Chapter 26

It was a few hours after the orc assault had been repelled when I found myself back at the wall, now standing in the aftermath of the carnage. The battlefield stretched out like some grotesque painting—bodies littered the ground, twisted in death, and the air was thick with the acrid stench of burnt flesh and scorched earth. I wasn't interested in the sight of it all, though. My focus was elsewhere.

I had a contingent of soldiers with me, some assigned for protection, others just curious to see what I'd make of this grisly scene. But my mind was already churning with a different kind of excitement—one I had to mask under a layer of calculated calm. The orc runes. That was what had brought me out here among the bodies. I needed to see them up close, to study the markings, and perhaps—if I was fortunate—discover something new, something that would give us an edge in the future.

The orcs had been more organized this time. Their attacks had been relentless, but the way they fought, the way they used their runes to bolster their strength—it intrigued me. I'd been watching from the wall, calculating, memorizing, but that wasn't enough. Now I wanted—no, needed—to understand the magic they carried on their skin. It was a different system from what we used, cruder in some ways but incredibly effective. They wore their power in tattoos, unlike us, who preferred tools, devices, and items imbued with magic. I had to get a closer look, and nothing—not even the swarm of flies buzzing around the corpses—was going to deter me.

As we made our way across the battlefield, I wasn't particularly concerned about finishing off the few remaining orcs still alive and groaning in pain. The soldiers accompanying me took care of that with casual brutality. What I was interested in was the dead, or rather, the runes that adorned them.

The orc bodies lay in various states of disfigurement, their once-glowing tattoos now dulled by death. Some of the runes had faded entirely, their magic extinguished, but others still pulsed faintly—a lingering reminder of the power that had coursed through these creatures. Kneeling beside one of the larger orcs, I examined the intricate lines of the tattoos. The symbols weren't random; they were interconnected, forming a complex network of magic across the orc's body, each line feeding into the next. It was as if the creature itself had become a living conduit for the power, its very flesh turned into a weapon of war.

I traced my fingers over the faded markings, careful not to disturb the skin too much. I recognized some of the patterns—runes for strength, for speed, for endurance. But there were others, unfamiliar ones that seemed to draw from a different source, a deeper, darker well of energy. I frowned, reaching into my pouch for a small notebook. I had to document this.

As I began to sketch out the runes, noting their placement and the connections between them, a sense of anticipation grew within me. This was more than just a system of magic—it was a language, a way of communicating with the forces that governed the world. And like any language, it could be learned, deciphered, and, perhaps, improved upon.

"Keep an eye out," I muttered to one of the soldiers standing nearby, not bothering to look up. "If any of them are still breathing, I'd rather not be interrupted."

The man nodded, though I could tell by his expression that he didn't relish the task. Most of the soldiers didn't understand what I was doing, and they certainly didn't care. To them, these were just savage creatures, barely more than animals. But I knew better. The orcs were dangerous, yes, but they were also smart. Their magic was proof of that.

As the hours passed, I moved from body to body, cataloging the runes. Some of the corpses bore markings similar to the ones I'd seen in earlier battles, but others had new symbols—runes I hadn't encountered before. They were more complex, more powerful, and the way they linked together suggested a deeper understanding of magic than I had previously given the orcs credit for.

And then I found it—a small book, partially buried beneath the body of an orc shaman. It was old, the cover made of rough leather, but the pages inside were filled with symbols, drawings, and notes written in a language I didn't recognize. I could barely contain my excitement. This was what I had been hoping for—a key, a way to unlock the secrets of their magic.

I tucked the book into my satchel and stood up, stretching my legs. The sun was starting to set, casting long shadows across the battlefield. The soldiers were restless, eager to head back, but I wasn't ready to leave just yet. There was still more to learn, more to discover.

As I moved toward the next cluster of bodies, something caught my attention—a sound, faint but unmistakable. A low growl, followed by the scrape of metal against stone. I turned just in time to see an injured orc, one of the few still clinging to life, pulling itself to its feet.

Its eyes locked onto mine, filled with a fury that hadn't dimmed, even in the face of death. It was bleeding heavily, its left arm hanging limp at its side, but it wasn't giving up. It snarled, baring its teeth, and then lunged at me with surprising speed.

I reacted instinctively, drawing my sword in a smooth motion and stepping to the side. The orc's attack was wild, uncoordinated—more desperation than skill—but it still had strength left, enough to make the fight dangerous. I sidestepped again, dodging a clumsy swing, and brought my sword down in a clean arc.

