Chapter VI Of Orcs, Goblins, and Men

And then, there I was, deep in the realms of slumber, caught in the embrace of a dream. My eyes fluttered open, only to be met with the face of none other than Valkyrie Nike herself, hanging just an inch above me. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was floating – her ethereal presence casting a surreal glow. And that smile of hers, it was like a secret shared between us in the quiet corridors of my subconscious.

As I rose from my makeshift bed on the dream floor, she shifted slightly, as if adjusting to my newfound verticality. "So, how's my favorite Einherjar?" she inquired, her lips curving into that familiar smile. Oh, so now I'm her favorite? I mean, it's not like there's a ton of Einherjars to compete with – I might as well enjoy the spotlight, right? Haha!

"I'm fine, honey. How about you?" I ventured, testing out an endearing term for good measure. Apparently, sweetness wasn't in her repertoire – at least not in the conventional sense. Her response made that pretty clear. "Honey? I don't think I'm sweet enough for that, if that's what you're implying." Yeah, no sugarcoating it with Nike, that's for sure. Haha!

"Anyway, I've got something for you." She extended her hand, presenting me with five quivers of silver arrows. Each quiver carried a whopping two thousand five hundred arrows, all magically compacted to keep the weight manageable. As if that wasn't enough, she tossed in a bag of congealed spells for good measure.

"Wow, thanks. But, um, why do I suddenly need a small arsenal of silver arrows?" I couldn't shake the unease that was settling in the pit of my stomach. There was this nagging feeling that Geistkonigstadt – the very place I'd rather avoid like the plague – was somehow part of the equation.

Nike's response confirmed my worst fears. "Well, it's highly likely you'll need those arrows for your next jaunt to Geistkonigstadt. But don't worry, you've got a mission in Brythonia first."

My heart sank at the mention of Geistkonigstadt. Seriously, that place was my personal crypt of creeps, and the thought of heading there wasn't exactly a ray of sunshine. "Oh, damn," I muttered under my breath. Just like that, the dream dissolved into a white haze, and I woke up – my room now adorned with those quivers of silver arrows and that ominous bag of congealed spells. I strolled into the bathroom, and wouldn't you know it, something rather intriguing caught my eye – a Pink Candle of Erotica, of all things. Now, before your imagination goes off the deep end, this candle wasn't part of some steamy romance setup. No, it had its roots in the occult, a tool for binding demonic entities. Essentially, it's like saying to a demon, "Hey, you better behave, or you'll be under my command." Lucky for me, I happened to know a binding spell that would work wonders with this little gem. So, into my satchel it went, ready for a time when a bit of supernatural diplomacy might be required.

Honestly, the presence of such an item in my bathroom left me baffled. I mean, who could've predicted that I'd stumble upon an occult tool next to the toothpaste? But that's life, full of weird surprises.

After freshening up and making myself presentable, I emerged from the bathroom. Gathering my belongings, I neatly packed them all into my trusty satchel. With that done, I headed downstairs, my stomach growling in sync with my every step. It was time for breakfast – a full-course meal, no less. If I was about to embark on a journey through Loupbosquet Forest, located south of Brythonia, I needed all the sustenance I could get.

So, let's talk about Loupbosquet Forest – this wild expanse belongs to a particularly fierce and quite unique breed of mutant, bipedal wolves, who also happen to be sentient. Yeah, you heard me right. They're called Faoladhs, and they're not your typical run-of-the-mill creatures. Anyway, these guys call the forest their home, and it's all part of the March of Loupbosquet, under the jurisdiction of House MaCayenne. Just imagine this – their living quarters are pretty much scattered around the woods, like some sort of rustic neighborhood.

Now, after chowing down on a hearty breakfast, I bid farewell to the magical city and made my way west into the lush forest. And boy, let me tell you, Loupbosquet Forest is a sight to behold. It's crawling with Faoladhs, these wolf-like creatures, who are busy duking it out with pesky goblins. So, there I was, right smack in the middle of the woods, when all of a sudden, a gang of about twelve Faoladh bandits stepped out of the shadows, wielding an assortment of weapons – axes, swords, maces, flails – you name it. Talk about a surprise ambush before my morning coffee.

They were coming at me with murder in their eyes, and I was contemplating using my tunneldrive ability to escape the situation. But then, out of the blue, a group of young merchants – two swordsmen, an Deacon, and a mage – emerged from the west gate of Londinium, chasing after me. Now, I'm not one to underestimate anyone, but these folks didn't exactly look like they had what it takes to take on a dozen Faoladh warriors. I figured, why not lend them a hand and thin the pack a bit? I mean, call it goodwill or whatever, but it was clear that this forest skirmish was about to get real messy.

I whipped out my trusty sword, and I had my eyes locked on the dude smack dab in the center – probably the boss of this wild pack. No need for a lengthy introduction, I thought. So, with the power of my berserker-like Gramr, which was now like a sword-ax hybrid, I unleashed a lightning-fast strike right at the main target. You blink, and they're all gone – Faoladhs no more.

As fate would have it, the group of newcomers I mentioned earlier stumbled upon the scene just a few minutes later. "Hey there, folks! Saved you the trouble of dealing with these rascals. Figured they might be a bit too much for your merry band," I chimed in, acting all casual amidst the pile of Faoladh corpses. They stared at me in shock, like they'd just seen a ghost. One of the swordsmen managed a nervous laugh and said, "Thanks a lot for that, sir. I guess our swords won't get to taste any action today."

I couldn't help but chuckle, "Don't get too comfortable, my friends. The ones I took down here are just a slice of the Faoladh pie. If you venture deeper into these woods, you might find yourself tangling with goblins and orcs. I'd advise sticking to the main road if I were you." I could see the worry in their eyes, and they exchanged nervous glances, clearly shaken by the possibilities that awaited them if they strayed from my advice. As I strolled away, leaving the group behind, I couldn't resist throwing them a few words of wisdom. "Remember, you can't call yourselves true adventurers if you don't get your hands dirty in situations like this. It's all part of the journey. Good luck, all of you," I casually quipped, before I veered off and ventured into the shadowy depths of the woods, far from the safety of the main road.

