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An Otherworldly Scholar - 164
🕑 Added 2024-10-01 21:27:04 +0000 UTCThe pack of orcs guided us through the Farlands, always going north. We followed the same path I had taken with Elincia during our herb-gathering expedition, but instead of going west and sticking to the mountain, we turned to the east, deeper into the Farlands. Little One guided us through hidden paths through the forest and the mountains. Soon, I realized the orcs had a road network. Some roads were wide enough for carriages, and others were little more than animal trails.
We covered more distance in a single day than in an entire week. From time to time, Little One stopped and whistled. His calls were always answered with similar whistling. There weren’t permanent structures along the roads, but I noticed concealed surveillance stations—mere wooden platforms—near the treetops.
I wondered how many orcs were out there.
After a while, Little One dropped his guard and focused on speed. Until then, we had traveled silently, attentive to the slightest change in the wind and suspicious sounds from the thicket. No undead, chrysalimorph, or even stingers intercepted us. The Monster Surge receded, and the orc lookouts had noticed the change. I hoped my victory against the Forest Warden and the Lich gave us enough time to settle.
Wolf, however, grew restless.
“We are getting close to Umolo,” Little One said.
“Many of us have Classes,” I pointed out.
“The tribe will honor Chieftain Dassyra’s decisions even if you accept the System,” Little One shrugged.
The answer didn’t reassure Wolf.
Little One guided us up the rocky hill between the mountain ranges, and when we reached the top of the road, the orc settlement appeared before our eyes. Rising from the rock was Umolo, a walled citadel cut in the mountain’s slope. A grid of tents extended like a fan into the valley from the inner wall. At first, I thought it was a war camp, but I was wrong. Wide roads separated each district and allowed the flux of carts and people around the settlement. Each district had its colors and symbols. The mountain behind the citadel had been cut into terraces, and farmers tended to the winter crops as far as the eye could see.
Umolo wasn’t a tribe but a city. Diagonal roads cut through the grid of tents, connecting wells and fountains. There were markets, workshops, plazas, and stone fortifications, but other than the permanent buildings, everything looked like nomad settlements struck together. At least five hundred orcs had to live within the stone walls, and another thousand camped outside.
“Umolo, the Cradle City,” Little One said with a grimace of displeasure, and we continued walking down the slope.
“It’s beautiful,” I said. Unlike Farcrest, with its broken streets and putrid puddles, Umolo was clean and organized, almost like a color wheel in the middle of the Farlands.
“Umolo only swells this much when danger roams the forests,” Little One replied. “Umolo is not a city for warriors but for the sick, the old, and the scared. Don’t let the Greyfangs hear you saying something like that, though.”
It didn't take an anthropologist to know that hiding behind walls did not align with the values of the orcs.
“Who are the Greyfangs?” I asked. I needed to know what to expect from Umolo.
Little One let out a long sigh.
“Greyfangs are the guardians of the city, the descendants of Umolo and his tribe. Don’t mess with them. They are the elite among the elite,” Little One said, but he silenced me before I could continue asking questions. “Don’t ask more. We are close to the city, and there are ears everywhere.”
Our group descended the rocky path into the plains. There were ten of Dassyra’s scouts, the four kids, the two elven warriors, and me. We were quite the troupe. I trusted Dassyra to shelter us, but I didn’t count on many tribes being pent up in the same place. Even if Dassyra wanted to help us, others might be more reluctant to accept System users inside the walls.
Not an hour later, we reached the city. Umolo’s wall was made of stones of various sizes and shapes, all fitted together like a massive puzzle. Some of the rocks had to weigh hundreds of tons. Even with the orcish strength in the equation, the construction seemed impossible. The wall was built to last. Not even the assault of an Iceshard Matriarch would make a dent in its surface.
As we approached, I noticed the remnants of a massive battle.
