As it turned out, the orc’s defenses were next to nil. James and his forces had little to no trouble forcing through their outpost wall. If it could be called a wall. It was a shoddily made palisade, its construction hasty and haphazard. It was more of a wooden fence rather than an actual defensive structure.

Once his forces got through that hurdle, the orcs surrendered more or less. The ones who weren’t shameless enough to surrender simply ran off, leaving their allies to James’ mercy. Thankfully for them, James wasn’t in the mood to slaughter every living thing in his warpath. Instead, he took them as prisoners, leaving them to Horuk’s orcs to restrain them properly.

Still, that didn’t mean every orc was compliant in cowering or surrendering. At least not peacefully.

“What’s the update?” James asked once he grouped up with Haggard. The hammer-wielding warrior was currently wiping down his weapon of choice, his rag stained with red as he polished.

“There’s an orc calling for parley. Their leader, from the looks of it. Helen is currently watching him with the rest of the men,” Haggard said.

“Not Blood-Irk, I assume?” James asked. He had a feeling that the orc calling for a parley was certainly not the same one that nearly killed him and his friends more than a year back.

“One of his closer lieutenants, judging from the armor and war paint,” Haggard confirmed. “Word of advice. Don’t deal with him. If that scum serves Blood-Irk, then nothing good comes from what he offers. Kill him and get it over with.”

“I’ll consider it,” James muttered as he walked past Haggard. He kept his stride to where everyone was converging, his hands shifting his longsword into its sheath. The guards and orcs were all forming a mob circle around the center of the outpost, where a red flag flew on its pole. James took a look at the flag, spotting what looked to be Blood-Irk’s coat of arms.

It was a crude drawing of what looked like a crossbreed of a dinosaur and a hawk skull, its serrated beak open as if to sound out a cry. It was the skull of a raptor, a carnivorous flying bird that was native to Azurevale and Northern Valenfrost. James remembered seeing a ‘tamed’ one in Vindis. Or at least, what was supposed to be a tamed raptor. It had torn off its handler’s hand then and had to be muzzled to keep it from trying the same thing with bystanders.

James stared at the drawing for a bit, a little uneasy at how similar in quality it looked compared to his White Raven emblem. He shook off that feeling of eeriness. He needed to steel himself.

With his back straight and his steps pronounced, the young Jarl walked through the crowd of guards and orcs. Everyone parted for him, and the air went silent as James walked. The only sounds were the sound of his steel-toe boots on wet mud and the murmurs of those around him.

James soon made his way to the center of the commotion, where he was met with a group of orcs. Like their fallen allies, they wore rusted iron armor, the plates held together by wire and rope. While they didn’t bear Blood-Irk’s emblem, their red warpaint signified otherwise.

The tallest of the orcs was the only one to bear the symbol of the raptor skull, his armor much more sophisticated than the others. He wore blackened steel–yet not to the extent that it covered every part of his body–like Blood-Irk. His facial features were also much cleaner and sharp. Similar to Silas, this orc’s underbite was much less pronounced. His teeth weren’t even poking out like most orcs.

His coarse hair was brushed back, allowing James to see the red warpaint he wore. This orc had painted the outline of a skull over his face, similar to what Blood-Irk had. He stared at James with a look of reprieve.

“James,” Dahlia’s voice took James’ attention away from the orc. He looked over at the Shaman, who stood within the crowd of soldiers. She looked more than a little hesitant.

“Something bothering you?” James asked.

“This feels more than a bit dangerous. Negotiating with an orc that’s affiliated with Blood-Irk,” Dahlia muttered. “I know I can’t stop you, so I’ll only ask you one thing. Be careful. Keep in mind that this isn’t just any negotiation.”

“Don’t worry,” James said. “I always come out on top, don’t I?”

He flashed the Shaman a grin, even as the chainmail on his helmet hid his facial features. Despite that, Dahlia visibly narrowed her gaze at him.

“Just do your job, my Jarl,” she sighed in disbelief.