Now, before you start scratching your head and wondering why on earth I chose to wander into the ominous woods instead of sticking to the safe path, let me clear things up. I wasn't trying to spook those newbie adventurers, as tempting as that might have been. No, no. I was just taking a little shortcut that I knew would lead me straight to the heart of Gobelin Foret. Sometimes, you've got to take the unconventional route to get where you need to be. So, let's talk about the Gobelin Foret. This forest is like the high-tech playground for Goblins. You know, those clever little creatures who are always tinkering with machines and contraptions? Yeah, those guys. Now, whether they're buddies or enemies with the Orcs, that's a bit of a mystery. Their village is like a hidden gem nestled in the heart of the forest, practically rubbing shoulders with Orcadia Territorium. Streams crisscross the place, adding a touch of nature's beauty to their mechanical haven. And here's the kicker: Goblins aren't exactly fond of us humans. We're left scratching our heads as to why that is. Maybe it's just in our DNA to annoy other races – a little gift from the gods, perhaps? Haha, who knows. But seriously, the Goblins' grudge against us probably dates back to some ancient skirmishes that went down in history.

And speaking of the Orcadia Territorium, that's where you'll find the Orcs – those tribal folks with a knack for tough battles and rugged living. The place is like a natural fortress, surrounded by thick forests and crowned with a bunch of trees. Oh, and there's a lake to the east and an ocean to the west that keeps them company. Now, as for why Orcs and humans can't seem to play nice, well, that's another puzzle we haven't cracked yet. Maybe it's just old grudges passed down through generations, or maybe we're all just hardwired to butt heads. Who knows, right? But chances are, it's those ancient wars that lit the fire of hostility between us and the Orcs. As I ventured into the heart of Gobelin Foret after trudging through the woods for a solid five days, I switched on my stealth mode to dodge these mischievous creatures. Sneaking through their village, I got a glimpse of their daily antics. I witnessed one Goblin poking another with a stick, and the victim burst into laughter instead of getting mad. What a bizarre bunch of oddballs, honestly. It's like I stumbled upon a real-life sitcom. I could've just pulled up a chair and enjoyed the show for hours.

Seriously, watching these Goblins is like witnessing a comedy act on stage – complete with slapstick humor and all that. I even saw one Goblin sprinting around with its backside on fire while the others simply stood by, amused. And don't even get me started on their procreation methods – I have no clue how that works with these quirky critters. As I observed, three heavily-armored Goblins came crashing through the trees, and a bunch of others with jetpacks were flying around, pelting the rest with stones. It's mind-boggling how technologically advanced they are, yet they seem to have this...well, let's just say, a unique way of living.

Honestly, it's hard to comprehend how these clever and tech-savvy beings also manage to come off as a bit...let's say, intellectually challenged. How many of them would it take to wipe out their own race? Okay, maybe I went too far with that thought. I should probably make my exit from this entertaining but slightly perplexing scene. It's starting to lose its charm, if you catch my drift. As I made my way through the village, my attention was drawn to a rather imposing structure in its center – the Big House. Oddly enough, the Big House didn't seem like a Goblin establishment; it had a human touch to it. Intrigued, I peered through one of the windows and to my surprise, there were two individuals inside. What caught me off guard was that Goblins were scurrying around, serving them like they were their masters. It was a bizarre scene.

With cautious steps, I entered the house and revealed myself. The Philosopher and the Artificer within seemed taken aback by my sudden appearance. They looked quite old, maybe in their nineties.

"Hey there, son. What brings you to this part of Goblin Territory? It's not a place you should be wandering into," the Artificer spoke, breaking the silence.

"Well, what are you two doing here? Clearly, you're not Goblins," I replied, pointing out the irony. But before I could continue, the Philosopher, whom I now knew as Ekaterina Anastasia, whispered the incantation for a Spirit Blaster spell. In a swift motion, I retreated from the house, using my tunnel drive ability to evade the magical attack. The blast hit a Goblin who was standing nearby, sending it flying.

"Whoa, hold on there, Ma'am!" I called out, slightly alarmed. Ekaterina stormed out of the house, using a spell to unveil me. Quick on my feet, I conjured a Fireball spell using my Alchemist Gloves. However, she dispelled it before it could manifest. Not one to be discouraged, I capitalized on my speed to appear behind her with Gramr poised near her throat.

"Easy now, Granny. We don't want any unnecessary harm, do we?" I remarked.

"Please, no harm!" pleaded the Artificer. "Ekaterina Anastasia, cease this at once! Put down your staff!" he interjected. So, that's her full name. She complied by lowering her staff and turned her attention towards me. Relieved, I sheathed Gramr and introduced myself.

"Hello there, I'm Rasleigh Chasewalker. An honor to make your acquaintance. If I'm not mistaken, you were the Sage of Archimedes, correct?"

"The past is in the past, young man. I now preside over this forsaken village alongside my husband here," she responded, nodding towards her partner.

"I'm Angelus Avaloine. Pleasure to meet you," he chimed in.

"Wait a second, you're the one who discovered Techlouvaughn City!" I exclaimed.

"Indeed, that's me. Anyway, why don't we step inside and enjoy a meal together?" Angelus suggested.

We gathered around the dining table within their house and indulged in a hearty feast. The goblins bustled around, obeying every command from the couple as we dug into our meal. I savored the delicious taste of chicken legs, relishing the fact that I hadn't eaten for days.

Curiosity got the better of me, and between mouthfuls, I asked, "I've been wondering, why are you two here, and why are these goblins following your lead?"

