Chapter 786: The Orc King’s Message (Patreon)

Mivi’s third race skill sparked several ideas in Luke’s mind.

[Rapid Assimilation (Ultra-Rare)]: Ratfolk possess a remarkable ability to absorb knowledge through observation and practice. Although they are no more intelligent than other races, they can learn tasks, trades, and techniques at an accelerated pace, refining their skills with far less repetition. In addition, their offspring tend to be born with a stronger affinity for knowledge and skills their parents mastered during their lives, as though each generation inherited a natural aptitude for what the previous one had already mastered.

Interesting. Very interesting.

The ratfolk would be more than welcome in his kingdom.

Mivi’s Soldier Skill was useful too, though in a less obvious way.

[Silent Intent (Uncommon)]: The ratfolk gains greater control over her breathing, posture, and presence when focused on approaching a target. Her movements become harder to notice, and her hostile intent becomes more difficult to detect, especially while calm and focused.

Mivi stepped closer, lowered her head, and bowed.

“Lord Luke,” she said. “Thank you for giving me my tail back. And for this new power.”

Four days passed, and the village’s improvements began to take shape. Structures went up, land was cleared, and little by little, the place stopped looking like a makeshift refuge. Luke learned a grim truth about ratfolk tails. After cutting them off, the orcs used them to make whips. They also forced the ratfolk to keep their claws trimmed, collecting the clippings to make arrowheads. Their enslavement had never been limited to forced labor. The orcs had exploited them in every way imaginable.

One of their captured orcs ended up paying for that discovery. Out in the forest, the creature knelt before Luke, bleeding, trembling, and giving up information it never would’ve shared willingly. The torture took a while, but once Luke was sure there was nothing useful left to get out of him, he killed him.

“You really like that new Infusion skill,” Artemis said.

“I do.”

“You know...” she went on. “There’s a pretty good chance you got that because of my blessing.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? Come on, man. You got it right after you killed the general with a skill that literally had my name on it.”

“As far as I know, if I use a skill enough and meet certain conditions, I can unlock an evolution. It just happened. Coincidence.”

“I don’t know about that, Luke. You just don’t want to give me credit. Or reward me.”

Luke didn’t answer. When he returned to the village, he headed toward the area where the newly arrived humans had settled, in what used to be Otto’s village.

Cecilia came running the moment she saw him, her eyes bright with excitement.

“Lord Luke, I reached level 30!”

For a second, she looked ready to throw her arms around him, but then she caught Charlie’s stern look, froze halfway through, and backed off. Cecilia had a habit of doing that. She was too friendly, too warm, and some people took it the wrong way. According to Otto, more and more young men were hoping to marry her.

“Level 30 Artisan? Congratulations,” Luke said.

That was faster than I expected.

Charlie stayed at his side like a bodyguard, unlike Angie, who always seemed to be off managing some part of the village.

“Lord Luke, I never would’ve made it without the materials you gave me. Especially the wand.” Cecilia held it up proudly.

She was a mage, yet until recently she hadn’t even owned the basic weapon for her class. That explained a lot about why poor people barely progressed through the system. What good was having a class if you couldn’t even afford the tools you needed to use it properly?

“And the equipment? Is it helping?” Luke asked.

As an artisan, Cecilia depended on a wide range of tools: needles and thread for leatherwork, scissors, knives, finishing tools. But owning the tools wasn’t enough to advance the profession. The system cared about the final result, much like it did with Luke’s botany, though her crafting skills obviously helped.

The wand in particular made enchanting much safer, letting her improve items with her skills while reducing the risk of destroying them.

“I expect a lot from you, Cecilia.”

Luke meant it. He hoped that when she reached level 50, she’d receive some kind of class evolution that would let her create magic scrolls.

Not long after, Caleb came to speak with him.

“No sign of orcs in the area,” he reported. “But there are a lot of people camped along the road to Nyvma. They’ve set up tents. Survivors from the attack.”

