Chapter 71
Politics And The Life
Adom walked alongside Dojka, his curiosity piqued about her true strength. The village's rustic charm faded into the backdrop as he focused on her. He glanced at Dojka, intending to assess her level discreetly. In his mind, numbers began to crystallize, revealing her strength in the stark, numerical clarity the system afforded.
He expected her level to be impressive, certainly—perhaps sandwiched between Aroth's formidable 503 and Seka's near 400, a hierarchy of power he had assumed was rigid and telling. But the figure that flashed before him left Adom momentarily staggered. Level 704. The digits seemed to loom larger in his mind's eye, casting a long shadow over his previous assumptions.
Adom's steps slightly faltered, his mind racing. In the orc society, where strength dictated rank and leadership, Dojka's power placed her not just among the elite but at the very pinnacle, surpassing even Aroth, the closest contender to the title of lord. This revelation threw a wrench into the machinery of Adom's understanding of future events and the power dynamics he had anticipated navigating.
Dojka, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil she had instigated in Adom's mind, continued to lead the way, her stride confident and her demeanor calm. Yet, beneath her serene exterior, Adom now recognized a well of strength and capability that far exceeded what he had imagined.
"Is there something on your mind, immortal?" Dojka inquired, her voice cutting through his thoughts. She glanced at him, probably noticing the falter in his steps.
Adom's reply to Dojka was measured, a simple negation to quell any budding curiosity she might have had about his scrutinizing gaze. "No, it's nothing. I was just looking around," he said, his voice even, masking the whirlwind of thoughts her power level had spurred. He was playing a delicate game, balancing his need for information with the imperative to avoid suspicion.
As they walked, Adom steered the conversation toward the future, seeking to understand the orcish societal dynamics and perhaps, to piece together the fragmented image of the future he had. "Lady Dojka, from what I understand, you are General Aroth's sister, am I right?" he inquired, framing his question within the context of his limited knowledge.
Dojka's response came with a hint of amusement, "His older sister, yes. Why do you ask? Is there something about me in that future you came from?" Her words were light, but Adom sensed a depth of curiosity behind them.
Taking a moment to consider his words, Adom chose transparency, a gamble that might foster trust or, conversely, sow seeds of suspicion. "Well, I never saw you or heard your real name in the future, but it was said that the general had a right hand, his sister. You were famous during the war, as the Druidess general" he admitted, watching her carefully for any sign of reaction.
"I see..." Dojka mused, her expression unreadable. "I wonder... Do you perhaps have any knowledge about what happens to us Ka'ui in these events? Do we survive?" Her inquiry was straightforward, yet it carried the weight of genuine concern, not for her own legacy, but for the fate of her people.
"Yes, the Ka'ui survive." Adom responded succinctly to Dojka's inquiry. His affirmation seemed to carry weight, lifting an invisible burden from Dojka's shoulders.
Dojka's momentary silence was contemplative, her thoughts perhaps traversing the myriad possibilities of futures unseen. When she finally spoke, her voice was tinged with a relief that brightened her eyes, "That is good to hear," she said, a smile breaking through her facade.
As they kept walking through the village, Adom couldn't help but notice the increasing presence of orc adults, their stares ranging from curious to outright hostile. Their whispered conversations, peppered with glances in his direction, hinted at a community on edge, their attention unmistakably centered on him.
Dojka, perceptive as always, addressed the unspoken tension. "Your arrival has caused quite a ruckus among the Ka'ui. Especially since Master Seka has confirmed you were from the future. Still, a lot of us still think it's a lie." Her voice was even, but it carried the undercurrents of the village's unrest.
Adom, feeling the weight of their gazes, turned to her, his expression querying, "Do you think I lied?"
Her chuckle was light, yet it held layers of meaning. "Well, I never told you I was a druidess, yet, you mentioned it earlier. I'll take that as proof."