Angelus leaned back, explaining, "About 60 years ago, we managed to eliminate the Goblin King. As a result, the goblins accepted us as their new rulers and abide by our every word."

"That would explain how they've acquired such advanced technology," I mused aloud.

Ekaterina added, "We're planning to utilize these goblin forces against potential threats from Faoladhs and Orcs. It's also a means to safeguard our territory. Occasionally, demons from Geistkonigstadt breach their walls and attack the outskirts. And you're probably wondering how the Brythonia authorities haven't discovered us yet. Well, I've cast a powerful cloaking spell over the entire village."

"I see," I nodded, intrigued by their ingenuity. "Well, if I were to retake Geistkonigstadt from the clutches of the Evil Lord Czernobog, could I count on your support?"

My question was met with a challenge from Angelus, who wore a serious expression. "Now that's quite audacious. Even the Imperial Authorities haven't managed that feat. However, I sense a fellow gambler in fate. How about this? If you can successfully eliminate the Orc King Bornok, then perhaps we'll reconsider your request."

Smirking, I agreed, "Deal. That's what I was planning all along."

The evening passed as we conversed and drank. These individuals seemed to possess boundless energy, still feasting and imbibing like they were in their youth. I was baffled by their vitality, even more so when they attributed it to consuming Yggdrasil Fruits and Leaves Salad. I laughed it off as a joke, thinking it was just their sense of humor. As dawn approached, I bid them farewell and expressed my gratitude for their hospitality. With renewed determination, I set off in the direction leading to the Orcadia Territorium.

After wandering through the expanse of Gobelin Foret for hours, I found myself at the outskirts of the Orcadia Territorium. Stepping into the unwelcoming domain of the Orcs triggered a recollection from my reading days back at the Bibliotheca Londinium in Torre de Salamanca. Yes, I'm quite the avid reader, you could say – I tend to dive into books when boredom strikes. Anyway, in this tale – or perhaps legend – from the Orcs, there's a character named Graulio, an Orc who once fathered a daughter named Ambe. Their bond was strong, a father who doted on his child. Ambe grew up to become a Shaman, but destiny took a dark turn for her. Corruption seeped into her soul, twisting her once-pure shamanic powers. She seized control over her tribe, stripping them of their free will. Creating her own army, she even employed fellow Orcs as offerings for her sinister rituals. A handful managed to elude her grasp, Graulio among them.

Desperate for a solution, Graulio sought help, stumbling upon an individual – probably an Orc from another tribe – to undertake a mysterious assassination mission (the identity of the target, Ambe, was concealed). The stranger agreed, and they arranged to meet at the village gates. Unfortunately, Ambe discovered Graulio's plans, likely after enslaving the free Orcs who were aiding him. She dispatched the Chief Orc of Safeguards to capture Graulio and the hired assassin. Despite the odds, Graulio and the assassin managed to outmaneuver Ambe's forces, ultimately confronting Ambe herself. A battle of great consequence unfolded, culminating in Ambe's demise.

With her life extinguished, the assassin sought out Graulio, who bore grievous wounds from the battle. It was then revealed that Ambe was, in fact, his own flesh and blood. As his life ebbed away, Graulio shared that he hoped his daughter's death had finally released her from the nightmarish grip that had consumed her. His final words drifted off, and he passed away in tranquility. Ah, the complexities of family drama, all wrapped up in this legend of Orcish lore. You might be curious about Orcs, right? Well, Orcs are a kind of creature where might makes right. And right at the top of the mightiness ladder is none other than the Orc King Bornok, the big cheese of the Orc tribe. Bornok is quite a brainy one, which is a bit rare among his kind. He doesn't wield any fancy weapons, oh no – he's all about imitating human martial arts moves. Now, some folks out there think he doesn't really do much better than your average Orc grunt, and they question whether he's truly as clever as they say.

But hold on to your seat, because there's a story here. In the heat of battle against humans, the Great Orc King Bornok found himself on the verge of defeat at the hands of a powerful Cavalier. However, just as things were looking bleak, another Orc swooped in and struck the decisive blow, ending the Cavalier's fight. This heroic Orc became a legend among his people, earning the name Orc General Bukog. And from that moment onward, he stood tall as a symbol of bravery and resilience for his kin. Let me spin you a tale about Orc General Bukog – the shining star of the Orc tribe. He stepped up to lead the Orc army during the intense war against the humans. Legends say his sword skills were so fierce that they seemed to summon thunder and lightning from the heavens themselves. And oh boy, that stirred up quite a debate about who was mightier between him and the Orc King Bornok. This clash of egos raged on for years, eventually splitting the Orcs into two camps: the loyal followers of Orc General Bukog, known as the High Orcs, and those who stuck with the village and the Orc King Bornok.

Now, what's the scoop with those High Orcs? Well, they packed up their bags and relocated to the depths of Chronos Tower in Uhrturm City. How they pulled that off, nobody's entirely sure. I even spotted an Orc hunting party up in the Gungnir mountain range, likely part of the Uhrturm crowd. So, just to put a cherry on top of this orcish adventure, my remaining mission is to give both of these leaders a one-way ticket out of this world.

Lucky me, according to my intel, the Orc General Bukog is about to make a grand entrance back into the village. And guess what? He's looking to have a little heart-to-heart with none other than his dear old dad, Orc King Bornok. Maybe they finally realized they both want the same thing: to stir up some trouble in the world and kickstart a nice little war against mankind, starting with a jolly invasion of Londinium. Now, I don't know about you, but that sounds like a recipe for disaster.

But wait, there's more! I got this juicy tidbit from my intel too – Orc General Bukog is actually the spawn of Orc King Bornok. Useless piece of info, perhaps, but hey, I'm sharing it anyway. So if the prodigal son is swinging by for a visit, well, that's just splendid. It's like knocking down two Zandyagow Steeds with one immaterial arrow. Don't bother asking me where I picked up these quirky sayings, I heard them back when I was a young troublemaker in the Desert City of Oasenstadt.