James nodded and turned his gaze to the orc at the center. He slung his longsword’s sling over his shoulder, letting it rest on his back. He wouldn’t need to use it. James moved his gloved hands to his helmet, undoing the straps and taking it off. The chainmail clinked as the helm was lifted off and put aside.

Despite his shoulder-length hair being tied up, it still loosened up as the helm was removed. In the sparse light of the day, sweat glistened off his blond hair and forehead. James couldn’t help but sigh in relief at the cool air. While it protected him, the helmet granted little in comfort and ventilation.

“I take it you’re the Draugr?” the orc called out. He gave James a judging look, his dark eyes examining the clan leader. “I expected someone truly deserving of Blood-Irk’s ire. A true warrior, so to speak.”

“Well, you can’t expect the unexpected,” James responded with a smile. He attached his helm to the side of his belt as he approached the center. “So I hear you wanted to talk?”

“My name is Blood-Ohm,” the orc introduced himself. “And yes, I wished to parley with you. To offer a deal of sorts.”

“A deal, huh?” James scratched at his beard. “You are aware there are terms you must agree to, yes? Before you are allowed to serve in my clan.”

Blood-Ohm raised an eyebrow. “Serve?” the orc laughed at that. “No, I am not here to grovel and beg for your grace. I called for a meeting with you to simply propose one offer.”

“An offer?” James didn’t like where this was going. “Am I right to assume that it has something to do with that ax you have?” He gestured to Blood-Ohm’s stowed weapon, which stuck out at the orc’s hip. His hand was already resting on its sharp iron head.

“Perceptive,” Blood-Ohm chuckled as he unhitched his weapon. “I, Blood-Ohm, challenge you to a duel, Holter!” the orc proclaimed. His simple challenge was enough to make the crowd murmur and whisper amongst each other. More specifically, James’ own orcs were the ones doing the muttering.

James raised an eyebrow. Blood-Ohm was using this as a chance to force the clan leader into a one-on-one fight. Exploiting the orcs’ natural mentality of strength versus strength. James knew of this hierarchy well. He used it to gain the respect of Horuk’s orcs last Sommar. Orcs respected strength and the tradition of duels to challenge it.

“If I win against you, the orcs you command shall be given the chance to rejoin Blood-Irk’s ranks!” Blood-Ohm called out. The orc pointed his ax towards James.

“And if I win?” James called back.

Blood-Ohm laughed at that. “If you do manage to win, then I suppose my and my orc’s lives are in your hands. Free for you to command over or execute if you wish.” He said it with the confidence someone would have towards a childish dream.

James sighed. “Fine. Not like I have much of a choice anyways.” It wasn’t like he could reject the offer. Doing so would paint him as a coward to the other orcs, Horuk included. No, James would have to get his hands dirty.

Blood-Ohm raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the nonchalant answer James gave. “You dare mock my challenge?” He asked.

“No, no mocking,” James responded. He was doing his best not to show any sign of amusement at the orc’s anger. The young clan leader slipped off his longsword’s sheath from his back, his hands handing the weapon to Dahlia.

“James…” she started.

“Not really a choice,” James murmured a response as he shifted his short sword’s sheath in place at his side. “This is something I have to do.”

Without looking at the Shaman’s reaction to his words, James focused his attention on the orc in front of him. Blood-Ohm’s own comrades had backed off to give him space, leaving their leader to practice his ax swings. James took a deep breath as he placed his helmet back onto his head, the chainmail clinking as it rested over the lower half of his face.

“Are you really going to use that pathetic excuse of a weapon against me?” Blood-Ohm asked.

James gave a nod as he unsheathed his signature short sword, its sharpened edge glinting almost. It was the same one that had once been embedded in his chest all those months ago. The same one Deimos had used to nearly kill James. It had been with the man for some time now, being his primary go-to weapon for almost every fight. It strangely had an almost sentimental value to him.

