Chapter 72
A Rabbit In A Wolf's Den
As Adom and Dojka stepped through the grand archway into the great hall, a palpable shift in the atmosphere greeted them. The room was vast, its ancient stone walls lined with the banners of orc tribes. The air was thick with tension, almost suffocating in its intensity.
Hundreds of eyes, gleaming with curiosity and outright hostility, fixed upon Adom as he walked beside Dojka. The gazes of the orcs bore down on him, their scrutiny sharp and unrelenting.
Adom felt like a rabbit in a wolf's den, and it was perhaps exactly like that. Every orc in the place, and there were at least a hundred, seemed to evaluate him, their stares piercing through the hall's dim light. The pressure was immense, a heavy cloak of anticipation and suspicion that draped over his shoulders.
To gauge the magnitude of the potential threat he faced, Adom discreetly activated his ability to assess levels. What he saw was nothing short of horrific; the levels of the orcs ranged from 90 upwards, with many peering from the heights of unimaginable prowess.
"Do not be intimidated," Dojka murmured, her voice a low rumble beside him. She too faced the crowd, her stance unyielding and proud.
"I am not," Adom replied quietly, his voice steady despite the storm of gazes upon him. In truth, he wasn’t afraid. He had anticipated such a welcome—not because he was an immortal, but because the Ka'ui were known to be fiercely xenophobic, their distrust for outsiders ingrained through centuries of isolation and conflict.
As they advanced through the hall, the crowd parted slightly, a grudging corridor of space forming as they moved towards the raised platform at the end. On it sat an ancient orc, his hair a cascade of white that flowed down his robust body. With his fist partially covering his face, his single tusk ornate with gold, the other one missing.
He had eyes that burned fierce and red—much like Aroth’s but imbued with a weight of years and authority that the other lacked. The orc's aura was palpable, filling the hall with a sense of exceptional power.
Orc Lord Sarukel, Adom thought with an inward nod, recognizing the unmistakable presence of the clan's patriarch whose time was nearing its end. His eyes, old yet sharp, settled on Adom.
Adom felt the weight of the Lord's gaze, knowing that this moment might well dictate his fate among the Ka'ui.
Driven by his ever-present curiosity, Adom reached out with his skill to gauge the level of this venerable figure. But before he could attune his perception, a looming shadow overtook him. Startled, he looked up to find another orc, nearly as imposing as Aroth, standing directly in front of him. The orc's face was set in a hard glare, his fists clenched tightly at his sides as if restraining the urge to strike.
“What are you doing, Kovu?” Dojka’s voice cut sharply through the tension, her tone icy as she addressed the newcomer.
Kovu’s response was terse, his eyes not leaving Adom. “Looking at the human. As you can see,” he grumbled, gesturing slightly towards Adom with a nod of his head.
“Are you about to dishonor the Lord in his abode by attacking a guest?” Dojka’s words were calm but carried an edge that reverberated through the silent hall.
“He’s not our Lord’s guest, he’s your brother’s,” Kovu shot back, his voice rising slightly in defiance.
Dojka sighed, a sound of weariness tinged with frustration. “Do not make things more complex than they should be, you—”
“What exactly is complex here, wife?” Kovu interrupted, his voice escalating into a shout that echoed off the stone walls. “He’s an unwanted guest, and I would like to know what went through Aroth’s head to bring an immortal, AN IMMORTAL! Here.”
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Kovu’s outburst seemed to stir a murmuring wave among the assembled orcs, their own disquiet mirrored in his words. Dojka’s expression shifted to one of sadness, yet resolute as she met her husband’s furious gaze.
“Kovu…” her voice trailed off, a quiet plea in the storm.
Adom's mind raced as he assessed Kovu with his activated skill; the reveal of a staggering level 789 made his blood run cold. This was not just another high-ranking orc—this was apparently Dojka's husband, his level, too, surpassing even the formidable Aroth. How deep does the strength of the Ka'ui run? Adom wondered silently, his confidence faltering as he faced the stark reality of the clan's hidden might.
Kovu's glare was unyielding, his eyes like chips of flint ready to strike sparks. The hall had fallen eerily silent, every breath and whisper suspended in the tense atmosphere. Adom wanted to look at Sarukel, wondering why he was silent.
"You're either very stupid or suicidal for coming here, immortal," Kovu finally broke the silence.
