The Indomitable Martial King

[ Chapter 117 ]

As the night deepened, the festival grew more vibrant.

Orcs of the Blue Bear Tribe, regardless of age or gender, indulged heartily in alcohol and meat. The timing was perfect. They had the Turtle Lion caught by Tassid and the Elder Drake meat harvested by Kalken, so there was plenty of food. Living in the wilderness, the only salt they occasionally found was rock salt, and the orcs’ preservation method was the primitive technique of smoking. This ingrained the habit of consuming everything immediately when food was available.

Orcs, full and drunk, began singing songs in their native tongue. These traditional songs, with their intense rhythms and rough melodies, boasted the fervor of military marches or battle hymns. In sync with the songs, some orcs started fighting.

“Graah! Come on! Come on!”

“I’ll lay you out, you bastard!”

Orc festivals inherently lacked the concept of dancing like other races. Instead, when a festival began, orcs ate, drank, and fought to their heart’s content.

“There’s even a custom where, during weddings, the bride and groom engage in a brawl, and the victor carries the loser to the bridal chamber,” explained Repenhardt.

Sillan shuddered visibly.

“Th-that’s a terrifying custom.”

For some reason, Sillan trembled more than usual, as if there was another reason behind it.

Orcs who weren’t fighting showed interest in Repenhardt’s group, chattering amongst themselves, mostly the female orcs. The saying that ‘when three women gather, dishes get broken’ proved surprisingly universal across races.

“Are elves that fat? It’s amazing they’re strong despite that.”

“That dwarf woman is also fat. How could she become a warrior?”

Siris, noticing the orc women whispering about them, quietly asked Repenhardt.

“What are they saying?”

Upon hearing that they were being called fat for the first time in their lives, Siris and Tilla’s faces crumpled. They learned from Repenhardt that orcs considered anyone without visible muscles as fat, no matter how slender they appeared.

“Well, this feels strange.”

“Indeed.”

Being called fat by women whose arms were thicker than their thighs left them at a loss for words. Tilla took a swig of alcohol irritably and then coughed harshly.

Beside them, Sillan looked troubled at the pile of meat in front of him. For some reason, the orc women kept bringing food exclusively to him.

“Uh, I’m full now…”

“Ke-chant! Ke-chant!”

Unlike the warriors, these ordinary tribe members did not seem to know the common language and continued to address Sillan in Orcish. Nevertheless, it was easy to understand from their gestures that they were encouraging him to eat. The fact that they kept giving him food indicated they were being quite hospitable. Despite his awkwardness, Sillan was happy.

Of course, he wouldn’t have been happy if he understood what the orcs were saying.

“That one, they say he’s a boy.”

“Goodness! Is that boy so skinny?”

“He looks like he might die soon.”

“Poor thing. Imagine how much self-loathing he must feel among the warriors.”

Even though he was being treated like a frail child about to die, Sillan continued to smile blissfully, unaware of their words.

“Uh, thank you, but I’ve already eaten plenty. Really. You don’t need to give me more… Oh, here comes more.”

Meanwhile, Russ sat by the campfire, watching the orc festival. He could now understand what Repenhardt was saying.

Orcs might look crude, but they were emotional and rational beings. Their valor and warrior ethos seemed similar to that of knights. In fact, knights could be quite crude as well, and when they held drinking parties, it wasn’t much different from the current scene. From Russ’s perspective, it resonated more emotionally than his time with the dwarves.

“Hmm, is this what hyung meant to convey…?”

* * *

The night of the festival was in full swing. Suddenly, a small commotion arose among the orcs. Curious about the hubbub, Repenhardt, who was drinking with Kalken, asked.

“Hmm? What’s happening?”

“Ah, it seems the shepherds have returned.”

Despite their heavy drinking, neither showed signs of inebriation. Both were highly trained individuals who could wield aura, and it would take a lot to make them feel drunk. Their slightly reddened faces indicated that they might be a bit tipsy, though.

At Kalken’s words, Repenhardt nodded, thinking it was nothing significant and prepared to resume his drinking with Kalken. However, among the shepherd orcs who had joined the festival, there was one who stood out. Unlike the others with their dark red skin, this robust orc had green skin. Seeing him, Repenhardt sprang to his feet.

“Oh!”

The orc also widened his eyes in surprise upon seeing Repenhardt.

“Isn’t this my benefactor?”

This orc was none other than Tassid, who had been his loyal subordinate in a previous life and whom he had guided to his destiny as a future great orc warrior in this life. He had been looking for him earlier but hadn’t seen him, and now here he was.

Tassid, his face lit with joy, ran towards Repenhardt. Seeing this, Repenhardt felt a deep sense of nostalgia. Tassid was no longer the weak and small boy he remembered. Now, he stood as a robust figure with a fierce expression, resembling the friend in his memories.

“Tassid!”