Adom's sigh of relief was silent but profound. Trust from Dojka could be a crucial ally in a place where skepticism seemed to brew like a storm. His mind, ever strategic, acknowledged the precariousness of his situation. Being in the village, surrounded by individuals as formidable as rankers, left him with little room for error. Escape was a dim prospect, shadowed by the threat of these powerful beings.
"You arrived at quite a tumultuous time, immortal," Dojka remarked, her voice steady. "We are in the process of choosing the next Orc lord, the very first time since we Ka'ui settled in this forest." Her eyes, reflecting a millennium of history, held Adom's gaze as she continued. "After 1200 years of life, Lord Sarukel has aged, and he seeks a successor. My younger brother was the most probable choice."
Adom, attentive to every word, caught a shift in her tone, the past tense sparking curiosity. Was? he thought, sensing the depth of the unfolding political drama.
Dojka elaborated on the precarious political climate. "Because he brought an immortal to the village—yourself—his leadership abilities are being questioned. This has opened the door for other contenders, who have seized the opportunity to challenge him for the title."
Her voice carried a note of solemnity as she divulged the unprecedented turn of events. "What was supposed to be a small matter has escalated into a significant ordeal, leading the lord to decree a tournament to determine our next leader—a first in our history."
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Adom, absorbing the impact of his presence in the village, realized the magnitude of the political upheaval his arrival had catalyzed. The thought that his mere existence in this time and place could sway the course of orcish leadership was daunting. He knew that his plans might require adaptation, a contingency strategy to navigate the complexities of orc politics and power.
Seeing Adom's contemplative silence, Dojka pressed on. "From your expression, I assume things did not go like this in your past life, did they?"
Caught off guard by her perceptiveness, Adom could only nod in response. "No," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. The layers of history he was unraveling were more complex than he had anticipated.
Dojka, sensing his realization, leaned closer, her voice lowering to a confidential murmur. "You might wonder why it's you, and not your two companions, that caused this change," she mused, echoing Adom's internal questions.
"Yes," Adom responded, his curiosity piqued.
"As I said earlier," Dojka continued, "the Lord is not fond of outsiders, but he despises immortals even more, like many of us."
Adom's gaze snapped to Dojka, a sudden clarity dawning on him. Was she implying that she, too, harbored this disdain? What depths of history and bitterness was she alluding to?
Dojka seemed to read his thoughts. "Three thousand years ago, the Lich King, one of your kin, caused our main tribe, our brothers, the Ash'ari, to separate from us, leading to our exile in this forest." Her voice was steady, but the pain behind her words was palpable.
Adom listened, his mind racing as he pieced together the historical puzzle she presented. The orcs' animosity towards immortals was rooted in a millennia-old betrayal, a schism that had altered the course of their history.
"While we managed to find our footing, it took years, blood, sweat, and an ocean of suffering," Dojka recounted, her gaze distant yet fiery. "Do you understand what I am trying to say, immortal?"
Adom's mind churned with thoughts. The Lich King, an immortal like him, had been the catalyst for the orcs' enduring suffering. Their wary reception of him and their doubts about Aroth's leadership now made more sense in this light. However, a lingering question nibbled at the edges of his consciousness: Dojka's demeanor conveyed a lack of trust, perhaps even dislike, yet her actions belied outright hostility. What drove this contradiction?
Realizing that understanding her stance could provide crucial insights into how other high-ranking orcs perceived him, Adom decided to probe further. It would be vital to reassess his strategies as the initial plan was already veering off course. He looked at Dojka, his eyes seeking the truth behind her guarded expressions.
"Why did they let us into the village, to wander freely, if there's such deep-seated mistrust?" Adom asked, his voice carrying a mixture of curiosity and a hint of strategy.
Dojka's gaze met his, a flicker of something unspoken passing through her eyes before she responded, "You said you could save my niece." Her voice held a note of cautious hope, a stark contrast to the earlier narrative of historical pain and resentment. "And Master Seka told me it was not a lie. I would like to see that happen."
