Praise the Orc

Chapter 42: Water (1)

Smoke rose from the village in the distance.

Blackmore and the players were still laughing among themselves while playing music. Only Crockta and Jeremy detected the faint cloud of smoke.

‘It can’t possibly be trouble right from the start,’ thought Jeremy as he caressed the hilt of his longsword hung from his waist.

Doing so immediately calmed his nerves. He believed that regardless of what was going to happen, a single sword would be enough. After all, he was a swordsman whom even Derek acknowledged. Jeremy was a natural-born killer. Moreover, by his side was an old-fashioned orc warrior who was strong enough that even Derek paid attention to him.

“Ahjussi, there’s smoke over there,” said the female player.

Blackmore abruptly stopped playing his instrument.

“What’s going on?” wondered Blackmore.

Smoke continued to rise from the village. It intensified and filled the village sky with black fumes.

Blackmore’s expression stiffened. “Oh, no... There seems to be a fire. I need to run.”

He fastened his instrument to his back and was about to run toward the village when a player tripped him. Blackmore was unable to catch himself in time and ended up tumbling to the ground. This caused the tip of his instrument, which he had been carrying on his back, to shatter. Unable to get up off the ground, he moaned in pain.

“W-What... Ugh...” groaned the startled Blackmore.

The players snickered among themselves.

“It must have already started, guys.”

“I told them to wait for us.”

“But we still have our share here.”

Crockta couldn’t help but scowl at their conversation. Jeremy shrugged as if he had expected this all along and pulled out his sword.

“Dude, I told you,” said Jeremy to Crockta. “This is why I hate those who have been cursed by the stars. These backstabbing jerks.”

Then he winked at Crockta and added, “Of course, I will reserve my judgment about you for a little longer.”

The players approached Jeremy and Crockta. They were wary of the pair as the latter were armed, unlike Blackmore. Furthermore, one of them was even an orc.

“Is it okay even though he’s an orc?”

“Just trust me.”

All the players pulled out their weapons. The sorcerer retreated and prepared to support from the periphery.

“If it gets dangerous, we can just call for more support,” said the female player, who had been friendly with Blackmore. She grinned and added, “A1 to C4 is our territory anyways.”

As Jeremy whistled, his longsword gleamed brilliantly under the sunlight. His longsword was small compared to Crockta’s greatsword, but the amount of human blood its blade had licked could form a small stream.

“You guys, don’t you see how angry this orc is? Do you want to get punished? Do you want to bleed?” Jeremy joked around while assessing the distance between them.

As he did so, he kept his movements light.

Crockta gripped his greatsword and lowered his center of gravity. He gathered some momentum so that he could break through the players in an instant. Crockta assessed that he could easily handle the humans lined up at the front, but he was concerned about the sorcerer at the back, who was already murmuring in preparation to activate a spell.

‘Sorcerers are always a pain in the butt.’

Crockta carefully looked for an opening to attack the sorcerer. However, his eyes widened right then. The sorcerer suddenly collapsed to the ground soundlessly, revealing Blackmore who had been standing behind him. When Blackmore’s and Crockta’s eyes met, Blackmore made a signal with his eyes, pointing out how the players gathered at the front had yet to notice the sorcerer’s downfall. Having gotten the message, Crockta nodded and charged.

“Bul’taaaarrrrr!” he shouted the battle cry of orc warriors, which had now become a habit for him, and rushed toward the players with Jeremy in tow.

Crockta lunged forward while swinging his greatsword. The force of his attack pushed the players back, and Jeremy used their retreat to his advantage. Moving like the wind, he leaped from behind and dug his longsword into the throat of one of the players.

The startled players screamed.

“Sorcerer! Quickly use your magic! Why aren’t you doing anything?”

“What are you doing? Do something!”

When they turned around to look, their faces filled with despair. Blackmore, whom none of the players had been paying attention to, had knocked down the sorcerer and was looking at them with his foot on the sorcerer’s chest.