The blade cut through the air with a satisfying hum, striking the orc's chest. It staggered back, blood spraying from the wound, but it didn't fall. Instead, it let out a guttural roar and came at me again, this time with renewed ferocity.

I couldn't help but admire its tenacity. Even now, with its life hanging by a thread, it refused to surrender. There was no word for "give up" in their language, I realized. It wasn't just that they didn't believe in retreat—they didn't even have the concept of it.

With a final, powerful swing, I ended the orc's life. It collapsed to the ground, its blood soaking into the earth, but its eyes remained defiant, even in death.

I stood there for a moment, catching my breath, my mind racing. There was something about these creatures, something primal and unrelenting. They didn't fear death the way humans did. To them, it was just another battle, another test of strength. It was almost... admirable, in a twisted sort of way.

I glanced at the soldier who had watched the whole thing, his face pale. "They don't quit, do they?" I said, sheathing my sword.

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath about how the orcs were all insane. Maybe they were. But there was something more to it than that—something deeper, something that spoke to a mindset I didn't fully understand yet. And that bothered me. I didn't like not understanding things.

We spent the rest of the night moving through the battlefield, collecting what information we could. I found more books, more scrolls, though most of them were damaged beyond repair. Still, I had enough to work with, enough to start piecing together the puzzle.

By the time the sun began to rise, I was exhausted but exhilarated. The runes on their bodies, the way they used magic—it was all starting to make sense, and I knew that with time, I could find a way to counter it, or maybe even use it to our advantage.

The morning air was crisp, carrying a hint of damp earth and smoke from the battlefield the day before. I was still picking through the aftermath of the battle in my mind, trying to piece together the significance of the orcs' runes and the strange, almost celebratory behavior they exhibited after each of their suicidal charges. It wasn't easy to make sense of it, and that's precisely why it gnawed at me.

Then came the inevitable interruption.

"Mors, you're up early for a man who should be sleeping off his victory," came the familiar voice of Lucius Cassian. He called me Mors, the Latin word for death, as he had taken to doing lately. I wasn't sure if it was a compliment or some morbid joke at my expense. Given Lucius' penchant for dry humor, it was probably both.

I turned to find him leaning against the archway of my workshop, his arms crossed and a half-amused smirk on his face. He looked far too well-rested for someone who had been through the chaos of yesterday's battle. Lucius had a way of remaining detached from the dirt and blood, both literally and metaphorically. "Lord Quintus Alaric wants to congratulate you on a job well done," he added, pushing off the wall with a practiced nonchalance.

I arched an eyebrow. "Congratulate me, or figure out how to spin this so the army gets all the glory?"

Lucius gave a shrug that told me everything. "Both, I imagine. You know how these things work. The army saves the day, and you... well, you disappear into the shadows, no worse for wear."

"Right," I muttered, already feeling the creeping sense of inevitability. It wasn't a surprise. I had seen it happen before. Men in power took credit for victories they barely contributed to, and those who did the heavy lifting were quickly ushered out of the way. Couldn't let anyone outshine the military brass, now could we?

"Come on, Mors," Lucius said, his smirk broadening. "I've arranged a little escort to get you back to the palace. Consider it part of the show."

"Wonderful," I replied dryly. "Let's not keep our lord waiting."

As we left the battlefield, a small contingent of soldiers was waiting outside, looking decidedly more respectful than they had before. Funny how saving a few lives—and a city wall—could do that. The looks they gave me now were ones of grudging admiration, a stark contrast to the suspicion and wariness they'd had before the orc attack. Not that I cared for their approval, but it made the journey through the city a little less tense.

We moved quietly through the streets, no grand fanfare or cheers, which suited me just fine. The soldiers formed a loose formation around me, but I wasn't deluded enough to think this was some grand honor. It was more of an obligation, a final nod to the fact that my work here had been necessary. In the back of my mind, I wondered how long this newfound respect would last. Probably until the next threat, where they would either beg for my help again or forget me entirely.

The city's upper levels were quiet, the usual bustle muted by the aftermath of the battle and the general sense of relief. The palatial complex loomed ahead, its architecture more fortified than ornamental—more fortress than palace. As we approached the gates, the soldiers at their posts glanced at me with something resembling curiosity, perhaps even caution. The reputation I had garnered over the past few days had reached their ears. Good. That might come in handy someday.

