“Don’t worry.” The predatory smile suddenly turned friendly. Well, as friendly as a demon’s smile could be. “It was just a joke. Has the Mad General lost his sense of humor?”
“The Dah’Khasses, North Wind,” Gurtan continued calmly, “are vile creatures. They did not rise from the embrace of the yellow sea, but from the rot of shadows and darkness.”
“Get a load of him! A true poet, this one.” Helmer grinned. “I like listening to the stories they share around the fire. If their women were a little less like bears and a little more like elves, I would visit them more often at night.”
Hadjar looked at Helmer, who was much smaller and scrawnier than him, and then at the nearest female orc. His imagination conjured up a mental image that he tried to forget immediately.
“We’ve been fighting them since the days of the Bloodhounds, runt,” the orc’s voice hardened. “But over the last ten winters… Their power has grown, and we don’t know why.”
Hadjar glanced at Helmer as discretely as possible. He still wanted to avoid making the huge orc nervous.
“Don’t look at me, North Wind.” Helmer waved his hand dismissively. “The Dah’Khasses are weak demons, the expendable vanguard of the Prince. Their power is so insignificant that they aren’t even subject to the laws of the Heavens and the Earth, and are thus free to interfere in the lives of mortals.”
“What are you even talking about, beast?” One of the officers snapped. “The Dah’Khasses aren’t real! Go back to your steppes and let them eat you all there!” He shouted and spat.
Unable to ignore such blatant disrespect, the rest of the orcs drew their battleaxes. Compared to them, their weapons looked comically small.
“Calm down, Night’s Pace,” the leader ordered the female orc and turned back to Hadjar.
“The ones unrecognized by the Spirits are too lost in their eternal longing for emptiness,” he said in the same tone Einen used when he philosophized. “There’s no point in being offended by the rain. One with a Name shouldn’t be offended by someone who wanders the world as a nameless shadow.”
Hadjar didn’t understand a damn word of what the orc chief had just said. Unlike the elves, who had long ago become one with the humans, the orcs had remained a separate race with a unique culture, traditions, and beliefs.
“Why does he keep talking about Names so much?” Helmer made a strange sound. “As for the Dah’Khasses, they’re a mix of bats, weak spirits, and human cultivators who used dark energy for their cultivation because they thought it would make them as strong as demons.”
“So, the Dah’Khasses are demons then, aren’t they?” Hadjar asked.
Gurtan answered first:
“Demons are just misguided Spirits. As are the gods. This world is nothing but a reflection of the Spirit World. We all came from the eternal hunting grounds, and we will all return there one day and meet our forefathers — the spiritual protectors of our families.”
“What’s this beast going on about?” Helmer flashed his predatory smile again. “It’s been a long time since I’ve tasted orc flesh. Despite their tough appearance, their meat is quite tender.”
Azrea roared and her tail twitched angrily. The palpable smell of ozone filled the air. Hadjar was surprised when Helmer, whose power was beyond comprehension, backed away from a ‘puny’ Ancient Beast.
“I don’t understand.” Hadjar shook his head. “What does any of this have to do with us? You’ve been holding the Dah’Khasses back successfully for so many centuries, right? What changed?”
“They’re losing.” Helmer chuckled.
“We’re losing.” Gurtan sighed as if he could hear Helmer mocking him. “Entire tribes are dying. No, it’s even worse than that. The Dah’Khasses are turning them into their puppets. Neither dead nor alive, they have forgotten the Names of their ancestors, the free wind of the steppes, and even their own mothers.”
Hadjar saw the pain in the chief’s and female orc’s expressions. It was the same kind of grief he had seen on the faces of parents whose children hadn’t returned from a battlefield.
“Their ranks swell with each new dawn,” the chief continued. “We’ll fight them to our last drop of blood, but... The Council of the great tribes decided that it was time for two enemies to unite against a common foe. The Dah’Khasses don’t care whose blood they drink. They’ll devour everything that stands in their way. And there’s no end to their hunt.”