The longsword he had been using was simply a weapon he had been trying to get used to. Helen had wanted him to use something with a bit more range since his regular sword and shield could only do so much. So James had chosen the longsword, its length enough for him to poke, slash, and cleave. Helen had clearly wanted him to choose something a bit more practical, like a spear or polearm, but James was much more familiar with the sword, sad to say.

“Believe it or not, it’s going to be more than enough for you,” James taunted as he flourished his short sword. It felt good in his hand. He couldn’t help but smile at the orc’s reaction to the display. The greenskin’s face had turned into a dark maroon, his expression twisting into anger.

“I’m going to enjoy displaying your guts for all to see!” Blood-Ohm shouted.

James didn’t say anything as the orc rushed in, his ax already starting its arc toward him. James simply stepped forward, his lungs breathing in the cold air. He focused his will then and there, his body reacting as he muttered a single phrase.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Instant Reflex.”

James felt the rune burn on his chest, his body tensing up at the Physical Casting. He could feel how something deep inside him was used up, leaving him with a sense of partial emptiness. He had three reserves left.

Blood-Ohm’s sudden advance went slow right after this feeling, the orc looking as if he was moving through honey. James gritted his teeth as he forced himself to move forward, his muscles screaming as they were exerted. He positioned himself low, his legs propelling him into a quick dash underneath the ax swing. He did his best not to overdo it, as the sudden movement during Instant Reflex could result in severe cramps or worse, torn muscle.

James let out his breath, his casting ending right after. He zoomed past Blood-Ohm with a swipe of his sword. His boots ground his dash to a sudden halt after that, the ashy mud splattering all over his breeches. James nearly lost his balance from the sudden movement, his body wavering as he regained his stance.

A wave of murmurs and exclamations came from the crowd, most of it unheard to James. He was too busy trying to regain his breath from the physical casting he had just used. Instant Reflex was one of the new additions to his arsenal of castings, and it was clear to him that he needed more practice before he could use it properly without nearly tripping.

Once his lungs had taken in the cold air, James swiveled his body back towards Blood-Ohm, who was busy trying to cover the slash the young clan leader had left. It was a nasty gash located right near the orc’s ribs. James had tried to aim for the exposed armpit, but Instant Reflex wasn’t forgiving when it came to precise movements. At least he had struck at a gap in the orc’s armor.

“You…You bastard!” Blood-Ohm shouted in anger. The orc growled as he took a much more refined stance, his ax wavering.

‘There goes your chance of a surprise attack,’ Faust muttered. ‘He’s going to be on the defensive now.’

‘No worries,’ James reassured the spirit. ‘I got this.’

Blood-Ohm began his approach slowly towards James, his ax at the ready as he locked eyes with the young Jarl. James simply stared back, his left hand clenching and unclenching. He needed to be careful with his next move. Blood-Ohm wasn’t just any orc. He was a lieutenant to the bastard who had once nearly killed every one of his friends.

‘A monster like him. Blood-Ohm deserves no mercy.’

James made his move. He rushed first, his right hand raising his short sword. He prepared for a swing, the fingers on his left hand forming a glyph as he did so. Blood-Ohm quickly reacted to the sudden advance, his ax rising to parry the incoming attack. James grinned at that.

Both blade and ax made contact, a flash of sparks and a loud clang sounding out in the clearing. James was forced back from the sheer strength of Blood-Ohm’s counter, his sword hand recoiling back. He was open.

“I have you now!” Blood-Ohm shouted with murderous glee. James barely had time to utter a single word before Blood-Ohm’s ax swung down on him, the orc’s strike accompanied by a casting.

“Power Strike!”

Wind parted, and something splattered as the enhanced axehead struck its victim. Blood-Ohm’s smiling face was covered in dark matter as he looked down at his ax’s victim. That being the muddy ground. Blood-Ohm’s expression changed to that of confused rage, his gaze moving to the mud that had splattered all over him. He quickly looked around before his focus eventually went up to the sky.

James looked down at the befuddled orc, his legs burning with exertion as he rose in altitude. He couldn’t help but grin like a maniac, his tunic and gambeson flapping in the freezing wind. He was high up in the air, a result of his Jump casting.

