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Chapter 110 – Great Northern War (6)
Zelkian opposed the surprise attack. The others were the same. There were just too many practical limitations. In the first place, the great chieftain was moving at the center of a great army. The concept of a surprise attack wouldn't work, but Crockta wanted to directly see the face of the great chieftain.
Then a gift came from Jamero, the magician of Nameragon. To Crockta's surprise, it was an artifact.
[Read this well. This artifact is a gift for you. It is precious, but I shouldn't think about saving it when this is a war for the north. I will trust you since I believe there is no one greater in battle than you. Use it as you want.]
That was his letter.
Crockta's eyes shone as he confirmed the information about the artifact. It was a disposable magic artifact. But it seemed like something that existed for his purpose at the moment.
It was an old pumpkin.
[The 'Boundary Pumpkin' is an ancient relic of the elves with a mysterious magic spell on it. However, it can only be used once.]
Tiyo and Anor were worried for him.
"Is it really okay dot?”
“It's possible if I have this pumpkin."
“I still don't know dot. The great chieftain…"
“I have to see that guy's face," said Crockta.
“Then I will wish for your safe return dot."
Crockta grinned as he claimed, “I’ll come back before the war even happens."
The main army of the Great Clan headed north.
Calmahart stared at the distant lands. They just needed to move a little further and the cities of the dark elves would appear on the horizon.
He laughed, “Move faster."
There were orcs, dark elves, and humans carrying his sedan. The slaves of various species walked quickly. His heavy body and large throne were hard to move using their own strength, but if they didn't follow his command, they would be tortured and executed.
There were many slaves to replace them. Many slaves had been tortured in ways they couldn't imagine, and in the end, they closed their eyes begging for death.
Calmahart was the devil.
The shaman suggested, "Calmahart, I think it is better to stop here for today."
It was currently twilight.
“They will be well prepared so if we continue on late at night, enemy guerrillas might appear."
The vanguard at Emeranian had collapsed. There was definitely something there.
The two units that went to Nuridot and Yekator had captured the places as scheduled. The orcs at Juora couldn't advance due to the unidentified dark elf wielding double swords, but the troops were still intact.
Only the troops at Emeranian had died. He couldn't guess what had happened there. Calmahart was marching to Emeranian first for that reason.
There would be something. He laughed.
They stopped. The orcs began to prepare the camp. Tents and camping supplies were distributed. Calmahart's dwelling was the largest and most spectacular.
Calmahart descended from his sedan. The slaves were relieved. The tremendous weight on them had disappeared. Today's hell-like schedule was over and they would be able to rest until morning. At least, that was what they thought.
Calmahart laughed. The slaves' faces stiffened.
“Didn't it keep tilting to the right?"
The voice was gentle, but his natural inclination couldn't be hidden. The slaves were already able to foretell the scene that would occur next. There was only one time when Calmahart smiled like this. It was always just before killing someone.
His axe would cut the other person. He looked to the right while killing someone on the left, looked to the left while killing on the right side. His game was random. The slaves trembled at the thought that they would be next.
“My right hip kept on tilting down."
Calmahart approached the slaves who were in charge of the right side. They bowed in unison. They couldn't kneel because they were still holding the sedan chair.
The slaves apologized quickly. Calmahart burst out laughing at their appearance. At just a few words from him, everyone would shudder with fear and seek forgiveness. They would do whatever he said to survive.
Fear was his strength. The sight made him delighted.
“Kukukukuk, you don't need to apologize."
Calmahart's lieutenant and shaman approached as they noticed the situation. The orcs setting up the camp didn't pay any attention to this place. It was a familiar sight to them.
Calmahart's body became a blur. He swung the axe on his back. It was so fast they couldn't see it properly. Blood splattered. The sedan tilted.
Screams rang out. The slaves on the right side were covered in blood. Calmahart's axe cut the ankles of the right side slaves all at once. Except for the front and back, most of them lost their ankles due to his axe. Those far away were caught in the aftermath and swayed.
But they never backed down. They clenched their teeth and supported those with torn legs.
The sedan didn't fall. It was because all of them would die if that happened. The tearful slaves persisted. The slaves on the other side moved around the sedan chair to try and ease the burden by moving the center of gravity.
However, Calmahart looked at them and they couldn't move further.
“If you hang on until the sun comes up tomorrow, you are free."
It was ridiculous. One person had already lost his right ankle. The bleeding was getting worse.
“If it fails, I will kill both sides. To prevent the suffering."
He said he would kill them and turned around. This was Calmahart's habit. Postponing the murder. The scheduled death sentence didn't happen right away, but it wasn't far off. In the meantime, he would laugh at how they struggled.
For a moment, the sedan tilted. One of the slaves on the left side with good ankles ran out.
He was carrying a small hidden dagger. He jumped at Calmahart's neck and swung the dagger. However, Calmahart's huge hands grabbed his head. He frantically struggled.
Usually, the dark elf's head would explode. But Calmahart just threw him to the side.
Then he said, “You there. You. You. You."
He pointed to the slaves one by one. They were all orcs.
They came out. They were orcs who refused to join the Great Clan, were caught in the Luklan Mountains, or fought the Great Clan. Calmahart hated them the most.