“Camped along the road...” Luke thought for a few seconds. “Any children?”

“Yes.”

That made the decision harder. He couldn’t simply ignore them, but he couldn’t let people flood into the village unchecked either. Too many people in one place meant conflict, opportunists, and plenty of other problems. There was no way to know how many of those survivors would cause trouble.

Maybe it’d be better to build a third village next to Otto’s and put the newcomers there.

Luke told Caleb to send Theron to make the offer, then gave Joseph the order. They would cut down enough trees to clear space for tents and take in the newcomers without putting them right in the heart of the village.

As he approached the castle, Luke passed Boggy tending the crop field, which seemed to get bigger every day. The goblin chief had already reached level 5 in his profession. Farther ahead, Pip and the others were practicing with bows. They waved as Luke passed, and he kept walking.

Simple homes were being built for the sixty-eight goblin refugees out of leaves, sticks, and hides. Fortunately, the system counted those structures as adequate housing, but only for goblins. Humans living in the same kind of shelter didn’t count as residents with adequate housing. It was only temporary, and Luke intended to give the goblins better homes later. For now, he just needed to satisfy the mission requirement.

The confirmation appeared as soon as he entered the castle.

[Citizens: 700/700]

Seven hundred.

Luke smiled. “Excellent.”

[Your Kingdom Core has leveled up to Level 8!]

[Your Kingdom Core has unlocked a new skill!]

A Core skill... but for a Dark Lord.

Luke read the description again and smiled.

***

It was the middle of the night, and Clyde was on duty at the fort. Cold wind rolled in from the sea, carrying the smell of salt. He’d fought hard to get assigned to the coastal fortress. Positions there were hard to come by. It was quiet, safe, and about as close to a reward as a soldier could get if he had no interest in dying in some pointless war.

As Clyde carried a bucket of hot water, he passed a guard asleep in a chair, snoring without an ounce of shame. Everyone said the coastal forts were where soldiers went to grow old, and Clyde had managed to get himself stationed there at thirty. If nothing went wrong, he could coast through the rest of his life.

By the time he reached the top of one of the towers, his partner Quonan was already there. Clyde poured some of the hot water into Quonan’s wooden bucket, kept the rest for himself, and set the metal bucket nearby.

“Man, I never get tired of this.”

There was nothing better than soaking your feet in hot water while drinking tea on a freezing night. It was a trick they’d learned from old Donn.

The sea had been rough all week, and the wind at the top of the tower was loud enough to swallow half their conversation. The fort stood between Duskridge, Solvar, and Rosemark, and people said anyone born in that region was blessed since they could try for citizenship in any of the three. Clyde was one of them, the son of a simple merchant from Solvar and a peasant woman from Rosemark.

“You gonna pour me some tea, Clyde?” Quonan asked.

“Hell no. I already went and got the damn water. And I just sat down.”

“You just sat down, my friend. I’ve been over here warming this chair way longer.”

“Your chair’s warm enough.”

“Damn lazy Solvar bastards...”

“No. Solvar is a land of hardworking people. Don’t lump me in with my Rosemark half.”

“And here we are. Both doing nothing.”

“We’re making our ancestors proud. They already worked enough for all of us.”

Quonan grumbled but got up and poured the tea.

“This is the only tea that keeps me even a little awake,” he said. “I swear, if the merchants ever come up with something stronger, I’d pay a whole silver coin for it.”

“Wait until your wife finds out you spend money on tea leaves.”

“It’s my noble side.”

“You’re just missing the money.”

Quonan laughed, but the teapot suddenly slipped from his hand.

“Look what you did, man.”

“C-Clyde...” Quonan’s voice broke. “Signal tower.”

“What?”

“S-signal tower!”