Alright, let me fill you in on something – I strolled right into the village, activated my chasewalking mode, and got ready to do some ninja-style invisibility. Hold up, hold up, I know what you're thinking – what the heck is chasewalking, right? My bad, I haven't dropped that nugget of info on you yet. It's like sneaking around, but with an invisible twist. You see, folks can't spot me using their fancy sight and search magic, but here's the hitch – they can track me by the sound of my footsteps. Oh, and keep in mind, while I'm a shadow in the wind, I'm not immune to super-destructive spells like the Hellish Firestorm, Frozen Hailstorm, and the infernal party-favorite, Infernal Chaos. So, there you have it. Now, back to the tale.

So, I'm chasewalking my way through this orcish hamlet, and let me tell ya, those orcs are going bonkers because I just waltzed into their hood. Swords were drawn, tusks were quivering – the whole deal. I'm on the lookout for those two troublesome orc bigwigs, but they're playing a clever game of hide and seek. Just as I'm thinking of throwing in the towel on the orc leader scavenger hunt, Orc King Bornok himself barges in like a wrecking ball. He thunders down and smacks the ground right beside me with all the gusto of a bulldozer. I, however, decided to get some airtime involuntarily.

Picture this: I'm airborne, in full display, hiding status turned off like someone flicked a switch. Oh boy, talk about a surprise party! My quick thinking saved the day – I shifted into my ghostly form faster than you can say "Orc King Bornok," and his thunderous punch swung right through me like I was air itself. I did a snazzy somersault to gain some distance and, boom, I pulled off a tunneldrive straight towards the big guy.

But guess what? Orc King Bornok had his own party tricks up his sleeve. He pulled off some fire breakage wizardry and poof, my ghostly status was canceled out, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. Man, what a rollercoaster. Hold your horses! You're telling me this Orc King Bornok could just cancel out my ghostly mojo? Yep, you heard that right. Dude's got more tricks up his tusks than I thought. He roared like a proper king, mustered up his orcish army, and sent them charging my way. These orc soldiers were a bunch of muscle-packed speed demons, and I had to go all in, slicing and dicing like a whirlwind of death. My trusty Gramr was working overtime, slashing through orc flesh like it was going out of style. And let's talk about my strategy for a moment. I'd aim for a target and, bam, his buddies within a certain radius got some unwanted piercings too. Gotta love that splash damage, right?

Amidst the chaos, Orc King Bornok complimented me – yeah, really, he called me the greatest warrior he'd ever met. But hey, I wasn't about to get all blushy and flattered. We had a score to settle. He was itching for a showdown, and you bet I was up for the challenge. I even went the extra mile to make it a fair fight – I sheathed Gramr to even the playing field. Yeah, I know, sounds like a classic case of showing off, but come on, it made things interesting. And fine, okay, you caught me – I've got a bit of arrogance floating around in this noggin. But hey, cut me some slack – you're the one reading this, so why not enjoy the ride, right?

So there we were, face to tusks, or rather fists, ready to rumble. Orc King Bornok dashed at me with all the velocity of a runaway freight train, and I was ready to meet him head-on. Those orc soldiers were probably losing their minds watching us. And guess what? I managed to block his punch, earning me a little street cred with the orcs, I guess. But Bornok wasn't about to be outdone – he went all Bruce Lee on me, throwing punches like they were going out of style. I mirrored his moves, counterattacking with my own fists, all while ducking, weaving, and dancing through the fray.

But this battle had to have an endgame, and fast. Orc King Bornok's punch landed square on my face, which, by the way, I wasn't too thrilled about. "Seriously, not the face, you bloomin' tosser!" I retorted. He just laughed it off and continued his barrage. We were dancing around like two lunatics, trading blows and dodges like it was a choreographed spectacle. Finally, I managed to land a punch to his gut, and that seemed to throw him off-kilter. With all my strength, I hoisted him into the air and slammed him back down to earth. He groaned, but he wasn't done.

In a split second, he was back on his feet, dodging my foot that was set on a collision course with his head. He threw a punch at me, but it missed the mark. And then, the moment of truth arrived – my hands connected with his head like lightning, immobilizing him and sending him tumbling to the ground, ready for the final curtain call. His orc buddies watched in awe and maybe a little fear as their mighty leader crumbled when I snapped his neck. But hold your horses, there's one orc left in the game... And lo and behold, the final act of this grand orcish drama – enter the scene, Orc General Bukog, decked out in his flamboyantly bedazzled headdress and wielding his massive broadsword like he owned the place. I guess he thought it was his time to shine, to avenge his fallen father or something. A battle cry ripped from his throat, rallying his troops to his side, including some of the surviving soldiers from Bornok's demise. But here's the twist – his troops looked at me, saw Gramr glinting in my hand, and just like that, they dropped their weapons and surrendered. No fight, no nothing. They just knew they didn't stand a chance.

A path opened up in the chaos, leading straight to the man of the hour – or orc – Orc General Bukog. The dude had tension in his eyes, no doubt bewildered by his own troops' sudden surrender. He backtracked a couple of steps, then made a run for it, darting into a nearby cave called the Orc Cavern. Yep, sounds ominous and all, but it was pretty much the last refuge of the desperate. Picture this: dark tunnels, reanimated orc skeletons, zombies, and lepers, all that lovely stuff. But hey, I'm not one to back down from a challenge. I plunged right in after him, dicing up the undead orcs like I was slicing bread. It's amazing what a determined warrior with a magical blade can do.