Repenhardt called out his name warmly. As they met, Tassid grasped Repenhardt’s hand. Overjoyed, Tassid spoke.

“You recognize me! Even though I’ve changed so much…”

Repenhardt had met Tassid when he was still a small boy, not yet an adult. Despite his significant transformation since then, Tassid was elated that his benefactor recognized him.

Repenhardt felt a bit awkward seeing Tassid so pleased.

“Ah, well…”

In truth, this version of Tassid was the one imprinted in Repenhardt’s memory. How could he not recognize him? But he couldn’t just come out and say that.

Kalken, observing the joyful reunion of these old friends, tilted his head in curiosity.

“Hmm? You know each other?”

“He is the benefactor who guided me to this place, Chieftain.”

Kalken knew well how Tassid had found them, the Blue Bear Tribe.

“Ha! What a coincidence!”

Kalken looked at Repenhardt with renewed interest. Though he had already acknowledged him as trustworthy through the Ritual of Hotu, the Tassid connection further solidified Repenhardt’s reliability in his eyes. Only now did Kalken begin to wonder.

‘Why did someone like him come to find us?’

This was something he should have considered much earlier, but only now, after all the fighting and drinking, did it occur to him—exemplifying typical orc behavior.

‘Come to think of it, my wife was giving me some looks earlier, wasn’t she?’

He now understood his wife’s earlier signals. Kalken asked Repenhardt.

“So, brother, what brings you to these wild lands?”

Sitting by the campfire, Repenhardt replied to Kalken.

“I wish to offer the Blue Bear Tribe a land better than this to live on. For that, I need your help.”

Repenhardt then explained the current situation in the Kingdom of Crovence and how participating in the war could benefit the orcs by gaining new territory. Though Kalken didn’t fully understand, he kept tilting his head in curiosity. Rubbing his tusk, he asked.

“So, you’re saying if we go and fight, we’ll get land?”

“Well, that’s the simplified version, yes.”

Repenhardt gave a rough explanation of the territory he desired, the Viscounty of Gelpein, located in the western part of the Kingdom of Crovence. Hearing that most of the land was adjacent to the Gloten Mountains, Kalken’s eyes sparkled.

“Do you mean our tribe could live there? Without being slaves to humans?”

By human standards, the Gloten Mountains were rugged and barren, but compared to Deathland, it was a paradise. There were forests, flowing streams, frequent rain, and only weak monsters. It was a tempting offer.

“But the human army won’t stand idly by,” Kalken said.

He wasn’t afraid of humans himself, but he had the duty to protect his tribe.

“The human army is numerous. Our warriors are strong, but few. The human army is a formidable presence.”

“That human army will grant you land if you fight alongside them,” Repenhardt explained.

Kalken pondered. The safety of his tribe was at stake, and he couldn’t make a hasty decision.

Turning his head, he asked Tassid, who had been listening beside them, “Tassid, who grew up among humans, what do you think?”

If it were up to human standards, such a significant matter concerning the tribe’s safety would be discussed quietly among the leaders in a secluded room. But orcs had no such concept. Things that couldn’t be told to others were bad and shouldn’t be done. Good things could be discussed openly anywhere.

Thus, Tassid had been listening to their conversation from the start. After some thought, he responded.

“I can trust humans, but I can trust Repenhardt even more. Our benefactor would not lie to us.”

“I know that much. My concern is that if Brother Repenhardt fails, it will jeopardize the safety of our tribe.”

Kalken did not doubt Repenhardt’s intentions. However, he was a seasoned orc who knew that the world did not always move according to one’s good intentions.

Tassid nodded and added, “We should seek the advice of the Great Mother and the Master of Weapons. Their wisdom is needed in this matter.”

With Kalken’s approval, Tassid left and ran somewhere in the village.

A short while later, Tassid returned to the campfire accompanied by Stalla and a slightly gaunt middle-aged orc. The middle-aged orc introduced himself to Repenhardt.

“Warrior blessed by the spirit of combat, I am Gralta, the Master of Weapons of the Blue Bear Tribe.”

The title “Master of Weapons” was the orcs’ term for a blacksmith.

Unlike humans or dwarves, orcs did not have the skills to handle iron through casting methods and had to forge all their weapons with hammers. Moreover, they lacked the technology to mine and extract iron, relying on finding open-pit mines.

The existence of blacksmiths who roamed the harsh wilderness, teeming with countless monsters, in search of open-pit iron mines and who forged lifelong companions with their strength and endurance, were as respected as warriors among the orcs. Gralta, the Master of Weapons, was one of the key mentors leading the Blue Bear Tribe alongside Chieftain Kalken and the Great Mother Stalla.

Looking around at them, Kalken spoke.

“A new brother has introduced a new destiny to us. We must judge wisely, for the sake of the tribe!”

Both orcs’ eyes gleamed with curiosity as they looked at Repenhardt.