Hadjar closed his eyes. He’d been right. The orcs were indeed fleeing, and they were even willing to bury the hatchet in order to focus on the greater threat. However, they didn’t seem to have a plan beyond signing a treaty. But what bothered Hadjar even more about all of this was Helmer’s unexpected presence.
“Did I hear that correctly?” The commander asked with a mixture of surprise and suspicion, as if he were an unpopular kid at school who the popular kids suddenly wanted to befriend. “Do these animals actually want us to help them? Let them devour each other on the steppes! Hah! If these Dah’Khasses do exist, the Imperial Legions will destroy them with ease!”
Gurtan finally turned his gaze to the Lord.
“After the Dah’Khasses defeat all the orcs,” he said, “you humans may manage to drive them away in the end, but your tribe will be no more.”
Hadjar looked at Helmer. The demon was still sprawled out on the ground, chewing a blade of grass. Basking in the sun, he sometimes hissed at the nervous Azrea. Hadjar had no idea how she could see the demon.
“Don’t look at me, Hadjar.” Helmer whistled. “I’ll only tell you what you want to know if you pass their test. Otherwise, I’m not going to waste my breath.”
Hadjar was pretty sure he knew exactly what the test was going to be…
Chapter 545
“Even if we agree-”
“Who are you, civilian, to make such a decision?” The commander barked, but Hadjar didn’t pay any attention to him.
“If we agree,” Hadjar continued, “How can Boltoy’s garrison help you in a battle that hundreds of thousands of orcs are losing?”
“We don’t need all of your hunters.” Gurtan frowned. “Two moons ago, our shamans said that North Wind would come to the fort, riding on heaven’s fire.”
But of course! Hadjar had forgotten that his modest self always managed to be instrumental to these kinds of things: the defeat of ‘The Black Gates’ sect, saving the world from the crazy Sunshine Sankesh, and now, dealing with these demons.
“You mean... me?”
“Do you know of another North Wind?”
Strange as it might’ve sounded, he actually did. An entire sect of them, in fact, comprised of potential Darkhans or the first Darkhan’s descendants… A Name was a bit more complicated than blood ties.
“No.”
“Then it must be you. I don’t know why, but the Spirits picked you and the son of the Steppenwolf Tribe, Steppe Fang.”
Hadjar said nothing. If Gurtan was truly confident in the prophecies of his shamans, it would be downright impossible to change his mind. It would be like trying to prove that the gods didn’t really care about the lives of mortals. All the believers that Hadjar had met in his life had been certain that the gods were watching over them day and night. The reality was, sadly, a little different…
“Where the tribes have failed, the two hunters will not,” the leader continued. “The Dah’Khasses may be strong, but they have one weakness.”
“Just one?” Helmer snorted. “I could destroy them with a single snap of my fingers... Oh, don’t look at me like that, Darkhan. Fine, two snaps. Damned bloodsuckers…”
“Without their Leader…”
“The King of Night,” Helmer corrected him automatically.
“...they aren’t capable of uniting as a single tribe. And the orcs can then defeat the scattered and weakened Dah’Khasses even without the help of humans.”
The way Gurtan pronounced the word ‘humans’ made it clear that he didn’t think highly of the
m.
“So, to sum up,” Hadjar concluded. “You and a hundred thousand orcs came here to ask for my help?”
The chief’s fanged smile said that they weren’t asking for help, but that they were demanding it, and that Hadjar had no choice in the matter unless he wanted them to destroy not just him, but all the Lascanian lands they could reach as well. Little did they know that Hadjar didn’t care for Lascan. If he wanted to, he could simply mount Azrea and leave.
He looked at the fort and at the three disciples observing from the wall. He owed them his life. He had sworn to repay that debt. And even though his oath hadn’t been sealed with blood, he wouldn’t be able to endure the dishonor of not keeping his word.
“All right, I’ll help.”
“Roland, Gurami.” The commander turned to his senior officers. “Go to the Duke and tell him what happened. Tell him to send the Legion here.”
“Sir, do you really believe this beast?”