Clyde turned and, for a heartbeat, couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. Figures were moving among the guards on the neighboring tower, too large and too fast to be human. One of the men went down before he could even scream, and Clyde reached for the bell. Something shot up the side of the tower at impossible speed and slammed into him, throwing him to the floor and knocking the air from his lungs.

Bandits?

“Tiny little humans,” a rough voice said, far too close. “You really are skinny up close.”

“Fuck,” Quonan whispered, staring at the creature. “They’re orcs...”

An arrow punched through him before he could finish.

“Quonan!” Clyde screamed.

“Go on, scream.” The orc laughed as he grabbed the signal bell. “Don’t worry. I’ll make some noise for you.”

He started ringing it, and across the fortress, orcs on the other towers did the same, sending the alarm rolling through the entire stronghold.

“Louder!”

Then lights began appearing out over the ocean, one after another. Clyde stared as ship after ship cut through the darkness, each one packed with orcs.

“We came to pay you little people a visit,” the orc said, laughing as he hauled Quonan off the ground before killing him.

Clyde ran, shaking, and threw himself down the stairs, half running and half falling as screams spread through the fortress. The orcs were already inside. Flaming arrows struck men who had barely managed to grab their weapons, setting clothes, wood, and flesh ablaze. A group of soldiers charged an orc near the courtyard, only for the creature to swing a club and send them flying in every direction.

For a while, they fought back hard enough that it almost looked like they had a chance. The commander even managed to bring one down, but the orcs were coming from everywhere, roaring, laughing, and slaughtering people like it was some kind of celebration.

Commander Roy found Clyde in the chaos and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Clyde, it has to be you. You’re the best rider we’ve got.”

“M-me, sir?”

“Warn the city. Get reinforcements.”

The fortress gate burst apart with a thunderous crash, and orcs poured through the opening. Roy shoved a key into Clyde’s hand.

“Take my damn strider and go!”

Clyde ran. Behind him, soldiers fired arrows at the orcs, but all they did was slow them down. Even wounded, the creatures kept coming, stepping over bodies, smashing through doors, and crushing anyone in their path. He burst into the private stable and found a Scaled Strider. The beast was restless, its scales gleaming beneath the flickering firelight, its eyes wide at the screams and clash of steel. It wasn’t a war strider, just a transport mount.

“Come on, girl,” Clyde said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “We’re getting out of here.”

The creature backed away, frightened.

“Come on, girl. You know me.”

Clyde mounted and urged her forward. The strider hesitated for a heartbeat, then obeyed and bolted out of the stable.

“Well, look at that! We’ve got a runner!” an orc shouted, holding a bottle with a burning rag jammed into its neck.

Clyde raised his crossbow on instinct and fired. The bolt hit the bottle, and fire burst across the orc, sending him to the ground screaming.

“Go, girl!”

The strider shot forward, far faster than any horse. The fortress shrank behind him, swallowed by fire and screams, with the bells still ringing over it all.

Those were fucking ships. They’re invading this coast too. Shit. My parents.

His parents had no idea what was headed their way.

I can’t die.

Clyde looked over his shoulder one last time. A deafening roar ripped across the sky, and the strider froze beneath him.

“Come on, girl! Don’t stop!”

The strider let out a low, panicked sound and jerked its head from side to side as something plunged from the sky and slammed into the ground in front of them. It reared with a terrified shriek. A massive winged beast had landed in the road ahead.

[Wyvern Strider - Lvl 105]

“And where do you think you’re going, human?” an armored orc asked as he climbed down from the creature’s back.

Clyde stumbled backward and fell. If fear hadn’t locked up every muscle in his body, he would’ve pissed himself. There was no way he was getting out of this. The orc grabbed a fistful of Clyde’s clothes and hauled him up like he weighed nothing. Clyde didn’t even try to fight.

“Tell the rulers of this continent,” the orc snarled, bringing his face close to Clyde’s, “that every kingdom here will fall if my king doesn’t get our Orc Treasure back.”

<< Chapter 785 | Index | Chapter 787 >>