Squads of warriors piled mountains of undead monsters while orc lumberjacks were cutting the remnants of Forest Warden roots. Despite their muscular bodies, they were having trouble. Several Shamans were blessing the axes to cut through the more hardened parts of the root system.
“An undead attack?” I asked.
“Yes. Last night was difficult. Not only undead but Saplings and Hornets too,” Little One replied.
The amount of monster corpses was astounding.
We continued walking along the wall under the curious glances of the orc workers. A detachment of orcs clad in full metal armor guarded the gates. The iron plates were thick as a finger, several times heavier than what medieval knights wore to battle. Their helmets resembled demonic orc faces, with tusks curling over their heads and gray wolf pelts falling over their shoulders, and their cleavers were so heavy that they could cut a horse in half without much effort.
The armored warriors towered over their fellow orcs; none was less than two and a half meters tall. There were at least thirty of them. Such a unit would’ve wreaked havoc during the human middle ages.
“Who’s there?” The Greyfang captain broke from the formation. His voice sounded like a rock falling into the deepest gorges. It echoed inside my rib cage.
“Chieftain Dassyra’s son and his bodyguards from Farcrest,” Little One replied, pulling the banner of the teal moon.
The Greyfang captain examined us, his eyes shining through the slits in his helmet. Wolf remained still, enduring his glance. Then, the Greyfang captain turned towards Hallas and Pyrrah. “The elves aren’t from Farcrest. They are wearing royal armor. Where is your Gilded?”
Hallas stepped forth and performed a courteous salute, unfazed by the Greyfang’s presence. Hallas was a tall elf, but the Greyfang captain almost quadrupled him in bulk. Pyrrah shifted nervously.
“Our Gilded fell battling the Forest Warden, but our assignment remains: eliminate the Forest Warden. We joined forces with the human warrior Robert Clarke and defeated one of its Vessels not a day ago.”
His words seemed to pick the Captain's attention.
“So, the Forest Warden is producing vessels already,” he said.
With a sign of the hand, two armored soldiers broke from the formation and disappeared behind the gate. Then, he turned to me and laughed deeply, like a mountain splitting in half. He pressed his fingertips against his forehead in some sort of ceremonial salute.
“Umolo smiles at the mighty. The gates of the city are open for Chieftain Dassyra’s son. Open the gates!” the Captain said; however, the armored soldiers didn’t break formation. “As per our treaties, the warriors from Farcrest can rest and heal their wounds, but they can’t stay. We don’t deal with Corruption.”
The gates opened, and the Greyfangs let us through. I felt their glances stuck to my back until the gate closed behind us. I let out a sigh of relief, and for the first time in days, I let the exhaustion enshroud me. My shoulders felt heavy, but we still had a long way to go to Dassyra’s camp.
Up close, the city was even more impressive. Tents stretched in all directions, with their work benches and drying racks tidily arranged before them. Everything was like Dassura’s outpost but multiplied by a hundred. Multicolor banners and flags marked the districts where orcs of the same tribe camped. As the orcs cleaned the mess from the Forest Warden’s attack, we walked down the road. There were whole blocks that had been reduced to rubble by the root system and huge tents where healers tended the wounded warriors.
“I should help them,” Wolf muttered.
“We will have time for that later. Let’s settle down first,” I replied.
The words of the Greyfang captain still echoed in my mind. We don’t deal with Corruption. Still, Byrne had spent a lot of time in Dassyra’s tribe, and he was a Scholar. If the orc society had exceptions to the rule, we would have to exploit them somehow.
We traversed Umolo to the north. The grid system allowed us to cross the city in a few minutes. The orcs cast curious glances at us but let us through. Tents needed patching, weapons required fixing, and there were more wounded than healthy orcs. The northern part of the city seemed to receive the worst part of the attack. Wolf walked behind me, almost making the group drag.
“Don’t be nervous, Wolf,” I said near his ear.
“I know this was my idea, but I shouldn’t be here,” Wolf replied.