“The dark elf tried to attack me in the face of death."
Calmahart was now speaking to all the orcs in this place.
“He did that despite knowing there is no hope! He came at me, Calmahart! But what about you?"
Calmahart raised his axe. The faces of the enslaved orcs became speculative.
"Orcs! Orcs! Hiding in the back like this! Hiding behind a dark elf's ass!"
The orcs of the Great Clan stopped working at this shout.
“You aren't orcs, but pigs!"
Calmahart's axe split apart the head of one orc. The body was divided vertically. All types of organs hidden under the skin poured out.
"We are orcs! Never run away! Die fighting!"
The orcs cheered at Calmahart's words.
“To the Great Clan!"
The other enslaved orcs trembled. This was a fearsome monster. Despite the fact that they were originally large orcs, Calmahart looked down at them from a higher height. He wasn't an orc, but a different species that looked like an orc. The burly muscles could probably tear apart an ogre with his bare hands.
"Kneel." Calmahart's terrible face laughed. “You are pigs, so go crawl and grunt for your lives. Then I'll let you live."
The orcs hesitated. They were orcs unrelated to the Great Clan. They were living peacefully. Then one day, the Great Clan warriors appeared and forced them to prepare for war. When they refused, their villages were wrecked. They all became slaves. They were people who didn't know how to fight.
At that moment, one of them came forward. It was the only stranger among them, an orc born in the Luklan Mountains. He wasn't a warrior. However, he still maintained the traditional beliefs of the orcs.
"Calmahart. Poor, mad person."
Calmahart's eyes narrowed. He had seen a lot of final efforts before dying. Everyone shouted and cursed him. However, there was no one who insulted him in such a calm manner. Despite the instinctive fear, the orc from Orcheim was staring at him with calm eyes.
"You aren't an orc."
"How interesting. Me?"
“Do you know Bul'tar?"
Calmahart laughed. It was the first time hearing such nonsense. “Just a crazy guy.”
But his eyes were still clean.
"Keep this in mind Calmahart. Everyone dies. It is only our honor that death can't erase."
“You are just making sounds with that mouth. For you will definitely soon die by my hands. Kuhuhu."
“You don't understand this. Someday, you will meet a real orc and die."
He bowed down. He grabbed the dagger hanging from the hands of the dark elf who had been thrown by Calmahart. Calmahart gazed at the dagger. However, the posture was lousy. This was an orc who didn't know how to fight.
Calmahart laughed. Indeed, he was just someone who lost his mind.
“Yes, weak orc. What is a real orc? An idiot like you who can't even hold a knife? A weakling? A fool like that?" Calmahart laughed cruelly. “The rubbish of the Luklan Mountains who will soon be killed by my hands?"
Calmahart approached. The orc swung the dagger, but his wrist was immediately grabbed by Calmahart.
“Tell me. Who is a real orc?"
As Calmahart's terrible face neared, slight fear appeared on the orc's face. The fear he sowed filled the surroundings. Nobody could resist that fear. But the orc clenched his teeth and endured it.
"I have seen a real orc. Unlike you, who is playing as an orc warrior."
“You will be seeing him soon."
Calmahart's hands gripped his neck. Those who resisted fear weren't fun. The sight of people surrendering to the overwhelming fear and despair was to his taste. Even at the moment of death, this guy continued speaking nonsense.
It wasn't fun. No matter how strong a person was, they eventually yielded to him.
The orc's breath got stuck. The orc could barely speak anymore. The pressure from the grip on his neck was so overwhelming. He called out the name as he choked.
His body slumped down.
Calmahart had heard that name before. An orc from the continent. A bastard from the weak continent. That guy was a real orc. Calmahart laughed. Then the body of the dead orc was thrown to the ground.
“We advance tomorrow morning." Calmahart turned around. His pleasure had cooled off.
"What about those guys?"
“Leave it until tomorrow. I'll see you then."
The slaves sighed as Calmahard disappeared. Their lives would be extended until tomorrow. With the hope of someday being rescued, the warriors carried the sedan into the camp. Those with damaged ankles groaned on the floor. The other slaves gave them first aid.
There was one man watching the scene.
A determined face. The tattooed body was distorted with anger. He looked at the body of the orc who called his name. Then he gritted his teeth.
It was Crockta.
['Boundary Pumpkin' temporarily turns into a magical pumpkin carriage that no one can see. Once it is used, it can move through space again at midnight and then the pumpkin will disappear.]
He looked down at the orcs from the air and waited for it to get dark. He had to wait for Calmahart to be alone.
To the garbage who didn't know anything about being a real orc. Crockta would inform him about what an orc warrior was.
Ogre Slayer in his hands hummed and cried out.
“Just wait," Crockta muttered. As Ogre Slayer hummed, the world slowed down then accelerated again. The world repeated these actions. He could feel the trajectory of the wind on his skin.
His senses were extremely sensitive due to staying in the world of the Pinnacle.
A boundless anger towards the enemy. The optimum condition for killing.
Crocta's sword was aimed for Calmahart's heart.
The sun set.
The moon rose in the sky.
Praise the Orc:
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