Finally, after navigating the twisty passages, I stumbled upon the end of the road – a wide chamber where Orc General Bukog stood, staring at me with a mix of defiance and desperation. He threw down an Infernal Chaos spell, a nasty bit of magic that looked like it could mess you up good. But guess what? I wasn't about to take that hit. Nah, I'd switched to ghost mode before the spell even landed, and wouldn't you know it, that chaotic blast did nada to me. Talk about anti-climactic.

I moved like a phantom, my blade slicing through the air before meeting the general's neck, ending his villainous tirade in one swift motion. His eyes held a final flare of terror, like he'd just seen his own destiny come crashing down. And then it was over, just like that. But the dude had dropped something – some kind of primitive orc trophy, all metal and craftsmanship. I tossed it in my satchel, thinking, "Who knows? Maybe I can pawn this off or trade it for something useful." Ah, the life of an adventurer, full of surprises and loot.

An hour dragged on after that brutal brawl, and finally, I made my way out of the cursed Orc Cavern. Emerging into the daylight, I saw the orcs back at their village, standing like statues, waiting for the outcome. Without hesitation, I chucked the severed head of Orc General Bukog right at their feet. A heavy silence hung in the air before I spoke up, my voice firm and dripping with purpose. "We're tired of wars, tired of bloodshed. Your two leaders wanted to plunge us all into another war. Look at what came of it. Remember this, orcs: we can find peace if we choose to. Choose wisely."

Some of them nodded, understanding the message, while others just stared, their expressions unreadable. I turned my back to them and walked away, the ornate headdress of the defeated Orc General Bukog and the distinctive tri-horn helmet of the late Orc King Bornok tucked under my arm – souvenirs of a tumultuous journey. Surprisingly, none of them made a move to stop me or reclaim the headgears. Guess they realized they didn't hold the same value anymore.

I trekked for about ten minutes before, for some strange reason, I decided to turn back. Maybe it was a pang of curiosity or a need to see those orcs one more time. I stepped back into the village and called out to them.

"Actually, hold on a second," I interjected, turning on my heel and striding back into the village, determination lighting up my eyes. The orcs stared at me, seemingly perplexed. I stood in their midst, my gaze sweeping over them, and the words spilled out of my mouth with an air of authority that I hadn't initially planned.

"You know what? Scratch that. I've made up my mind. I'm taking control of this village. I killed your chiefs, survived the Orcish Ritual Combat, so why the hell not? From now on, I'm your Orcadius Rex. Any of you got an issue with that, you're welcome to challenge me."

As if on cue, an orc stepped out from the crowd, his posture defiant, his eyes locked onto mine. He'd apparently risen to power by besting three others in combat after I left earlier. We faced each other, his growls punctuating the tension. He swung a punch at me, but I danced away, my movements swift and calculated. A flurry of punches followed, and I parried, blocked, and countered with precision. Finally, I caught him off guard, landing a solid punch and then hurling him onto a nearby boulder.

He grunted, clearly in pain, but he knew when he was defeated. "I yield. I'm at your service, Orcadius Rex," he admitted, his voice a mixture of respect and surrender.

I gave him a scrutinizing look. "Your name?"

"Ayban Olhands," he replied.

"Alright, Ayban Olhands. Here's the deal. You're my right-hand man, my second in command. I'll call you the Hand of Orcadius Rex. Sound good to you?"

His eyes widened, and he nodded vigorously. "I accept, Lord—uh, Orcadius Rex. But wait, what's your name?"

"Rasleigh Chasewalker."

Ayban inclined his head. "Very well, Rasleigh Chasewalker. I'll assume my new role as your Hand and second in command."

"Great. I'm off then," I said, heading toward the village entrance.

Ayban's voice carried after me. "Wait! What should we do while you're gone? And how will we know you're the real deal?"

I paused, a smirk touching my lips. "Hoist the Chasewalker Insignia, the Desert Rukh, on every wall of this village. Got it?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Good." I resumed my departure.

"Long live Rasleigh from the House Chasewalker, Orcadius Rex, and Lord of the Orcadia Territorium!" Ayban's booming proclamation echoed, followed by a chorus of roars and screams from the orcs. They were accepting their new fate, rallying behind the Chasewalker banner. It was time to step into a role I hadn't foreseen, but hey, when in Orcadia, do as the orcs do. Awoo! Awoo!

And so, with that chapter of my journey coming to an end, I left the orc village behind and ventured back into the embrace of the Gobelin Foret. My steps were weary, my body aching from the battles and negotiations that had transpired. I couldn't help but wish I had my trusty Zandyagow Steed with me, rather than relying on the convenience of an airship to return to Londinium. Flying was fast, but there's something about the rhythmic gallop of a steed that soothes the soul.

As I walked, my thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind me. I turned to find a gathering of figures, a mix of lethal agents standing before me. Leading them was Laurent Harpoon, the infamous Soul Reaper from the Murder of Crows, a name that carried weight and whispered fear throughout the underworld.

"Nice move you pulled back there," Laurent remarked, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Taking charge like that with the orcs, impressive."

I nodded, acknowledging the compliment. "Laurent Harpoon, the Soul Reaper himself. Didn't expect the Agency to be operating in these parts."

He chuckled softly. "You've always had a knack for getting things done, even back in your agency days. We were meant to wipe out that orc tribe, but you beat us to the punch. Saved us from committing genocide, for which I'm grateful. Your actions seem to align with the Empire's interests, yet again. No need to spill the details; we all have our secrets. I'll make sure your role gets a mention in my report."

"Thanks, I appreciate that," I replied. "Mind if I catch a ride with you guys?"

Laurent considered my request, his gaze thoughtful. "Where are you headed?"

"Londinium," I answered.

"We're bound for Tandaya," he said, then paused. "But I've got an idea. Take this Zandyagow Steed with you. Think of it as collateral. After you're done in Londinium, bring it back to Aigleterre. That way, you'll have your compensation waiting for you when you return."

I grinned at the offer. "Sounds more than fair to me."