“Dassyra is your mother, and these are your people regardless of your Class,” I said. “No matter what happens next, this was our safest and best bet. We did what we had to survive, Wolf.”
“I don’t think I can get us a place here. Not with a Class,” Wolf said without much conviction.
“If something goes wrong, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.” I patted her back.
“Thanks.”
The orc’s demeanor changed when we entered the area with the teal moon banners. Many stopped working to greet Little One, offering drinks and snacks. The orc troop dissolved instantly as the scouts joined their families and friends. Little One, however, refused the hospitality and guided us to the center of the camp. About half of the tents had been affected by the attack, and the wounded warriors were being tended in the streets.
I put an arm around Wolf’s shoulders and pulled him forward. We reached the center of the camp, a square with a well near the corner. Four tents, bigger even than those that served as workshops, dominated the square. Little One explained they were for the tribe's leader and their Chieftains. It was hard to estimate the size of Dassyra’s tribe without an aerial shot, but I guessed there had to be between three and four hundred individuals.
I hadn’t realized that more and more orcs were following us to the central plaza until I turned around. [Foresight] captured their murmurs. The news about Dassyra’s son returning to the tribe had spread like wildfire. Still, there wasn’t a festive atmosphere. Everyone was tense, as if they expected something to happen.
“Chieftain Dassyra! Your blood has returned!” Little One yelled over the murmur of the crowd.
I put a hand over Wolf’s shoulder. A moment later, Dassyra emerged from the tent, dressed in an ornate warrior outfit, with a wolf head over her shoulder and a long cloak, the teal moon imprinted in her leather armor. Her expression was stern, as if she were facing the enemy army. I looked around. The orcs retreated to the sides of the central square. Her eyes finally fell upon Wolf.
“My blood has returned, but is it strong enough to become the blood of the tribe?” Dassyra said the words almost like she had memorized them. Then I realized what was happening. It wasn’t a typical greeting but a ceremony.
“Chieftain, allow me to test his arm,” Little One said, stepping forth.
The silence could be cut with a knife.
“No,” Dassyra said, undoing the knot of her cape. “I’ll do it myself.”
A murmur rose as the orcs cleared the main square of crafting tables and materials crates. No order was given, but everyone understood what they needed to do. A group of old female orcs pushed us, foreigners, to the side as gently as an almost two-meter-tall grandma could, but I remained by Wolf’s side.
“Did you know this would happen?” I asked.
“Yes, I’ve been preparing myself,” Wolf replied with his usual stoic voice. “I’ve been learning from you, but the more I learn, the less prepared I feel. After the fight against the chrysalimorph, I realized how weak I am.”
More and more orcs gathered around the square.
“Do you require a weapon?” Little One interrupted us.
“Yes,” Wolf replied.
Another wave of murmurs rose from the sidelines. [Foresight] caught snippets of the conversations. They expected Wolf to fight hand-to-hand against Dassyra. The crowd opened, and a line of blacksmiths entered the square. They offered their weapons to Wolf, but he dismissed them until he found what he was looking for—a heavy longsword with a broad blade. The weapon hadn’t been created with a human-size user in mind, yet Wolf raised it without trouble. I noticed the sword was a dull ceremonial weapon, but it was heavy, and it could do damage in the right hands.
I stood before Wolf and locked eyes with him.
“Dassyra uses wide and heavy blows. She has a strong arm but you’ll have enough time to react,” I said.
Wolf gave me a confused glance.
“She tried to kill me once,” I explained, downplaying the matter. “There will be no skills, magic, or tricks during this duel, Wolf, just swordplay. You are at an advantage on this battlefield. Show them your strength.”
Wolf nodded, and I retreated to where the kids and the elven warriors were waiting.
“What is happening?” Hallas asked, somewhat panicked.
