Book 2, Chapter 66


Richard reined in his horse, sizing up the half-orc warriors standing in his way. The longer he took to observe, the more information he would receive about his target.

There were a total of eight bloodstone orcs stopping Richard, each about two metres tall with the levels between 6 and 8. However, with their innate strength they were similar to warriors a level higher in combat. However, 6 to 8 and 7 to 9 weren’t much different to Richard’s group. There were two mages in their party, and orcs had pitiful resistance to magic.

The leader took two steps forward, pointing at Richard’s nose, “Human! You’ve killed at Camp Bloodstone, and Chief Stormhammer doesn’t like trouble. You’re to come with me now, if he is free he will interrogate you tomorrow.”

“Orc! Dare point at a mage that way again, and your arm will instantly be severed,” Richard answered apathetically.

A few orcs immediately showed looks of terror, and some even retreated. Mages were terrifying to orcs, their existence second only to the evil dragons. However, the leader roared in fury, “Are you threatening the brave warriors of Camp Bloodstone?”

But even if his snarls were fierce, the hand he’d used to point at Richard lowered. Mages were evil and terrifying to orcs, and the legends had made them out to be omnipotent. They could render the most powerful warriors impotent forever, a punishment more frightening than death itself.

“Threatening a mage will result in far worse outcomes,” Richard said with a hint of laughter.

However, the half-orc warrior didn’t seem to think the same way. However, he hummed and finally conceded, “You burnt Mark’s residence. You should at least let us know what happened, no?”

Richard waved his hand, and a footsoldier lifted the corpse’s head to show the orcish warriors its face.

“It’s the Blood Scythe!” one of them cried in alarm.

The violent and powerful fellow was notorious in Camp Bloodstone, but now he’d fallen into the hands of this young and handsome mage. It was unknown whether he was even alive! Mages were truly terrifying aberrations.

Richard spoke leisurely, “This fellow lost a gamble to me at the arena, but he wasn’t willing to pay up. I had no choice but to collect on the debt myself. His life can be considered the interest he owes me.”

“This…” The half-orc scratched his head, at a loss for answers. From the standpoint of maintaining order, it did indeed make sense to enforce debts. Such disputes occurred everyday in Bloodstone, and every once in a while some lives were lost. The problem here was that Richard had created a big mess, and from the looks of it he’d killed off the Blood Scythe’s family as well.

Just as they were at a standstill, a short, stocky figure hastened over from the distance, calling out from his location, “Sir Richard, Lord Richard! Wait, I have something to say!”

This was the dwarven host of the gladiatorial ring. He ran till he was gasping for breath, but even ten or so metres away he couldn’t wait as he spoke out, “Mark isn’t someone to be trifled with! Sir Richard, please do not be too rash… Ah!”

The dwarf was stunned; he had seen Mark’s corpse. His gaze seemed to stay on Mark’s face for an entire minute, and only then did he gulp, turning to look at Richard. At that moment, the charming face seemed no different from that of a devil.

Richard looked down at the dwarf, “These brave warriors of Bloodstone do not want me to return. I remember you promised me some goodwill as the price for not pursuing your poor management of the arena.”

“But of course!” the dwarf quickly replied, darting over to the leader and saying something. It seemed like the dwarf was regarded highly by the bloodstone orcs, as his explanation was accepted without objection. The captain led his small team of warriors and left.

Richard shook his head slightly. So the orcs just left like that? It seemed like this dwarf had quite the status, and Mark wasn’t all that liked either. However, he had only used a small portion of his mana, and the might of most of his subordinates had not been displayed. He’d wished for the warriors to be more forceful, so he could test the abilities of the bloodstone orcs. However, since they were smart enough not to provoke him he would not indulge in competition.

Richard then chuckled aloud, guiding his horse ahead till they reached the inn safely. Numerous pairs of eyes spied on them from the shadows along the way, but seeing Mark’s corpse none dared make a move.

Returning to the inn, Richard patted Sam on the shoulder, “Well done!”

Ever since he’d come to Faelor, he’d found himself liking people like Yomen and Sam more and more. They could do many things, and were of great use as guides.

He then had people hoist the Blood Scythe’s corpse up, bringing it to the room Zendrall currently resided in.

Zendrall had stuck to his position as a prisoner along the way, not stirring any trouble. Their interactions during this time told Richard that this necromancer was someone who valued trust and promises, arrogant but stubbornly persistent in mage tradition. Since he’d defeated the man properly in a magic duel, Richard had gained his respect.

The power of the Book of Holding was still viewed as a part of Richard’s own power on Faelor. Here, the use of magic equipment was alright in a duel. There were few mages in this plane, all of them of high position, and they monopolised the production of any powerful magic equipment. Thus, they showed off the importance of such items in duels, and the more powerful the equipment a mage could use the more respect they garnered.

After all, one still needed mana to activate such equipments, and acolytes skipping levels to use powerful items was impossible. Thus, the art of magic battle involved a perfect combination of both mage and equipment.

In other words, the five direwolves Richard had summoned had given Zendrall less of a shock than the single page from the Book of Holding.

Entering Zendrall’s room, Richard had the corpse placed on the floor as he smiled, “Zendrall, I’ve found you some fairly good material.”

Zendrall’s eyes flashed and he crouched by Mark’s side. He took a careful look and then sighed in praise, “This is a very sturdy warrior. His body and bones weren’t damaged much, and if processed well he can become the perfect dark knight. He might even grow more powerful than he was when he was alive!”

However, the fire in his eyes immediately died out, “It’s a pity that I’m only a prisoner.”

“If you are willing, you don’t have to be one,” Richard stated.

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OMA's Thoughts

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Translated By: ying

Edited By: Theo

TLC'ed By: OMA