Dojka's voice was firm, her gaze unyielding "Actions speak louder than ancestry. Perhaps we are misjudging you, and you could be different from the accursed Lich. I hope so, I really do. For if you do not meet my expectations, I will make sure a good part of your eternal life is spent in pain."
Adom's response was a chuckle, light but tinged with a note of respect for her candor. There we go, he mused internally, a slight smile playing on his lips, that's more like it, honesty.
Dojka eyed him curiously. "Do you think me to be a joker?" she asked, her tone sharp.
"No," Adom clarified quickly, his amusement fading into a more serious demeanor. "I’m just relieved you’re being honest with me. I prefer straightforward hostility to feigned friendliness. It’s unsettling to converse with masks, hiding true feelings."
In unfamiliar territory, discerning allies from enemies is crucial. It allows one to understand who to trust. And in this case, the clever approach was to trust no one.
Dojka simply nodded, her eyes still locked on Adom, gauging his reaction. "I've observed you, immortal" she confessed, "and you seem like a decent person. Which is why I want to give you some advice, especially since I need you to be safe to cure Ajna."
She leaned in slightly, her voice lowering as if sharing a secret or a crucial strategy. "When we arrive at the Lord's house, do not talk. Agree with everything they say and do not cause trouble. Let me, Master Seka, and Aroth defend you. Do you understand?"
Adom’s response was measured, his voice calm but his mind whirling with thoughts. "I understand," he said, though his experience told him the reality was likely to be far more complex. The situation mirrored too closely the political games of his past life, where the best-laid plans often unraveled in the face of unforeseen events.
As Adom and Dojka approached the lord's house, the building loomed before them, a massive structure of dark stone and aged timber, more a domain than a mere house, exuding an aura of ancient strength and authority. The architecture was robust, with high walls and narrow windows, designed more for defense than aesthetics. Lush gardens and serene water features surrounded the structure. Moss crept up its sides, and the banners of the orc tribes fluttered in the wind, each symbol telling a story of battles and honor.
The environment was bustling yet tense. Orc soldiers, their muscles taut and eyes alert, patrolled the perimeter, their armor clanking softly with each step. These warriors were the embodiment of orcish strength, their expressions hard and unwavering. Among them moved figures who, while less physically imposing, carried themselves with a different kind of authority. These were likely the politicians, their sharp eyes and calculating expressions betraying minds accustomed to power plays and intrigue.
As Adom walked through the throng, he felt the weight of numerous gazes upon him. Some eyes burned with outright hostility, others flickered with curiosity, and a few radiated an oppressive aura, as if challenging him to defy their silent judgments. The air was thick with unspoken tensions, a blend of curiosity and animosity that made the atmosphere almost palpable.
Advancing through the crowd, Adom met the stares of several orcs. Some growled low in their throats, a primal warning, while others spat on the path before him, their actions speaking volumes of their disdain and challenge. Amidst this hostility, Dojka leaned closer to him and murmured, "Do not react. That is all they are awaiting from you—a cause."
Adom recognized the deliberate disrespect aimed at him, designed to incite a reaction that could justify an attack or discredit him. He remained silent, his resolve firm, as they approached the massive doors of the lord's abode. The guards stationed there were towering figures, their levels of 109 and 112 indicating formidable prowess. Their gaze shifted from Dojka to Adom, one of them daring to question, with a disdainful tone, "My lady, if I may, is it necessary to let this... thing set accursed feet in our lord's abode, in the great hall?"
Dojka's response was swift and icy, her authority undisputed as she retorted, "You may not. You are a doorkeeper; you keep doors and shut your mouth. Am I clear?" The guards, taken aback by her stern rebuke, exchanged a glance before silently assenting, their fury barely concealed as they opened the way.
Entering the hall, Adom sensed the tension behind him, aware of the orcs who followed, their silent footsteps a heavy echo of the disdain outside. Dojka's voice was steady beside him, "Do not look behind. Stand proud. And again, no matter how they taunt you, do not let it falter you."