“Wolf is the Chieftain’s son. It seems orcs have some sort of initiation ritual, but there shouldn’t be problems for us. He’s prepared for this fight,” I replied as more and more orcs gathered in the square. There had to be two or three hundred of them. “You haven’t told me what a Gilded is, Hallas, and that sounds very important. I don’t want secrets while we work together.”
Hallas shuffled, uncomfortable, and the metallic glint of his armor poked through his green cloak. He feared me. And with good reason.
“Evindal was our Gilded Soldier. What you call a System user. Pyrrah and I were his squires. We were supposed to help him cultivate his levels, funneling experience without leeching,” Hallas explained, recovering part of his natural sass. “But alas, we failed our mission and he died. It’s a shameful ordeal if you ask me.”
“You two don’t have a Class?” I asked.
“Of course not! Only the soldiers of the Order of the Gilded have Classes. We pick only a few talented ones so as not to spread unnecessary Corruption, unlike you people,” Hallas replied, massaging his temples. “Establishing a trade route with you humans is a mistake, I always say, but our king never listens.”
Pyrrah hit Hallas on the arm.
I ignored them. It seemed humans were the only sapient species who blindly accepted the System. Everyone else seemed concerned about Corruption except for the inhabitants of Ebros. The System Avatar would have to answer many questions the next time we met.
Wolf and Dassyra stepped into the main square, and the orcs started to get excited. The beating of the drums reached my ears as the crowd chanted a song in a language I didn’t recognize. The solemnity of the ceremony was quickly replaced by shouting and whistling. In orc society, survival was everything. Every one of the individuals worked like a greased cog inside the bigger machine the tribe was. Wolf had lived for too long among humans, and they had to ensure he wouldn’t endanger the tribe. Wolf was being tested.
“You’ve got this Wolf. Beat her up!” Zaon yelled, trying his best to be heard over the crowd's roar.
“Dude, that’s Wolf’s mother. Show some respect,” Ilya elbowed him.
Zaon blushed. “I’m sorry, Wolf’s mom! I didn’t mean it!”
“Are you sure he’s prepared? Orc Chieftains are chieftains for a reason,” Hallas said.
“Do you have an elven camp where we could stay?” I replied, and my voice came sharper than I wanted.
Hallas recoiled and shook his head. I tried to search for any kind of deception in his eyes, but [Foresight] couldn’t get through him. The elven pair had more secrets than what I was comfortable with, but they could be useful against the Forest Warden and the Lich. They knew stuff, and Scholars needed information to design a plan properly.
I focused back on the improvised arena.
“Raise your sword and fight, new blood. Show the tribe you are one of us!” Little One said.
Wolf adopted the ochs guard, with both hands over his head and the tip of the sword pointing forward. The tribe laughed. No orc had never seen something like that. The ochs might seem strange at first glance, but it threatened a thrust or a powerful cut.
“This isn’t a dance class, Wolf, square up,” Dassyra said, her cleaver resting lax in her hand.
With a sudden burst of energy, Wolf lunged forward. Dassyra was caught by surprise, and the dull sword hit her in the middle of her chest. She let out a sharp gasp, stumbling backward as the force of the blow knocked the wind out of her lungs. Her padded armor had absorbed most of the force, but Wolf hadn’t held back. Dassyra clutched her chest and narrowed her eyes in frustration.
The laughter turned into murmurs. Several orcs theorized that the Chieftain was going soft because she faced her son, but none dared voice their concerns above the level of a murmur. Dassyra couldn’t afford to lose face before the tribe, but this was Wolf’s introduction letter.
“Show them your strength, boy!” I yelled from the sideline.
Dassyra was livid. Her knuckles paled as she tightened the grip around her machete. “That’s all you have, my son? Tricks?”
Wolf didn’t react. His face remained a mask of stone. I couldn’t tell what was happening in his mind. Wolf adopted a slightly centered pflug guard. A versatile guard. Dassyra pressed the attack. Despite their huge bodies, orcs were nimble. She feinted to the left, but he attacked by the right, putting the weight of her body behind the swing. Wolf blocked, but Dassyra was already chained in a second attack.