"I did not come to cause trouble, or to be offensive," Adom replied, his voice steady despite the quickening of his heart. His words seemed to amuse Kovu and the surrounding orcs, a low chuckle spreading like a ripple through the crowd.
"Ha haha, you could not be troublesome to us if you tried," Kovu sneered.
Adom pressed his lips tightly together, opting for silence over retort. It was a strategic choice, conserving his energy for observation rather than waste it on fruitless banter.
Then, Kovu leaned in, his massive frame casting a shadow over Adom. "You said you could cure Aroth’s daughter, and Seka confirmed you spoke the truth. What exactly do you seek by doing that?" There was a sharpness to his inquiry, a direct challenge to Adom’s intentions.
"I intend on going to the old duke’s house and—" Adom began, only to be abruptly cut off by Kovu’s impatient interjection.
"Why?" Kovu demanded, his impatience palpable.
Adom exhaled softly, the slight sound betraying his frustration at the interruption. He checked himself, keeping his thoughts silent, though the sigh was enough. It was a small slip, but Kovu seized on it with a provocateur’s precision.
Without warning, Kovu's fist flew towards Adom, a blur of motion, violent and unexpected. "Kovu!" Dojka’s voice tore through the hall, a sharp cry of warning.
But Adom was prepared; his [Quick Reflexes] skill shimmered into effect, his body moving with the speed of a shadow slipping across the ground. He dodged the punch with mere inches to spare, an agile sidestep that left Kovu grasping at air.
Kovu whistled, amused, he said. "Would you look at that. As agile as the snake you are, immortal."
As Kovu's fist sailed harmlessly past Adom, the young sorcerer's eyes widened, his heart racing not from fear, but the shock of the audacity on display. This was raw physical prowess, unaided by magic, attempted in full view of their lord.
The silence from Lord Sarukel was deafening, his keen gaze fixed, observing the unfolding drama with a stoic dispassion that chilled Adom more than any threat of violence.
"Have you lost your mind?!" Dojka's voice cracked like a whip through the hall, "In front of the Lord?!" Her incredulity was palpable, a mirror to the disbelief tightening around Adom's chest.
Kovu turned, his heavy boots grinding against the stone floor, to face Sarukel. The brief smile that had flickered across his lips vanished, replaced by a look of solemnity as he regarded the old orc. The lord's subtle nod was all it took for the smile to creep back across Kovu's face—an unsettling grin that did not reach his eyes. He was more confident, more menacing.
Dojka, sensing the subtle cues of a deeper game at play, kneeled before Sarukel, her voice steady yet urgent. "My lord, the human has committed no offense warranting my husband’s challenge. Please, allow this to stop."
Sarukel’s eyes, ancient and inscrutable, shifted from Dojka to Adom, who stood braced for anything. Adom's fingers twitched from the spells he was ready to cast.
All eyes then shifted to Lord Sarukel, whose gaze lingered on Dojka for a moment before addressing the room. "Rise, Dojka. There is no need for all of this," Sarukel intoned, his voice carrying a weary authority. "The human is responsible for the death of a behemoth an—"
"I did not kill the behemoth!" Adom couldn’t contain his frustration any longer. His voice cut through the tension, sharp and loud. "I told Seka about that. It was another immort—"
But he was abruptly cut off as Kovu, along with four other orcs, launched another attack. Adom’s reflexes snapped into action. His movements were fluid, each dodge calculated and sharp as he evaded grasping hands and slashing blades. One orc swung a broadsword in a wide arc, which Adom ducked under, another tried to grab him, his fingers grazing Adom's cloak as he twisted away.
Kovu’s hand clawed through the air where Adom's neck had been just a heartbeat before. In the scant seconds he had, Adom called forth his fire spell. Flames erupted, not wild or sprawling, but controlled and directed, a defensive barrier that scorched the ground and forced the orcs to stagger back, their attacks interrupted by the sudden inferno.
It was clear now—no fair hearing awaited him here. Each breath Adom took was laden with the grim realization of his precarious position. The orcs had never intended to listen. They sought a scapegoat, a target for their frustrations and fears, and Adom, the foreign immortal, fit their narrative all too well.
In that frenzied moment, as the heat from his spell warmed his face, Adom understood the gravity of his misstep. Coming here was a gamble, one that now seemed increasingly foolhardy.