dwarfs!” Grovitch roared with rage as realization dawned. “Those ungrateful bastards! We tolerate their presence, and they reward us with this! I’ll kill them all! I’ll slaughter them till the last man!” As his rage reached a fever peak, Grovitch suddenly realized he had not heard a word from his friend. He looked at Durst, only to see him wrap his daughter’s bracelet around the grip of his favorite ax and calmly rise to his feet. “Hey! Are you not angry! Where are you going!?”
Durst turned to look at Grovitch. The emptiness in Durst’s eyes chilled his friend to the core. “What do you mean, where am I going?” Durst calmly retorted. “I know the enemy, and I know where they live. Where do you think I’m going?”
Grovitch’s eyes widened with shock. For the first time in the history of their friendship, Grovitch became the voice of reason. “What do you think you’re doing? Do you want to get yourself killed!? You think you can raid them all by yourself!?”
“What do you expect me to do!?” Durst cried out in rage. “Wait? Wait for what!?”
“At least wait until we conduct the rite of passage!” Grovitch shouted. “Who’s going to send off your family in your place!”
“Their heads are out there in some bastard dwarf’s basement! They can never pass on fully until I get those! There’s no time to waste!”
SKREEE!
Both orcs froze as a huge red hawk zipped down into the village.
The hawk perched on the arms of an orc beast tamer. The orc fed the bird some meat then took out the scroll tied to its leg. He hurriedly handed the letter over to Durst when he saw the seal on it.
Durst’s face paled as he read the contents of the letter.
“What happened!?” Grovitch could not wait any longer and demanded an answer.
“We were not the only villages hit this morning. An urgent meeting has been called to discuss countermeasures.”
Grovitch’s eyes narrowed. “Just how many were hit?”
Durst’s gaze hardened as he looked out into the horizon. “Every village in this region.”
!!!
Half an hour later, Rhatheth’s hunting party solemnly stood around a mountain formed from all the corpses in the village. Smoldering embers burned in the orcs’ eyes as Grovitch and Durst approached the pile with a torch in their hand.
Durst’s eyes gleamed with hardened resolution as he knelt in front of the hill. “We failed to protect you. But rest easy, I swear we’ll bring those responsible to you for judgment. Until then, sleep for a bit.”
Durst placed the torch at the base of the hill. Elephant grass caught the flames and spread it up the mountain.
“Wait for me,” Grovitch muttered in a grave tone and threw his torch onto the mountain.
After Grovitch and Durst walked away, two orc shamans chanted a spell and stomped their staffs on the ground. A flaming rose flower sprang up from the field and engulfed the mountain within its petals. Plumes of black smoke rose to the skies, and if one listened carefully, they could almost hear the wailing of unresigned souls.
Similar scenes played out in numerous villages around that region, the wails of the deceased creating dense dark clouds that hung over the region and blotted out the sun.
The orcs in Rhatheth stood still amidst the crackling of flesh. Smoke and ash burned their eyes, and the pungent stench of burning flesh stung their sensitive noses, but the orcs did not move a muscle until the hill crumbled into a pile of ash.
The orcs, led by Grovitch and Durst, rubbed the ash all over their skin. They would carry their family’s vengeance with them until those responsible lay dead at their feet. Only then would they be free of this debt.
Durst and Grovitch shared a look then led their brothers out of the village. They mounted their warboars and pushed toward the only city large enough to hold all the orcs in the region, the great Orkish City, Oerbora.
Oerbora
The Orkish city, Oerbora, was a testament to the evolution of the orcs as a city and culture. The city’s ten-meter stone walls were built brick by brick by their ancestors, who sought a safe haven for the tribe in this deadly land. Over time, it grew from being a simple hideout to a trade city for the orcs.
Orcs in the region traveled from far and wide to trade spoils from their hunts for medicine and other provisions. In turn, the city sold the items to the wisben from Ederwood in exchange for precious materials required for the production of these goods. The wisbens even had a special district allocated to them. It was markedly much more beautiful and stylish than the rest of the city.