It was a simple casting, one that not many people had. James had only managed to get it from Falrick, of all people. He had hoped to use it for situations that would call for it, like a naval battle or for quick traversal. Instead, the Outlander had found a different use for it.

James didn’t expect it to bring him so high up. He must’ve been around five meters from the ground. It was probably the adrenaline that boosted his jump.

James soon felt how gravity finally began to pull him down, his casting’s magic wearing off instantly. He plummeted towards the ground, time seemingly slowing down for a moment.

“Summon Ice!” James cast as he fell down, frost forming around his fingers. Blood-Ohm quickly reacted, the orcs’ hands bringing his ax up in defense. James expected this. He quickly brought up his ice shield, using it as a cushion against the incoming ax.

Blood-Ohm could’ve been the strongest orc around. Hell, he could’ve been as strong as Blood-Irk himself. It wouldn’t have mattered. James knew that there were very few things that could withstand the weight and speed of his descent. Physics was on his side for this.

The ice shield cracked but held as it forced back Blood-Ohm’s ax, the orc instantly buckling from the sheer force of James’ fall. Both man and orc fell to the ashen ground, sending wet mud everywhere.

James was still the first to get up, his sword pointed ahead as he rushed Blood-Ohm. The orc did his best to try and counter, his ax wildly swinging. James could feel how Faust reacted before he could, his left arm raising the ice shield he had formed. The shield held, even when struck by an angry orc.

‘My ice magic is getting better,’ James mildly thought.

‘Focus on the fight!’ Faust reprimanded.

James mentally acknowledged the comment. With a grunt and burst of strength, he swatted away the ax, its handle slipping away from Blood-Ohm. Without a second thought, James stepped in and swung his sword down on the orc’s wrist, his blade cutting his opponent’s hand clean off.

“Argh!” Blood-Ohm exclaimed in pain. He clutched at the bloody stump, his head swiveling to James in explosive rage. The anger in the orc’s gaze died as soon as he made eye contact with James. The young Jarl didn’t have to ask to know why. He could see how his burning gaze reflected off the orc’s pupils, the magical glow of Faust’s presence making it seem as if the man’s eyes were lit by blue flames.

Blood-Ohm tried to crawl back, his legs kicking at the ground as he tried to reach for the ax James had sent flying. James sighed as he strode over to the terrified orc, his left hand dropping the shield in favor of taking off his helm. The glowing eye trick was enough to make his head feverishly hot, the helmet not helping in any way.

Blood-Ohm had barely arrived at his fallen weapon when James stomped on his good hand.

“You’re done,” James stated before he used his other foot to kick the weapon away.

Blood-Ohm stared up at James, his expression shifting from fear to anger in rapid succession. It was like the orc was conflicted on what to feel. It didn’t help that the crowd watching them was currently overflowing with comments and mutters. Nearly all of it was about Blood-Ohm and how he had lost so easily.

“Bastard human!” Blood-Ohm spat. He shifted to try and wiggle his hand out of James’ hold. The Jarl lifted his foot to allow him, only to watch the orc attempt a punch. James simply moved out of the way. It wasn’t really necessary since the gash at Blood-Ohm’s side was more than enough to make the orc wince and falter in his movements.

‘Huh. Looks like I did hamper him in a way.’

“Are you ready to play nice now?” James asked. “You’re down a hand, and that wound in your side isn’t going to get better anytime soon.”

“I’d die before I allow myself to serve a mere human! Draugr or not!” Blood-Ohm boomed. “I am a warrior chosen by Blood-Irk himself! I cannot lose to you! I cannot…I…”

James watched as the orc fumbled with his words, his attempts to stand useless as he kept slipping on the mud. In the end, Blood-Ohm was resting on his knees, his arms limp and his breathing heavy.

“You give up?” James muttered as he approached the orc. “Last chance.”