The players sensed their impending doom. In fact, they could already feel Crockta’s and Jeremy’s blades on their skin. The players’ heads were sent flying into the air.

Crockta and Jeremy were too strong for the players to handle. They weren’t just regular passersby or musicians. Instead, they just so happened to be a notorious swordsman from the back alleys of Anail, the city of runaways, and a true orc warrior, who had gained recognition from the hardship he’d experienced.

The players’ bodies began to turn white. This was the final moment for these people who had received the curse of the stars.

After the players dissipated, their equipment remained on the ground. Nothing looked extraordinary, so Crockta’s party left the equipment behind as they were in a rush to go to the village.

Blackmore immediately began running, and Jeremy and Crockta took a quick glance at each other’s faces before following behind Blackmore.

The village was in chaos. Multiple houses were burning down, and NPCs and players were engaged in battle everywhere in the village. Blackmore looked around and then picked up a farming tool. He turned it into a cudgel by breaking off the top part of the tool, then he swung it into the air.

Crockta’s and Jeremy’s eyes sparkled as they watched Blackmore swing his cudgel. They could tell he was a skillful fighter from the way he wielded the makeshift weapon.

After swinging the cudgel to reawaken his senses, Blackmore dove into the battleground without looking back. Crockta and Jeremy joined the battle as well. All of the village NPCs appeared to be farmers, but they were able to stand up to players with their farming equipment. One by one, players turned into white particles at the hands of the villagers.

Crockta tilted his head in confusion as he slashed a player’s throat.

The players were strangely weak. He had occasionally encountered players of caliber, but most of the players in the battle here seemed like they had only just begun playing Elder Lord. Not only were they weak, but they were easily scared, and most of them fled when they saw Crockta’s frightening appearance.

“An orc!”

“Run! There’s an orc!”

“Run away! Escape!”

“So fucking scary!”

“A monster!”

The players quickly turned and fled.

“....” Crockta didn’t even have a chance to fight them.

Jeremy giggled and tapped on Crockta’s shoulder with his usual teasing attitude.

He said, “Your face is quite something, but it’s not that scary, so don’t be too discouraged.”

“Shut up,” Crockta retorted. He was about to turn away, but instead, he added, “I’m good-looking for an orc.”

It was true.

Crockta was a handsome orc. Back in Orcrox, female orc NPCs had hit on him multiple times. He had customized his face to be as scary as possible to tease his sister Yi-Yoo, but it was charming to fellow orcs.

Jeremy burst out in laughter.

Then he asked, “Anyway, what’s going on? The cursed ones are arriving in groups and ambushing Chesswood, but they’re so weak.”

Crockta looked at the players’ equipment scattered on the ground. They were all trash, not even Common-tier equipment.

“I have a rough idea of what’s going on,” said Crockta.

Based on the poor combat abilities of the players here and what the female player from earlier had said about A1 to C4 being their territory, Crockta could surmise that the players were taking advantage of Chesswood and repeating bad habits from online games. They were laying claim on territories and dividing them up for players to level up in. The players were taking advantage of Chesswood’s unique regional trait of being comprised of small scattered villages, which also happened to be populated by farmers who were unaccustomed to battle.

“Blackmore! Has he returned for good?”

“Blackmore’s here?”

A commotion arose among the villagers after the battle ended. They had discovered Blackmore was present. However, this wasn’t the kind of welcome Crockta had expected. It was quite the opposite.

“He suddenly left, so why did he...”

“I thought he was gone forever...?”

They seemed to be shunning Blackmore. Some villagers even spit on the ground in distaste as if Blackmore was bad luck.

Blackmore just awkwardly fiddled with his broken instrument while lowering his head and staring at the ground.

***

“Haha, Blackmore, can’t believe you became a musician. Life is so unpredictable.”

Crockta and Jeremy had ended up staying at Blackmore’s uncle’s house. Ingram, Blackmore’s uncle, had a large stature and was very tall. He seemed very strong.

“Has Mr. Musician over here changed a lot?” asked Jeremy.