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In prime orkish fashion, the city also housed an arena where orcs battled against each other and captured beasts. After all, no matter how ‘civilized’ orcs got, they would always put strength above everything else.
Today, a grave atmosphere hung over the usually boisterous city. The typically rowdy orcs wore stony glares and had their hands tightly gripped around their weapons. The news of the massacres had spread to the public.
Many orcs here had family in the attacked villages. Words could not explain the rage boiling within them. They only needed the name of the responsible party, and they would immediately launch an attack.
The orcs had no idea that within the wisben district, a young woman sat at a table and nodded as she received reports of a successful mission. Th e contemplative wisben, dressed in a set of plain brown robes ha d a pair of deep-set eyes the color of ripe lemons and peach-colored, thick, straight, neck-length hair that she wore in a severe style.
This young woman was Nakahara Akiko, tactician for the Winter Leaf Clan. Her in-game persona was a wisben mage that went by the name, Honne Onna. She was the woman in charge of their latest operation, and she was more than pleased by the result.
A massive, intimidating nordic man with the aura of an unavoidable bloodhound stood by her right. A pair of almond-shaped burning, orange eyes glared at the wisbens that came to give the report. The man sported a red mohawk and was garbed in tough leather armor that evoked thoughts of wild barbarians. This man was Takahiro Ken, the muscle of Winter Leaf Clan, and went by the in-game moniker, GrizzlyDiamond.
A tall, mature, elegant wisben sat at Honne Onna’s left, deep-set emerald-like green eyes lit up with a smile as she regarded the messengers. She was dressed in traditional, elven armor, and her delicate, straight, white hair trailed down her back like a ribbon. This woman, Yamazaki Hitomi, was the eldest in their real-life team, Siver Spear, and bore the in-game moniker ‘Rustyreaper,’ named after the personification of pain spirits.
GrizzlyDiamond’s bushy eyebrows furrowed as he listened to the reports. He looked at Honne-Onna with confusion in his eyes. “Why did you change the plan?”
Honne-Onna’s thin lips curled upwards in a cold smile. “I just figured, why waste our strength when we can make them kill each other?” She looked at Rustyreaper, who was admiring a dagger in her hand. “How did it go?”
“I made sure to leave one alive,” Rustyreaper replied with a small smile.
“What? Why!?” GrizzlyDiamond questioned with shock on his face. “I thought you said we shouldn’t leave any survivors.”
“Yeah, that was your order,” Honne-Onna confirmed. “But I gave Rusty-san a different task. She had to make sure someone survived long enough to report the last thing he saw, but not so long that he would be able to report everything that happened in the village.” She looked at GrizzlyDiamond with a smile. “Do you think you could’ve accomplished such a delicate task?”
“Probably not,” GrizzlyDiamond admitted with a laugh as he scratched the back of his head. “So, why did you do that?”
“To pin the blame on the dwarfs,” Rustyreaper answered. “Those dumb orcs are blind with rage right now. They’ll lash out at anything and anyone, let alone when there are witnesses.”
“Mm, I understand,” GrizzlyDiamond muttered. “Your shape-shifting would’ve been perfect for the job.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Rustyreaper complained and scrunched his nose in disgust. “I never want to shift an orc ever again.”
“Don’t worry, Rusty-san,” Honne-Onna chuckled as she consoled the older woman. “Grizzly’s the star of the next round.”
GrizzlyDiamond’s eyes lit up in delight. “Oh? What do I have to do?”
Honne-Onna’s light yellow eyes gleamed with a cold light. “What you do best of course. Massacre a bunch of fools.”
“Perfect!” GrizzlyDiamond cheered as a prodigious amount of ki burst out of him.
Honne-Onna smiled and looked out of the window to the streets below. She watched the tense orcs with a cold smile. “Struggle for as long as you can, maggots.”
Lymar Village,
Kirkcour Woods.
