Chapter 113 - Harsh March (1)
Crockta was able to return using the power of the Boundary Pumpkin, which startled Tiyo and Anor he appeared out of thin air. The dark elf unit led by Caska planned to leave Yekator and head to Juora to confront the orcs. If Crockta didn’t appear, they would wait until daytime before leaving for Juora.
But unlike their worries, Crockta returned immediately at midnight.
"Ah, what a wonderful pumpkin dot.”
Tiyo felt admiration. He didn’t care about Crockta lying on the ground. Crockta pointed at himself and complained.
“You should be worried about me first.”
“You don’t seem to be dead dot.” Tiyo grinned.
Crockta’s appearance was disgusting. His whole body was covered in blood and other flesh, while hand marks remained around his throat. There were scratches from where blades had cut him here and there, so it was easy to guess that a fierce battle had occurred.
"It’s strange to see Crockta so beat up dot." Tiyo laughed out loud. Perhaps this was the first time, apart from the behemoth and Gushantimur.
"How was the opponent dot? If you are alive, did the great chieftain die?”
“Phew. Tiyo is so tiresome. Crockta, grab my hand.”
Anor reached out to Crockta. Crockta grabbed his hand and raised his body. However, Anor freaked out after feeling the blood and flesh on Crockta’s hand and left go.
Crockta fell again. “Cough!”
“Ah, I’m sorry. I was surprised. I need to go wash my hands.”
Crockta became sad.
Once Crockta returned, Caska, who had been waiting, approached him. Except for her and Crockta, most of the dark elves were asleep. The soldiers patrolling also acknowledged Crockta’s return with a wave of their hands. Crockta waved back at them.
Caska looked at him with relief and asked, "Crockta, are you okay?”
"It is as you can see."
"You’re not okay.”
Crockta first washed the blood off his body and then received treatment from the medics. His wounds were disinfected then bandaged. The wounds were inconvenient but there were no major problems with his movement.
“How is the great chieftain?”
Everyone looked at Crockta. The great chieftain was notorious but they had never seen him. It was only a rumor that he had torn apart an ogre with his bare hands. The Great Clan’s mad chieftain. Crockta couldn’t say anything about him apart from,
"He is strong."
Definitely strong. But it wasn’t the strength he normally thought of.
The great chieftain was a warrior who had reached one of the highest points. But the sharpness was less than Driden’s dual swords. He also had tremendous power, but it wasn’t more than creatures like ogres or cyclops. When it came to skills and combat senses, Crockta was superior.
At least, until he was engulfed in the red aura. Crockta had stabbed him in the abdomen during the fight. The chieftain was obviously big and strong, but if the battle had continued, it seemed like he could win.
Then the mark appeared on the chieftain’s forehead and he became a mad monster that couldn’t be resisted. Grabbing the greatsword with his muscles and breaking a blade with his bare hands, the cause of that was the madness.
After that state...
It would probably be difficult to win.
"I think we need to be thoroughly prepared. He used an unfamiliar power and once he was surrounded by red energy, he had a truly incredible strength."
Caska became serious at Crockta’s words. Crockta was a warrior who had charged along into an army of orcs. He was the strongest among those she had met. But now he was giving a serious warning.
"The good thing is that he did get hurt. Thanks to the unknown aura, it will probably recover soon but... I did stab him in the abdomen.”
"His stomach will be aching dot!”
"Kulkul, of course.”
Crockta touched Ogre Slayer.
Caska sighed with relief. "I'm glad. He is injured and their movements will be delayed.”
No matter how much of a monster he was, he would still need a break if his abdomen was pierced. It was common sense. But Crockta didn’t agree. The great chieftain had been incredibly angry at Crockta. Thinking about that boiling madness, it wouldn’t be strange if he ran towards the north right away.
The great chieftain wasn’t a common person. He was a madman.
"It won’t be the case. The great chieftain...”
"You are hurt as well, so get some rest. It’s nighttime.”
Caska pointed to the sky. The moon looked like it did when he was in the orcs’ camp. Crockta nodded and said, "But tomorrow, we have to move early.”
“Understood.” Caska nodded.
Tiyo and Anor helped Crockta. He could walk alone but he decided to lean on them. No matter what they said, the group genuinely cared for each other. This was friendship and family. A band of brothers that weren’t separate.
"Oh, I smell blood. Crockta, you didn’t wash properly.”
"Don't push my shoulders, Crockta! I will become shorter dot!”
Crockta canceled his thoughts at their complaints.
Bul’tar. Life should be alone.
The day was bright. They were still marching.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. I can endure it.”
“Concentrate your strength.”
“Yes,” the orc replied. But neither his expression nor his voice was good.
The face of the warrior Surka became serious.
During the night, there had been a raid from the orc Crockta. It was at midnight. After his disappearance, the orcs had packed up their tents according to the great chieftain’s orders. The great chieftain had ordered a night march with an angry face. It had continued even after the sun went up.
Surka looked around but all the soldiers seemed on the verge of collapsing. It was a precarious pace.
“Hoo...” Surka sighed and walked over to a familiar face. “Hammerchwi.”
"Oh, Warrior Surka. How are the troops?”
"There are many injured.”
Last night, Crockta had attacked them. It was the first time Surka had seen him. Holding a big greatsword, he confronted the great chieftain. He stabbed the great chieftain’s abdomen and damaged his fist with his blade. Then he escaped from the orcs’ siege and disappeared in an unknown way.