And just like that, a new alliance was forged, another chapter of my journey set into motion. With the powerful Zandyagow Steed beneath me, I galloped back to Londinium, ready to tackle the tasks that awaited and curious about the adventures that would follow. After all, life's twists and turns often led to the most unexpected, exhilarating tales.

So, after my encounter with the enigmatic Murder of Crows, we went our separate ways. I watched as they headed towards Tandaya, their destination shrouded in mystery. But hey, at least I wasn't facing the long walk back to Londinium. Small victories, right?

Now, let's delve into what Assassins, Executioners, and Soul Reapers really are. Buckle up, because this is some fascinating stuff. So, Assassins have their roots in the Brethren of Slayers. These warriors are like desert-wind whispers, dedicated to maintaining the delicate balance of power across the entire continent. The Brethren of Slayers' mission is straightforward: take out anyone who seems to be playing favorites with the Aesir, Vanir, Olympian gods, or the giants. They're all about keeping Midgard as a neutral territory and preventing it from becoming a playground for godly disputes. It's a tough job that doesn't make them many friends.

At the heart of this guild is the guild leader, responsible for upholding their unique approach and preventing another cosmic smackdown between gods and giants on mortal turf. Among their ranks, standout members are dubbed Executioners. These folks are marked with a symbol that sets them apart from other assassins. Usually, they go on to do their own thing, pursuing their ambitions outside the guild's confines.

To keep everything in check within the guild, the Brethren of Slayers has a special squad known as the Soul Reaper division. These are the ones tasked with maintaining order and ensuring that the guild's mission doesn't veer off course. It's all part of the intricate web that keeps the balance between realms intact. Alright, let's dive into the nitty-gritty of Soul Reapers, Assassins, and the intriguing saga of their evolution.

Soul Reapers are the guild's internal enforcers, trained to handle the dirty work - those who go rogue, traitors, and anyone violating the guild's code. Picture them as the ones who keep everyone in line, wielding authority like a shadowy blade. Their main hub is situated in the Ziggurat Desert, where they're probably cooking up schemes and maintaining the delicate balance of power.

Now, let's talk about the Hashashin, the branch of the Brethren of Slayers led by an Assassin named Nizari. This covert group emerged near Vallee Rocheuse, adding another layer to the already complex web of intrigue. As for how long they've been active there, that's anyone's guess. Assassins, as the name implies, are all about the business of killing. They're like shadows given life, preferring the cover of darkness to unleash their blindingly fast combat skills.

For decades, the Brethren of Slayers have been keeping busy, dealing death to both pesky humans and fiery Muspel demons. Their goal? Prevent Midgard from becoming the arena for godly rivalries. But hey, life is unpredictable, and even a guild as shadowy as this can find themselves on the wrong side of the law. When the Republic of Guilds decided to put the brakes on the Brethren of Slayers, Assassins found refuge within the Alsahran Gangland Syndicate. Sneaky, right?

And just when you thought the story might have hit a dead end, the Assassins quietly set to work, reviving their guild under a new name: the Murder of Crows. The saga continues, secrets unfolding, and the dance of shadows continues. Now let's dive into the real stealthy specialists, the Executioners. These are the top-tier Assassins who've mastered the art of slipping through the shadows and landing the ultimate killing blow. Picture them like shadow dancers, moving in silence and confusion, ready to deliver the fatal strike when the moment is just right. But there's more to these folks than just eerie stealth.

Imagine this: the Executioners possess an impressive arsenal of deadly tricks, including a mastery of poisons that even the original Assassins envy. They've upped the ante with a brutal collection of methods to take down their opponents. And here's the kicker: they do all of this without ever stepping into the light. They're like the ghostly harbingers of doom.

Flashback to centuries gone by, and you'd find only seven advanced assassins known as Executioners. In today's world, these modern-day Executioners don't carry the same mark as the Soul Reapers, making them distinct from the thirteen Slayers. The mere mention of the Soul Reapers sends shivers down the spines of their enemies, thanks to their incapacitating poisons, improved evasive moves, and their remarkable knack for vanishing from sight. They're the tricksters of the shadows, always ready to throw their opponents off balance with crafty diversions and strategic maneuvers.

They've got a few nifty moves up their sleeves too: like weapon blocking and counterattacks. Just imagine them performing the Circling Slasher, a move that slashes at all foes surrounding them, or the Cross Ripper Cutter, a fancier version of the Circling Slasher, perfect for attacking enemies at a distance.

Now, here's a twist in the tale: these Soul Reapers were actually a covert crew of executioners back in the days of the Brethren of Slayers. They were like the guild's secret enforcers, keeping order, and ensuring that anyone who betrayed the guild's trust met a swift end. Their appearance raised quite a few eyebrows, with everyone wondering why they've resurfaced from the depths of obscurity. As for the real scoop, no one can say for sure. Some think they might have lost their hideout, considering Surtr had quite the field day decimating most of the Brethren of Slayers branches. Here's a wild possibility: the Brethren of Slayers might have been tearing themselves apart from the inside. Think of it like a family feud gone crazy, with different factions duking it out. It's like they've become a bunch of rival teams, each with their own agenda and axes to grind.

But wait, there's more! The emergence of the Soul Reapers might also tie into the whole Mage Barons saga. You see, when those Mage Barons returned from their adventures in the New World, they brought back some serious magical mojo with them. We're talking about runic magic, the kind of power that makes Assassins go starry-eyed. It's like the ultimate power-up that every Assassin dreams of.

Now, imagine this: a bunch of rogue Brethren of Slayers decided they wanted a piece of that magical action. They went after those Mage Barons, hankering for their precious Rune Stones. These stones had the potential to revive the old glory of the Brethren of Slayers and push their power levels into overdrive. But guess what? The Mage Barons weren't handing out those stones and their secret skills like candy on Halloween. Nope, they were ready to fight tooth and nail to protect their precious magical bling.