Achoo!
A puzzled expression appeared on Kashi’s face as he sneezed. Hm? Was somebody talking about him? The daeben revealed a smug look. ‘Well, it can’t be helped if I’m that famous.’ Kashi chuckled inwardly as he absent-mindedly toured the centaur village atop Drixlia.
As was to be expected of a tribe of centaurs, most of their buildings were twice the size of a typical home. They bore a striking resemblance to large barns from the exterior. As it was with most woodland tribes, the houses were constructed with thatch and wood.
Why was Kashi going through the village on horseback?
Earlier that day, Kashi’s tour took him through the central market where he first faced the shame of being a daeben in a centaur community. The stalls were as tall as his head, which forced him to stand on his toes if he wanted to look at the goods. A few centaurs laughed when they saw him and offered to carry him, but Kashi vehemently refused this.
Since then, the daeben went everywhere on Drixlia’s back, so he was not forced to look up at everything. The centaurs warmly welcomed Kashi into the community and willingly explained their complex cultures to the daeben. The warm reception was not without merit. Every centaur in the village knew about the daeben’s role in saving the chief’s son from certain death.
“Kashi-dono.”
Kashi looked over his shoulder to see two centaur guards with their right fists clasped in their left palms. Kashi smiled and returned the salute. “Is it time?”
The senior guard’s eyes lit up in delight at Kashi’s salute. “Yes, Kashi-dono. The council is ready to meet you. I apologize for the delay.”
“It is fine,” Kashi said with a laugh. “I know how these things work. Can I get my companions?”
“Do not worry, Kashi-dono. Guards have been sent to pick them up.”
“Oh? That’s good then,” Kashi remarked. “Lead the way.”
“If you will.”
Kashi followed and eventually came across a beautiful life-sized statue of a strange centaur with the upper body of a satyr that held a spear that looked very similar to the one Darian had. The figure proudly stood at the village center in front of a large barn with numerous text written in an unfamiliar language etched into its walls. The guards stopped at the entrance and motioned for the daeben to continue on his own.
Kashi spurred Drixlia, and the duo crossed the threshold into a typical village meeting hall. The council of elders was, as expected, a gathering of all the old farts in the village. The centaurs formed a semi-circle whose base was close to the entrance. At the head, located at the other opposite wall, was the tribal chief of the centaurs. A small gap at the bottom of the semi-circle allowed Drixlia to trot to the room’s center, where they met Larsial, Shadow, and Darian.
Kashi’s eyes narrowed as he noticed a fresh set of injuries on the warrior’s back. He knew he had healed the centaur to full health without leaving any scars. Darian definitely got those scars after he came to deliver his report. However, there were no signs of resentment in the young stallion’s eyes, so Kashi chose not to pursue it.
Kashi turned his attention to Shadow and Larsial, who, unfortunately, did not get the memo to arrive on their horses. Kashi sent a gloating smirk Shadow’s way. The assassin coldly regarded the daeben as he slightly pulled out his dagger from its sheath.
‘Uwah... Scary, scary.’ Kashi made a mental note never to tease Shadow in the future. He was no Hektor. Kashi could not confidently state Shadow would not do something to him in his sleep in retaliation.
“Kashi-dono, for the favor you have given us, our village will always be in your debt,” the chief saluted and humbly thanked the daeben.
Kashi looked at the chief. Indeed, he could see the resemblance between the old man and Darian. He imagined Darian would look somewhat similar if he grew a beard and lost a bit of the rashness in his eyes. The chief’s warm eyes exuded wisdom gained over a long life. “No, no. I only did what any honorable warrior would have,” Kashi laughed as he returned the salute. “This is an auspicious day. There is no need to ruin it with talk of debts.”
“Mm, you are correct,” the chief mused. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure of introducing myself. I am called Mando Alshmeer. The foolish boy you saved is my only son. Please allow me to thank you at least as a father.”