He had remarkable skills worthy of his reputation. After Crockta got away safely, the great chieftain pursuing him had gone crazy. The necks of several orcs around him were torn out. His madness only subsided after he saw countless corpses.
Then the harsh march began. There was no consideration for the wounded. Not just the soldiers attacked by Crockta, but also those wounded by the great chieftain. The heavily injured ones were rejected and left behind. Those who couldn’t leave their colleagues behind carried the wounded, but that just deteriorated the condition of the troops further.
It wasn’t a rational judgment. The great chieftain was going to wage war and create a river of blood.
“......” Hammerchwi closed his eyes. "I pray for his soul."
They didn’t say anything else. Kellerk was a tribe warrior caught in the great chieftain’s madness last night. He ran to awaken his allies as the great chieftain collapsed a tent. His spine was broken.
Surka called to him again. Hammerchwi was an old and wise warrior. The fact that tribe warriors reached an old age meant they survived many battles. Hammerchwi looked at him with deep eyes.
Surka faced him and asked the question he had been wondering.
“Hammerchwi. The great chieftain.”
It was a question that shouldn’t be spoken.
"The great chieftain is fine.”
Surka turned his gaze. He looked at the great chieftain’s giant sedan. Then he turned his attention to those carrying it from below. Slaves.
The slaves weren’t all dark elves. Orcs, their kinsmen, were also collared and miserably holding it up. They became slaves simply because they didn’t follow the Great Clan. Every time they paused, the Great Clan’s warriors following them would strike with a steel studded whip.
Blood and flesh were scattered. The great chieftain laughed at the sound. The orc slaves staggered but they never broke the balance of the sedan chair. A mistake meant not only their deaths but all the other slaves as well.
It was a distressing sight.
"Surka...” Hammerchwi sighed.
Surka wasn’t the only one wondering this. Hammerchwi was the same. But the great chieftain was the law in the Great Clan. Everything he said would become the will of the Great Clan. They followed the strongest warrior. That was the Great Clan’s law.
Surka spoke. "Yesterday, I saw the orc Crockta.”
Crockta, the orc who came from the continent. He was a monster who defeated the Great Clan’s plans in the Luklan Mountains, Nuridot, and Nameragon, and now he had joined the dark elves. An apparent enemy of the Great Clan. A strong and deadly enemy that couldn’t be ignored.
“He is strong.” Hammerchwi had experienced it so he was well aware. He faced Crockta with the Great Clan’s warriors but all of them had been defeated. “A very strong warrior.”
"Last night.” Surka recalled the moment last night when Crockta confronted Calmahart.
The great chieftain had been surrounded by the red madness of fear. But despite the crisis, the orc Crockta from the continent had smiled while facing him.
Surka knew that expression.
"His face was like...”
Surka didn’t say anything else.
There was a time when he had also made such an expression. It was when the great chieftain before Calmahart led them. The Great Clan’s warriors had been the subject of fear everywhere.
They were strong and never backed down against any enemy. The orcs of other villages, the dark elves they were in conflict with and the wandering gnomes, all of them had been afraid and had to yield under the axe of the Great Clan.
Overwhelming force. The pride of the Great Clan. The pride of a warrior. They had it. Even if their numbers were inferior, they never showed their backs. In a dangerous battle where death was at hand, they fought rather than running. The stronger the enemy, the larger the smile.
They were warriors representing the northern orcs, the orcs of the Great Clan. At that time, he could feel the full glory of being part of the Great Clan.
Surka shook his head.
Hammerchwi raised a hand to his shoulder. It was with eyes that understood. He knew Surka’s heart. He was a warrior who fought with the former great chieftain under the banner of the Great Clan.
“Don’t worry. The die has already been thrown.”
Surka dropped his head.
"Raise your head. Warrior Surka.” Hammerchwi hit his shoulder and walked on.
Surka stared at Hammerchwi’s back and wanted to ask, ‘Can you raise your head, Hammerchwi?’
Surka looked forward again. The march continued. The Great Clan was still the subject of fear. They were cruel and merciless. The whole north was afraid of them. They were more famous than they had ever been.
Surka looked up at the sky.
Why didn’t he feel proud when looking at the Great Clan’s flag now. If it was just fighting and killing, why did he feel ashamed?
He forced a smile. There was a time when he smiled as he waved his axe in front of many arrows. He had killed the enemy and roared. At that time, he was an orc who laughed wildly. But now he no longer laughed like that.
That smile wasn’t his now. Last night, Surka had envied Crockta’s smile.
His sword. It was very heavy.
Surka saw the flag of the Great Clan fluttering behind the great chieftain. At one time, it was something he had proudly done. Now a new rider was holding up the long flagpole. In addition, a strange orc was riding next to the great chieftain.
Shaman. The real head of the tribe. He planned all battles and drove the great chieftain.
The shaman suddenly looked back. Surka naturally shifted his eyes like he was paying attention to another place. The shaman looked ahead again.
One day, the shaman had suddenly appeared. Maybe...
The moment he thought this, the shaman turned his head again. It was an unexpected move. Their eyes met. Red eyes.
Surka froze. The shaman stared at Surka before smiling. Then he turned to the front again. Surka let out a breath.
It was really awful.
The great chieftain raised his body in the sedan. The huge body looked around at the army.
He raised his double edged axe and shouted, "Don’t weaken! March! Continue to walk! Kuhahahahat!”
The flag fluttered. The harsh march continued.
Praise the Orc: Glossary Link.
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