Orcs loved vertical and horizontal attacks.
Wolf was prepared. He stepped back and parried the blow, using the leverage of his sword to his advantage. The clash of metal rang over the sound of the drums. Dassyra pressed harder, her cleaver coming down with brutal force. Wolf fought defensively, absorbing and redirecting the blows with his blade. Dassyra was faster and more cunning, but Wolf was disciplined in his defense and pragmatic in his attacks.
The crowd's voices rose as Dassyra pressed the attack. She might seem to have the advantage, but Wolf wasn’t fleeing. He was setting the trap. In terms of skill, Wolf was way above her. He led her to believe she had the advantage, and the moment Dassyra prepared to deliver the final blow, Wolf closed the trap.
The magic wasn’t in the blade but in the movement of his feet.
Wolf sidestepped, letting her momentum carry her forward. Before she could recover, Wolf pivoted and brought his sword in a powerful strike. The blade hit Dassyra’s exposed side, sending her stumbling to one knee. Wolf was about a head smaller than his mother, yet he had complete control over the fight.
The crowd gasped, and even the rhythm of the drums faltered. Wolf didn’t press his advantage. Instead, he stepped back. His hands trembled. I couldn’t read his face. Wolf was stoic and hard to read, but now, he wasn’t himself. Something was slightly off. His blows had been too violent. I just hoped he didn’t do anything reckless.
Dassyra growled and straightened her back.
“You have inherited our strength, my son—.”
“But he can’t stay.”
The orcs fell to their knees as a hulk of a warrior with a face covered in old scars emerged from the main tent. It was the Warchief. Hallas and Pyrrah knelt, but the kids and I remained on my feet. The old orc climbed down the steps of his elevated tent. His fingers were covered in rings, and his cloak was made of the golden fur of a monster I didn’t recognize. His presence was even more intense than the ones from the Greyfang warriors. By his side, an old shaman dressed in a rich teal robe walked slowly.
“Wolf, son of Dassyra. You are strong, and your strange art deadly. However, you have accepted the taint of Corruption. There is no place for you among our tribe,” the Warchief said, his voice echoing across the square and beyond. “As per our treaties with the Marquisate, you can stay at the camp until your injuries heal. Then, you should leave.”
Comments
ND_JackSparrow
I imagine the healer class comes with little-to-no physical benefits. If nothing else, Wolf can take solace in the fact that he beat his tribe's challenge with his own skill regardless of his class. Though whether the other Orcs will see it that way is another matter ... Only being permitted to stay long enough to heal their injuries is not great, as the plan was to wait out the monster surge before returning to Farcrest. However, beggars can't be choosers, and having a safe place to rest and recover is far preferable to camping amongst the monsters outside. Furthermore, the orcs have a common enemy in the Forest Warden and Lich, and with how Rob and the Elves seem to be preparing to take the fight to them, maybe the leaders of the city will be pragmatic enough to see the value in supporting that effort. Rob mentioned it before, but I am curious if the orcs would accept healing from Wolf's class. While that would theoretically be a way to generate some goodwill--especially with how many injured there are in the city right now--their anti-system mindset might cause them to reject such an offer. I suppose we'll have to wait and see.
David Ellis
Oh, I hope Rob is able to alter the System to have a classic Final Fantasy job system to let people reclass. Then maybe Wolf can become an Onion Knight (no class) again https://strategywiki.org/wiki/Final_Fantasy_III/Jobs#Onion_Knight
David Ellis
That went about as well as it could have.
Ben Bass
TYFTC! I am so glad Wolf proved his strength to his mother before the proclamation. It is sad, yet totally expected, unless he is able to forsake his class somehow? Not sure if that is possible, it could be interesting.
bcd051
Poor Wolf