Kashi smiled and nodded. “I accept. One day, I will come to collect this debt.” The daeben’s eyes glowed as he spread his arms out wide. “I’ll ask for about this much!”
Mando Alshmeer’s eyes went wide then he burst out in laughter when he realized the daeben was teasing him. “Fine, as you wish. I will not speak of debts. But if you do not mind my asking, and I apologize for my rudeness,” Mando said as his eyes slightly narrowed. “But why have you really come to our village?”
“Straight to business, huh,” Kashi chuckled.
“Apologies, the times are as you see them. We do not have time to do things the usual way.”
“No, no. This works out perfectly for me,” Kashi revealed with a smile. “I detest all those bureaucratic stuff anyway.” The daeben’s eyes flashed as he patted Drixlia’s mane. “I seek a method to improve my partner’s bloodline if you please.”
Mando’s eyes hardened. “And you believe we can help with this? Why?”
“Were you not the one who said you do not have the time for the regular rope skipping games?” Kashi teased. “Why start now? Just tell me. Can you help me or not?”
Mando’s gaze searched Kashi’s eyes for any clues but could not find the doubt he was searching for. “You seem to know a lot about our culture.”
Kashi shook his head. “Not so much. I only have knowledge of the era one thousand years ago. I cannot express how delighted I was when I found out you had not abandoned your tradition.”
“I see,” Mando muttered. “Let me take a look.” Mando’s eyes suddenly glowed with green light as he examined Drixlia. “Sweet Mera, this stallion! Its genes are excellent!” Mando praised as he stared at Drixlia in disbelief. “Where did you find him?”
“Bought him at a stable near Kerta,” Kashi replied.
“Sweet Mera, what luck,” Mando exclaimed with a sigh. “Yes, yes, if the genes are this good, we can indeed help improve its bloodline.” The chief shook his head and sighed. “Unfortunately, it is impossible.”
Kashi’s brow shot up. “Why is that?”
“The ritual requires five shamans,” Mando explained. “One lives in our tribe, but the other four are in different clans within the forest.”
“Why is that a problem?”
“The other clans are under attack by the blight as we speak,” Darian said, speaking for the first time since Kashi entered the hall. The daeben had almost forgotten the centaur’s voice. “My father is wary of sending troops to assist them.”
“Darian! You have yet to complete your atonement!” Mando roared at his son, eyes burning with anger. “You will not speak unless spoken to!”
Kashi watched as Darian slunk back and hung his head. Ah, the classic new generation vs. old generation clash of ideals. “What does he have to atone for?”
Mando glared at his son as he said, “He stole the village’s sacred weapon and caused the deaths of six brave warriors by embarking on an unsanctioned task. In normal times, he would have been immediately exiled for such behavior.”
“But right now, you need all the hands you can get. Is that it?”
Mando nodded. “Exactly. I am loathed to admit it, but my boneheaded son is the best warrior we have in the village, and a lot of the younger generation look up to him. An exile at this time would be detrimental to the well-being of the tribe.”
Kashi’s brows rose once again. “In that case, how about I take him with me to liberate those villages. Is that fine?”
“You wish to take Darian alongside you?” Mando asked with a frown.
“I need a guide anyway, so I don’t get lost,” Kashi said with a light shrug. “I’m already used to him, and he can handle himself in a fight. You can consider it a part of his punishment.”
Mando looked at his son. “Do you believe this man has what it takes to liberate our brothers?”
Darian nodded with a grim look in his eyes. “If even he cannot, nobody can.”
“I see.” Mando focused his attention on the daeben. “My son will be in your care then.”
“Leave it to me.” Kashi nodded. “More importantly, do you have a graveyard? I believe it is time we laid those brave soldiers who fought alongside your son to rest.”
Kashi’s words reminded the chief of the matter he had forgotten. Mando quickly ordered his people to begin preparations for a hero’s funeral.
Kashi watched the bustling streets, and a strand of inspiration hit. He took out a sketchpad and pencil from his inventory and began a brand new sketch.