“My orders aren’t negotiable!”
The officers were struck by the Lord’s aura. Powerful and oppressive, it stopped their breathing for a moment, reminding them, and everyone else present, who was in charge of Fort Boltoy.
“I’m glad to hear it, runt.” The chief touched his heart and forehead, then ran his fingers through the air. “But the shamans said that a hunter will go with Steppe Fang. And yet, you aren’t even an orc.”
“This is where the fun begins!” Helmer rubbed his hands together gleefully.
“Ever since the first moon that lit the path of our glorious ancestors and Guardian Spirits, we’ve never given a hunter’s feather to anyone other than an orc.” Gurtan stood up and said something to Night’s Pace in an unknown language. She shouted something in that same growling tongue to the army. Hadjar and Gurtan had been talking in Lascanian, so he’d completely forgotten that the orcs had their own language as well. “But a time of great tribulations brings a wind of change. Today, for the first time ever, the Hunter’s Spirit will test someone other than an orc.”
“Are you proud, Hadjar?” Helmer laughed. “What an honor!”
The same orc who’d helped Night’s Pace set down the blanket and make the other arrangements ran over to her again. He brought her a bowl made from the skull of some animal. It was filled with an odd herbal concoction.
“The test should only be undertaken by someone with a healthy body and spirit. Drink this, North Wind. Get your strength back.”
Hadjar looked at the chief first, and then at the bowl. He’d planned to recover within a week or a month. Of course, there were methods and ways one could use to recover much faster than that, but they all included extremely expensive alchemical potions and pills. Even the cheapest one would’ve cost him at least a thousand Imperial coins.
“How did you know I would need this?” Hadjar asked, accepting the skull.
“The Spirits know everything,” Gurtan replied evasively.
“And what if I refuse?”
Gurtan remained silent. Hadjar didn’t need to hear words to understand that he would be killed if he refused. Unless he managed to escape on Azrea, that is.
As he drank the bitter mixture of unfamiliar herbs, Hadjar thought not only about the safety of his three new friends, but also about the fern, the leaves of which they’d smoked a short while ago. In Dahanatan, that plant would cost him five thousand coins per ounce, and in order to practice the ‘Path through the Clouds’ Technique, he needed 46 ounces. So, if this adventure didn’t kill him, maybe he’d be able to get a little closer to his goal of becoming a Lord in just seven years.
***
“What’s going on down there?” Alea pressed herself against the wall, trying to see what was happening out on the field.
“You seem way too interested in this stranger.” Derek tried to tease her, but the only reaction he got was a furious glare.
“I dragged him out of the grave, and now he’s gonna get himself killed! I don’t want my efforts to go to waste!”
Suddenly, the orcs roared and started beating their fists against their chests. A half-naked, eight-foot-tall orc emerged from their ranks. His skin was bright red and covered in blue tattoos that glistened faintly in the sun. There were rings in his right ear and right eyebrow, and he had a thick, black beard and hair that was just as dark which he’d arranged into a bun. In his muscular hands, he held two big axes. Walking barefoot, he slowly approached the orc chief and Hadjar. The latter, after drinking from the bowl, fell to his knees and clutched his chest. Surprisingly, the tigress didn’t try to kill anyone.
“What’s going on down there?” Alea repeated.
“I think... I think they’re going to fight.” Irma said uncertainly.
The orc’s aura was comparable to that of a mid-stage Spirit Knight.
“That orc will kill him…” Alea whispered.
Chapter 546
It was like molten steel had been poured down his throat. His larynx and lungs burned. When the concoction reached his stomach, Hadjar almost fell to his knees in pain. His vision blurred. He didn’t know what was going on. A piece of his consciousness, unable to withstand the torture, dove into the World River, where Hadjar finally found salvation. The pain that had been pounding against his mind like a tsunami turned into a distant echo.
What the hell! Hadjar swore in surprise as soon as he saw what was happening to his energy body: the rough stitches left behind by the local healer were gradually dissolving and being replaced by new, stronger, and denser ‘sections’ of meridians. Hundreds of tiny threads that had been tied to his main channels were now spreading out and falling back into place. New life had been breathed into his broken and torn meridians.