And guess what happened next? The whole thing turned into a full-blown war, right smack in the middle of the Ziggurat Desert. It was like an epic showdown where lives were lost left and right, all for the sake of power, glory, and some seriously coveted magical gemstones. Think about it, the desert sands could tell you tales of battles, betrayals, and a whole lot of chaos that went down during that Ziggurat Desert war.

Picture this: you've got the Mage Barons and the Assassins, each ready to go to the mattresses to defend what they stand for. It's like a showdown of epic proportions, where neither side is willing to back down. They've got their ideals, their secrets, and their unshakable determination – all set for a clash that'll go down in history.

But hold onto your hats, because things took a wild turn. The Soul Reapers, those shadowy figures lurking in the Assassin world, were pushed to step into the spotlight. The Ziggurat Desert War forced them out of the shadows and into the chaotic fray. They had to reveal themselves fully, not to show off, but to save their entire Brethren of Slayers crew from going under.

Now, those Soul Reapers are legendary. They're as notorious as the Executioners, who are like the poster boys and girls of the Brethren of Slayers. Imagine, these Assassins and their elite crew were ready to put everything on the line to keep their guild alive and kicking.

But here's the kicker: the Ziggurat Desert War didn't last forever. Eventually, the rogues – the faction that went all in for those Mage Baron Rune Stones – got caught in a tight spot. They were nabbed, busted for their rebellion and treason against the empire. The sentence? Reclusion Perpetua. That's right, they're locked away forever, leaving the other Assassins, including the Soul Reapers, to pick up the pieces.

And you know what the cherry on top is? Both the Brethren of Slayers and the sneaky Rogue Mafia were being used by Avalon, the puppet master, for some high-stakes game of espionage, sabotage, and assassination. It's like they were pawns on the board, moving in ways they might not have even seen coming. Crazy, right? Imagine this – the Hunter Guilds, full of folks like Hunters, Snipers, and Scout Rangers, are like the secret agents of the fantasy world. These guys are the masters of black ops, the ones who get things done in the shadows. And let's not forget the fact that to even step into this world, you've got to start off as an Archer.

Archers, my friend, are like the long-range snipers of the magical realm. They've got that uncanny ability to shoot their arrows right on target from distances that'll leave you amazed. But don't think you can just pick up a bow and become an Archer – oh no, it's not that simple. You've got to train under the watchful eye of The Archers Coalition. This bad boy was born when Coreandale was under siege by undead horrors pouring out of the spooky Cave of Hades. The villagers were like, "Hold up, we need a first line of defense," and thus, Huntsville was born – right outside that cave.

But here's the scoop in more recent times – these archer wizards now moonlight as mercenaries. They've got this special squad called Bowman Mercenaries, and these guys are the masters of shooting baddies from a distance. You know, the kind of heroes who don't even have to get up close and personal to save the day. They've trained their butts off under the Archer's Coalition, and now they're here to provide a whole new level of "you can't hide from me."

And that's not all – there's the whole Hunter Guild gig. These guys are like the Hogwarts of Archers, training them up to be super savvy trappers and beastmasters. Picture this: Hunters with their trusty falcons and wolves, working together like a perfect team in this wild journey. Back in the day, they were based in Joseon's Huntsville, but once the undead threat was put on mute by the Archer's Coalition, they packed their bags and moved to Jagdwalden. However, the big boss of the Hunter Guild is still hanging out in Huntsville, and nobody really knows why. Picture this: Hunters – these are the badasses who don't just hunt deer or rabbits. No, they're out there hunting down their adversaries with the help of their trusty falcons and wolves. It's like they've got their own fantasy-style entourage going on.

Now, Hunters are like the masters of the "I'm not gonna fight you head-on" approach. They're all about indirect combat and having beasts as their BFFs. And if you ever hear someone talk about a Sniper, think about that dude who's got "one shot, one kill" tattooed on his soul. I mean, the Sniper's weapon of choice is the bow, and in their hands, that bow is like a magical harp of destruction. They've got this killer move called Falkeschlagen, and it's like their falcon buddy adds a touch of magic to their already formidable skills.

But wait, there's more! These Snipers aren't just one-trick ponies. They've got skills that boost their bow mastery and the ability to shoot piercing arrows that'll go through you like a hot knife through butter.

And then, hold on to your fantasy helmets, because there's this ultimate pro in the hunter guild – the Scout Ranger. These guys are like the stealthy ninjas of the bunch, with moves that would make even the shadows jealous. They've got the whole camouflage thing down, and they can ride these creatures called Wargs, which is like having a jetpack in a world where everyone else walks.

But here's the kicker – these Scout Rangers can also set up traps and explode them with Detonators. Imagine being the enemy, thinking you're in the clear, and then boom – trap city.

Now, about this special training center for Scout Rangers – it's like the best-kept secret in fantasy history. No one really knows who set it up or when it appeared. But everyone's got their theories, and it's like the center of some big government conspiracy. People are convinced it's a place where super-special forces are trained, ready to kick some Assassin butt if things go haywire. And you know how rumors spread – one moment it's a hidden forest hideout, the next it's the key to saving the world from chaos. Imagine this scene: Scout Rangers decked out with their trusty bows and arrows, accompanied by their fierce War Warg pals and an arsenal of traps. These folks are like the all-around action heroes of the fantasy world. Whether it's enemies trying to play defense or attempting a quick escape, these versatile sharpshooters can handle it all. They're like the masters of sneaking around, using guerrilla tactics to blend into the shadows and blowing up their traps when foes least expect it. It's like they've got surprise parties planned, but instead of cake, it's a face full of arrows or an explosive surprise.