“No,” Blood-Ohm answered in a growl. He looked up at James. “I won’t do any dealings with you. There will be no such negotiation. Death is all I can offer and receive. That is all I will accept.”

James stared Blood-Ohm down, their gazes locking for a solid second. There was no other way this was going to end. That he was sure enough since the beginning. He would be foolish to think that someone who worked for Blood-Irk could be reasonable.

“Death is all you want, huh?” James asked. Blood-Ohm grinned at that.

“There is no better end for either of us,” the orc responded.

“I see.”

James raised his left hand, which was covered in white gauze. With a mental command, he channeled Faust’s spirit into it. His left arm lit up in a bright blue glow, not unlike what his own eyes were doing. The glow was so bright that it silhouetted the bones in his arm, showcasing a black skeletal arm underneath the bandages. Yet, despite the glow’s brightness, it was still not enough to blind anyone. In fact, it emitted a low light in its surroundings, its luminance reaching a few meters.

Everyone around the center stepped back from the sudden display of magic, their stares glued on the Jarl who cast it. Blood-Ohm himself had flinched at the sight of it, but his surprised expression was soon replaced with his previous, angry one. The orc stared at James, his facial features gaining an ethereal edge to them.

Without a word, James grabbed at Blood-Ohm’s face. His palm burned as it made contact with the orc’s skin, making a soft, sizzling noise as his fingers gripped the skull tightly. Right when he grabbed ahold of Blood-Ohm’s head, James’ mind was flooded with memories and emotions.

Rage was the primary thing he felt. Other than the occasional glee from whenever the orc killed something or someone. James peered through every memory that came, catching as many details as he could. Ship routes, outposts, orcs of importance. Plans. Anything that looked remotely important.

James could feel his body overheating, his breaths coming out in puffs of vapor. After a bit more peering, James finally had found what he wanted. He could see a certain figure in a random memory, this figure of importance being Blood-Irk. James caught as many details as he could from it, memorizing them to the best of his abilities before he severed the connection with Blood-Ohm.

The orc before him gasped in response, his breathing heavy as he tried to regain it.

“What… What have you done?!” Blood-Ohm shouted.

“Got what I needed from you,” James panted. He wiped the sweat from his brow, his heart rate through the roof. He felt as if he had run a marathon. It also felt like he had unlimited stamina. His knees and joints ached with overflowing energy like they were ready to spring into a sprint. Such were the results of doing such magic.

“I…That wasn’t supposed to happen! You were supposed to kill me!” Blood-Ohm was practically screaming at this point.

“Nah,” James muttered with a sly grin. “That’s Silas and Hourk’s job. I’m only here to get what I need. Which were your memories. Thanks for that, by the way. Got a lot of juicy stuff.”

“You… You fucking!” Blood-Ohm roared with anger as he sprung up from his position. He tried to go for a tackle at James, his arms extended towards him. Unfortunately for the orc, James had drained nearly all of his stamina. Which left him lethargically slow. Slow enough for the Jarl to simply dodge to the left and land a full-force kick into the orc’s stomach.

Blood-Ohm had all the air rush out of his lungs in a single whoosh, his good hand moving to clutch at his stomach. He fell to his knees once more, leaving himself open. The breathless orc looked up at James, his face twisting into an ugly rage, almost as if he was preparing to shout some more. Unfortunately for him, he had found himself face to face with James’ fingers, which glowed a soft blue.

“Ice Lance,” James chanted. His left hand shot forward a lance of ice, thin as a rapier and as small as a dagger. It was a direct copy of a certain cyromancer’s spell.

Blood-Ohm’s head whipped back violently, the lance piercing through his left eye and coming out halfway in the back of his head. Without so much of a groan, the orc fell face-first into the black mud, his body going slack almost instantly.

James looked down at the body of Blood-Ohm, whose blood slowly started to pool. He turned to the orcs nearby, the ones who were the last of this outpost’s defenses.

“Surrender without resistance. Or die,” James spoke out, his voice gaining an ethereal tone as he raised a glowing fist.

In the end, they all chose wisely.