Moreover, his meridians and nodes were changing. The change was slight but noticeable. They didn’t become wider or longer, but more solid instead. They looked stronger and brighter, as if their walls had absorbed some sort of energy. Hadjar didn’t know what all of this would eventually lead to, but he was optimistic about it.
When the pain finally subsided, he opened his eyes and looked at the chief, who, in turn, looked at him with interest.
“I didn’t think you’d survive, runt,” the huge orc said with respect.
“What... was… that?”
“The Strong Spirit Extract.” He slammed his fist against his chest, as if saluting Hadjar. “From early childhood, orcs drink it every full moon. It restores our power and strengthens our bond with the Spirits.”
Every full moon? That was why even a simple orc Heaven Soldier was comparable to a human Spirit Knight in terms of might. With such strong and tempered meridians, they didn’t need any Techniques for Strengthening the Body. Furthermore, all of their attacks were innately full of energy, without them ever needing to use any offensive Techniques.
“Good luck, Hadjar.” Helmer took off his hat, gave him a gallant bow, and began to fade. “If you survive, we’ll talk.”
After watching the demon disappear, Hadjar turned back to Gurtan.
“Do you have any more of this stuff?”
The chief laughed. His laugh sounded like the snarl of a bear that had been awakened in the middle of his hibernation.
“You’re funny, runt!” He clapped him on the shoulder. This simple and friendly gesture made Hadjar’s knees buckle. “This extract can only be drunk once a month. Also, according to our traditions, it’s only intended for hunters.”
“Why did you give it to me, then?”
Gurtan’s gaze hardened. He lifted his massive chin proudly and looked up at the blue sky.
“There’s no honor in hunting a wounded animal, and there’s no honor in fighting a wounded foe.”
“Pardon?”
Instead of answering, he stomped the ground with his foot, making it crack apart. Azrea hissed nervously and jumped to her feet as Gurtan’s spear flew into the air. He caught it deftly as it came back down, swung it over his head, then slammed the butt of it into the ground.
“Gar’ak dur!” He roar
ed.
“Gar’ak dur!” The rest of the orcs echoed.
Such a magnificent battle cry would’ve easily drowned out even the sound of thunder had it struck right then and there.
Hadjar’s heart started beating faster, and his hands clenched into fists. There was something primal about all of this that awoke a long-forgotten lust for battle in him.
“Gar’ak dur,” the chief repeated in a low murmur for Hadjar’s benefit. “It’s difficult to translate into your language, but it means ‘Honor until death’.”
“Gar’ak dur,” Hadjar tried to repeat the phrase in the orcs’ strange, growling language. Surprisingly, he liked how it sounded. “An honorable motto, chief Bear’s Rage.”
Gurtan glanced down at him and nodded.
“I hope that we’ll get to share a pipe at the festival of the Full Moon one day, North Wind.”
With that, he raised his spear and swung it over his head again. He began to draw a circle in the ground around Hadjar with its tip. Night’s Pace followed his example. Azrea bowed respectfully and stepped aside. Lying down on the grass, she looked at Hadjar and bared her fangs as if to say: Get ready.
“Civilian, I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” the commander said, “but we’d better get back to the fort. The Duke will send his army, and then we’ll defeat both the orcs and the ones who have frightened them.”
“Do you understand what you’ve just said, commander?” Hadjar chuckled. “You think that we can kill the creatures that have scared them off?”
The Lord swore, waved his hand dismissively at Hadjar, then turned to his officers, ordering them to return to the fort immediately. They spurred their horses and broke into a run. Living on the border, they’d gotten used to fighting against the Darnassians, who were a familiar threat. However, the orcs inspired a kind of primal terror in them. Not everyone was crazy enough to face off against those who were rumored to be indestructible.
Hadjar was left alone on the field. The Lord cast a final glance at him and followed his officers.
Dragon Heart: Land of Demons. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 7 Page 5