When the Ziggurat Desert War kicked off, these Scout Rangers were right at the forefront, doing the scout, infiltrator, and spy thing. Word of their epic feats spread like wildfire, and folks everywhere were like, "Who's training these mystical warriors?" There were even rumors that whoever's pulling the strings might not be all about world peace – maybe they're cooking up something shady. But let's set the record straight here. You already know who's training these Scout Rangers, and guess what? I was part of that action too. Yep, I had a membership card in that secret club.

So, picture me on my Zandyagow Steed, rolling up to a crossroad in the Loupbosquet Forest. And guess what? There's an Orc Soldier chilling there, brandishing his big old battle-ax and playing toll booth operator. Now, I'm pretty sure this guy hasn't checked the latest news from his village, so he's unaware of the massacre I orchestrated there. Instead of dropping that bomb on him, I get off my trusty steed and saunter over, trying to keep the mood light.

But oh boy, he's not having any of it. He throws down the ultimate challenge: a fistfight to the death. Yeah, that escalated quickly. So I'm like, "Sure, why not?" I mean, if I said no, he'd still try to lay a beatdown on me, right? Might as well do it on my terms. And before you know it, he's throwing punches like a wild orc, and I'm ducking and weaving like a pro. I throw some solid punches back, my speed giving me the upper hand.

It's like a dance of fists and fury, and at one point, I actually lift this dude onto my shoulders and hurl him against a tree, snapping it like a twig. He's down for the count, nursing his wounds and giving me that classic orcish grunt. Safe to say, I passed his toll booth with flying colors – and a broken tree trunk.

"Whoa, how did a Human like you get so darn strong?" he blurted out, his regret pretty much written on his face.

I grinned, seeing him process the mistake he just made. "Well, my friend, I've seen my fair share of battles. You could call me a battle-hardened mercenary."

I couldn't help but notice his puzzled look, like he was wondering how a human ended up in this neck of the woods and turned out to be such a tough nut to crack.

Now, let me give you a little peek behind the scenes. You see, I've got a knack for studying the behavioral quirks of different folks, and that includes these orcs. I've been delving into "The Ins and Outs of Orc Psychology and Social Dynamics," a book by Elocin Euqilegna, a smarty-pants professor from the Sage Academy in Athennia. According to that tome, orcs have this whole leadership thing sorted through brute strength and battles. So, guess what? I decided to use that knowledge to my advantage.

I pulled out Gramr, letting the blade glisten in the sunlight as I directed it towards his neck. He looked up at me, his eyes shut tight, preparing for the final blow. "Just do it, then. I deserve to go out like a hero – the kind of death an Orc Soldier can boast about," he muttered, like he was steeling himself for the grand finale.

But hold up, I wasn't about to grant that request. Instead, I had a different plan cooked up. I leaned in a little closer, my voice calm and authoritative. "Sorry, but I've got a different future in mind for you. From now on, you're working for me. You're gonna be one of my soldiers, though lower down the ranks."

A flicker of surprise passed over his face, and I couldn't help but feel a bit smug. See, this is where that book knowledge came in handy. Orcs, it turns out, are pretty big on loyalty to their leaders. So, by showing off my strength and dominating him in this face-off, I basically set up a verbal contract in orc terms.

He nodded, like he was accepting a new truth in life. "Yes, my... Boss. My life is yours to command now."

I raised an eyebrow at the whole "my lord" vibe he was giving off. "Eh, drop the whole 'my lord' thing. Just call me Boss. Simple and to the point. I'm Rasleigh Chasewalker. And you are?"

He shrugged, a hint of uncertainty in his expression. "No name really, just an orc. You can call me whatever suits you, Boss."

I leaned back, crossing my arms, and thought for a second. "Alright, how about Joonjee Mingitus von Paterson? Yep, that's your name now."

He seemed almost surprised, his face lighting up in a strange way. "Wow, thanks for giving me a name, Boss. It's an honor."

I waved off his gratitude, not really one for sentimental stuff. "Sure thing, Joonjee. Now, let's get to business. I've got a mission for you, and you better be ready for it."

He perked up, eager to prove himself. "What's the mission, Boss?"

I grinned, whipping out ten empty vats from my satchel. "I need you to head over to the Gungnir Mountain Range. Lucky you've got that cart. I want you to gather up some wild honey and royal jellies from those hornets. Once that's done, grab water from the Gungnir Falls and stash it in one of these vats."

He nodded, taking in the details. "Got it, Boss. What's next?"

I leaned in, lowering my voice a bit for secrecy. "After you've done the collecting, head to the crossroads near the Cymry, just below the mountain. There's a cave there. That'll be your hideout while you wait for me. Keep it low-key and use this big cloak to disguise yourself."

Joonjee accepted the cloak, his eyes focused on the task ahead. "Sure thing, Boss. I'll do whatever you say."

I clapped him on the back, signaling the end of our chat. "Good. Now, go get this done. And don't forget, I'm lending you this Zandyagow Steed to haul that cart. Off you go." With that, he nodded, hitched up the cart to the steed, and set off towards the Majestic Mountain. And me? Well, I just wandered around the forest, trying to shake off the boredom that had settled in. Ah, at long last, I've made my way back to Londinium after a solid two days of traveling through the wilds of Loupbosquet Forest. I wasted no time and secured myself a cozy room at the Mugs and Cauldron Tavern. Believe me, after all that journeying, a proper bed feels like a slice of heaven.

I tucked into a hearty meal with a contented sigh, surrounded by the chatter and tales of fellow adventurers. You know, the kind of folks who've got more stories to tell than scars on their skin. It's like being in a living, breathing storybook.

But, here's the kicker – there's this shield maiden I've had my eyes on. My hope? That she might just decide to make a guest appearance in my dreams tonight. Hey, a man can dream, can't he? I mean, after all the battles, the fatigue has wrapped its gnarly fingers around me, and I'm practically begging for some comforting hugs. Who knows, maybe fate will be kind and grant me a warrior princess cuddle session. Haha, a guy can wish!