Lucius led me through the labyrinthine halls of the palace with the kind of confidence only a man used to navigating power could muster. We were ushered into the lord's private chambers with minimal fuss, and I was struck by the stark contrast inside. The chambers were richly appointed, luxurious even, but without the gaudy overindulgence I had expected. This was the home of a man who valued power above all else, not one who flaunted it unnecessarily.

Lord Quintus Alaric stood by the window, watching the city below with a faint smile tugging at his lips. He turned as we entered, his expression one of measured warmth—too polished to be genuine, but not entirely false either. I wondered what had him so pleased. Perhaps it was the realization that his city had survived another orc raid, or perhaps he was already calculating how to turn this into some political advantage.

"Ah, David," Alaric said smoothly, gesturing for me to approach. "I was hoping to have a word with you. Your contributions yesterday... exemplary."

There it was—the politician's praise. Polite, formal, and carefully phrased to avoid giving me too much credit. I didn't need my psychological training to see through that. Alaric was all smiles now, but I knew better than to take it at face value.

"Thank you, my lord," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "I'm glad I could be of service."

He nodded, his eyes flicking to Lucius for a brief moment before returning to me. "Of course, of course. Though I must inform you, the leadership of the army will, naturally, be taking much of the credit for the successful defense of the city. It's only proper, after all."

"Of course," I echoed, forcing a smile. "I wouldn't expect anything less." Inwardly, I was less charitable. This was the way of the world, after all. Those in power never bore the blame if things went wrong, but if there was glory to be had? You could bet they'd be front and center, basking in it.

I had said something similar in one of my podcast episodes, back when I was analyzing corporate ladder climbers. It was always the same story—those at the top positioning themselves to look like heroes, while the real work was done behind the scenes by people like me. But I had learned long ago that complaining about it changed nothing. The key was to play the game better than they did.

Alaric's smile widened, as if he could read my thoughts. "Yes, well, as you might imagine, it would be... unwise for you to remain here much longer. You've done a great service to the city, and for that, I'm most grateful. However, it might be best for you to move on. The capital awaits, after all."

The capital. Right. I had almost forgotten in the whirlwind of battle and orc-rune studies that my original destination wasn't this backwater city. Alaric's tone was friendly enough, but the subtext was clear. I was being sent away before I could outshine the local military leaders any further.

"I see," I replied carefully. "And when am I to leave?"

"Immediately," Alaric said, still smiling. "We've taken the liberty of gathering your things from your workshop. You'll find everything waiting for you outside. And, of course, I wouldn't send you on your way without the proper recompense for your services." He gestured to a servant who appeared with a small chest. Inside was a healthy sum of gold—enough to keep me comfortably well-off for some time—and a set of letters, sealed with the lord's crest.

"These will ensure that you are recognized for your work in the capital," Alaric explained, his tone perfectly measured. "Consider them tokens of my personal recommendation. I've also arranged for a merchant caravan to take you there."

I glanced at the letters, then back at him. "Very generous, my lord."

His smile never wavered. "It's the least I can do for a man of your talents."

I didn't miss the way his eyes lingered on me for a moment too long, a glint of calculation behind them. Alaric wasn't just sending me away—he was making sure that I stayed useful, but far enough from his city that I wouldn't become a threat. It was all a delicate balancing act of power, and I was just another piece on the board. For now.

Lucius guided me toward a side exit, where I was handed traveling clothes to change into. The armor I'd worn for battle was exchanged for a simple, but well-made outfit more suited for the road. I didn't argue. It was clear that my time in this city was over. A few minutes later, I was outside the city walls, where a caravan of merchant wagons waited, the early morning light casting long shadows over the valley.

As I approached the carriage that had been arranged for me, a familiar voice greeted me.

"I thought you were never coming," Lady Valeria said, her tone playful yet edged with impatience. She was dressed in traveling clothes, a marked difference from the finery she usually wore. She was already settled in the carriage, looking for all the world as though this had been her plan all along.

I climbed into the carriage, raising an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware I had kept you waiting."

She smiled, giving a light wave to the driver. "Oh, you kept me waiting long enough. Let's hope your sense of timing improves on the journey."

As the carriage lurched forward, I settled into the seat across from her, wondering just what kind of game she was playing now. Valeria was a master of subtlety, and her presence here wasn't a coincidence. There were always layers to these situations, and I had the distinct feeling that whatever was about to unfold would involve more than just a simple trip to the capital.

With the city fading into the distance behind us, the wheels of the carriage clattered over the rough road, and the morning sun rose higher in the sky, signaling the start of a new chapter.