“Blackmore? This guy was a complete...” Ingram said, looking at Blackmore and shaking his head, “...hooligan.”

“Oh.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” protested Blackmore.

“If a person who beats people up as a loan shark’s goon isn’t a hooligan or a gangster, then what are they?”

“Well...” Blackmore lowered his head and stared at the ground again.

Jeremy, who was beside Blackmore, couldn’t help but do the same.

Crockta nodded in agreement with Ingram and then whispered to Jeremy, “Hooligan, gangster.”

Jeremy grunted as he elbowed Crockta.

“The only things he knew were how to do were fight and swing his spear. Well, there wasn’t much else to do in Chesswood,” said Ingram.

“I didn’t do it that often,” refuted Blackmore.

“Blackmore of Chesswood is notorious. They said he was merciless and emotionless.”

It was a full moon that night. Ingram served his guests, two humans and an orc, his homemade beer. It was quite delicious.

Crockta thought Ingram’s homemade beer did not pale in comparison to the beer he had drunk at Orcrox.

“I do regret my past,” admitted Blackmore.

“We didn’t hear anything from you after you left Chesswood. How did you become a musician?” asked Ingram.

Blackmore’s explanation was brief. After leaving Chesswood, he roamed around and traveled to various places. He always had means to make money with his skills—be it as a mercenary, a soldier, or as a high-level guard. However, there had always been a sense of regret in his heart about how he earned money by causing other people pain.

One day, he saw a musician playing an instrument at the pub in the inn he was staying at. The musician’s skills were mediocre, but people laughed with joy as they watched him. Despite eating expensive food and staying in a much pricier room than the one the musician dwelled in, Blackmore was miserable in comparison. Thus, Blackmore threw away everything and became a musician. That was ten years ago.

“The most apathetic guy in the world ended up with the most sentimental job,” commented Ingram.

Blackmore smiled bitterly.

“Even though you said it’s because of that musician, it’s actually because of her, right?” asked Ingram.

“...” Blackmore downed his beer.

“How is she?” he asked.

“She got married,” replied Ingram.

“To who?”

“He’s a decent guy.”

“That’s all that matters then. Don’t say anymore.”

Blackmore seemed to have a heart-rending story from the past. His expression darkened, and Ingram, Crockta, and Jeremy stopped talking.

Then Blackmore quickly changed the topic, “Do the cursed ones keep reappearing?”

“Yeah. It’s serious. We have requested help from the castle, but it takes a while,” Ingram answered.

The villages had united to ward off the cursed ones’ attacks, but the continuous ambushes were putting a strain on them.

Crockta wore a solemn expression. He was certain that players had designated Chesswood as a hunting ground for them to level up in and that the clans had divided Chesswood among themselves.

It was rare for NPCs with regular skill levels to form a district consisting of scattered villages without a strong connection. Additionally, there wasn’t even a professional security team like in other cities. These reasons made Chesswood the ideal hunting ground. Consequently, clans were laying claim to the lands and controlling territories to monopolize Chesswood.

“All of the village heads are gathering tomorrow to discuss a plan,” stated Ingram.

Blackmore, who had been downing his beer, jumped up from his seat to air out the gloomy atmosphere.

He said, “Anyway, Uncle, now that I’m a musician, I will sing for you. My instrument is broken though.”

“Oh, did you write a song?”

“Yes, it’s a song I wrote while reminiscing about Chesswood.”

“I’m going to block my ears if it’s bad.”

“Of course.”

Then Blackmore began singing. Unlike Ingram’s worries, the song had a nice rhythm to it, and it had a sad introduction that gradually became cheerful.

The listeners clapped along with the beat. Listening to the song made them feel as if they were excitedly running toward their hometown.

“I’ve wandered through many places in the world, always looking for something new. But I realized that what I’d been searching for was at the place I’d known all along.

“I sing under the moonlight with the rain pouring down on me. Oh! I am joyful, now that I’m back in my hometown! Under the sun, I stroll down a path with a bright smile. Ah! I am happy to be back!”