Chapter 83: The Orcs Of The Blackfang Clan.

Chapter 83: Chapter 83: The Orcs Of The Blackfang Clan.

"And the ridge?" Victor asked.

"Archers would have been good up top, if we had them. High reminds me, if Kiki is willing to train the brothers..." Lego glanced at her. Kiki said nothing, eyes on the sand.

She had only began learning archery a few days ago and Lego was already suggesting teaching other people.

How ridiculous.

But Victor thought if it as a good idea. After all, she learnt at least five times faster than the normal Barbarian, she could help others learn and grow faster.

The only problem was their numbers. Those found in the arena, along with the others found in the homes during the search back after Boramo left brought the total Barbarian population to a mere sixteen.

Victor was aware that some tribal members had started hooking up like Popo and Foto, but it would be a while before any of them became pregnant.

Also, as one with knowledge from a different world, another thought came to mind.

Isn’t the genre pool a little too small? If only we had more members.

Something clicked in his head, and his eyes sparkled. But that will come with too much problems. External tribes were always a problem in the game.

He massaged his jaw thoughtfully.

The others stared at him.

"Chief?" Jaja broke the quiet.

"Huh... yes. I am here."

’Where did you go before?’ Jaja and Lego asked internally.

Victor leaned forward to study the model. The plan had holes, but it was a start. Holes could be patched depending on what the battlefield presented.

But two hundred orcs was still a lot. And Victor remembered that Orcs were very very troublesome.

....

Hours later, far across the northern grassland, just as predicted, the ground began to thunder.

A group of riders came over the rise on the backs of giant wild boars, each beast as large as a bull, bristling with coarse hair, tusks curving from their jaws like scythes, froth dripping from their snouts.

The riders matched their mounts. These were Orcs. They were huge, thick through the shoulders and gut, muscle layered under fat, green-gray skin crisscrossed with scars.

Their own tusks jutted upward from their lower jaws. Strings of skulls rattled around their necks. These were trophies, heads of men, beasts, and barbarians alike. In their hands they carried crude blades fashioned from animal bone, jagged and yellowed, edges serrated for tearing.

They were savage, and they looked it.

They reined up at the edge of the barbarian lands, boars snorting and pawing the earth.

The one in front was the biggest of them, a brute with a split ear and a necklace of skulls so heavy it hung to his belt. This was Vrok-Thar, son of an Orc Chieftain, and he wore it like a crown.

He laughed, loud and ugly . "So this is the land of the Barbarians from the old stories. For hundreds of winters we have heard of it. And now we stand... here."

Another rider nudged his boar close. He was leaner than the others, with a bone staff and a shrunken head hanging from its tip. His name was Skarn Ragbone, the clan’s adviser.

"It is as the legend says, young chief," Skarn said. "The elder told us what the Barbarian king whispered to the Chief. This land has been purged of the Southern Bloodline Barbarians. We are only here to scout the ground, as the king promised it to your father. And since all looks quiet, we should turn back—"

Vrok-Thar swung a heavy arm and smashed his fist into Skarn’s face, knocking him half off his boar.

"Shut your mouth." He bared his tusks. "If the Barbarians are dead, then the land is empty. And if it is empty, I can ride down there and take the good things for myself." His eyes lit with greed, already imagining the treasures waiting in empty tents.

Skarn pulled himself upright, wiping blood from his lip. "Young chief, forgive me. This land was given for one purpose, to grow food for the Blackfang Clan. Your father said nothing is to be touched until the main host arrives."

Vrok-Thar turned slowly.

"Do you wish," he said, voice low, "to become meat for my boar?"

As if on cue, the beast beneath him grunted and licked its lips, small eyes fixed on Skarn.

Skarn flinched backward, bowing his head. He dared not offend this one. The chieftain’s son was overbearing and cruel, and he really would feed his adviser to his mount.

"We have eaten rot and scraps for too long," Vrok-Thar roared to the riders behind him. "Today we feast like real orcs!"

The warband howled, tusks flashing, bone blades raised. Vrok-Thar dug his heels into the boar’s flanks and it surged forward into Barbarian land.

Then something whistled through the air.

An arrow, trailing a thin line of flame, thudded into the dirt directly in front of the boar’s hooves.

The boar screamed.

It reared back, hooves tearing at the air, and the sudden flame at its feet sent it into a panic. Vrok-thar hauled on the reins with both fists, thighs locked around the beast’s ribs, snarling curses as it bucked and twisted beneath him.

The riders behind him also swore and scrambled to hold their own mounts steady.

It took him several heartbeats to drag the animal back under control. When the boar finally stood trembling and snorting, Vrok’s head snapped up, eyes tracing the arrow’s path back through the sky, toward the ridge.

Far up on the hill, impossibly high, two figures stood against the horizon.

Orcs were not blessed with barbarian eyes, but their sight was sharp enough. He squinted, tusks flexing as his jaw tightened. A man on one side. A woman on the other, a bow in her hands, its string still humming. Her arrow had left a thin trail of smoke in the air.

Victor stood tall at the edge of the ridge, the Dire Lion’s mane draped over his shoulder, tge wind blowing at it. And Kiki a step to his side.

He drew in a breath and let his voice roll down the slope, carried by the wind.

"THIS IS THE SACRED LAND OF THE SOUTHERN BLOODLINE BARBARIAN TRIBE."

The words echoed across the grassland.

"LAST I CHECKED, WE WEREN’T EXPECTING VISITORS."

Silence followed. The orcs stared up at the ridge, boars shifting beneath them, bone blades half raised.

Then Vrok-thar threw his head back and laughed, a deep, wet bark that shook his necklace of skulls.

"Hah! It seems the elder was wrong, then." He grinned, tusks gleaming. "It seems this land has more than just treasure... Slaves."

(Author’s note: I’ll refer to Vrok-thar as Vrok henceforth.)