Chapter 19 : Tradition of Blood Alliance (2)

An ugly tusk and a strange, hissing way of speaking.

If we add low intelligence and dirty green skin, that was the orc she had envisioned in her mind.

But the orc before her shattered those near-prejudiced expectations with ease.

He wore no more than a rag over his steel-like body, leaving his upper body entirely exposed.

His healthy bronze skin gleamed so vibrantly that it looked as if he’d smeared himself with chocolate.

And inside his mouth were shark-like sharp teeth.

In a single word, a golden sun stood before her.

No, truly – this wasn’t an exaggeration.

Strictly speaking, his hair was closer to yellow than gold, but still, a figure that looked like a golden sun, striding bare-chested, was actually the Warchief of the orc Blood Pact?

Wolfgang, both concerned for the future of the Blood Pact and now her own, began to worry.

The attack she had just blocked with her arm had dealt her meaningful damage.

Her body, hardened by ten years of the Winter War, was strong enough to shatter most metals with ease.

Yet it had taken damage from that strike?

‘He’s at least on par with the strength of those Vendetta brutes.’

Actually, it wasn’t all that surprising. Orcs were known as a warrior race in this world, after all, and this one was the Warchief who’d risen to the top solely through strength.

Of course, the Vendetta Corps were also battle-hardened veterans trained through ten years of war, but the Warchief, at the pinnacle of the warrior orcs, was likely a close match.

Though the fact that the Warchief could rival them in strength was further proof of the Vendetta Corps’ might, Wolfgang didn’t quite feel that satisfaction.

The reality she was facing was that she herself would have to confront such a monster.

And she hadn’t even done anything wrong!

It’s rare to feel such intense frustration as when cleaning up someone else’s mess.

In her heart, she wanted to call for a substitute, but there was no way her opponent would allow that.

And even if she won, it would be problematic.

Even though orcs were a warrior race, the basis of diplomacy is mutual respect.

It’s unlikely that orcs would look favorably upon someone who bested their Warchief.

In the end, Wolfgang’s chosen course was to handle this peacefully.

No point in picking a fight here with the Warchief of the Blood Pact; it would only lead to complications down the road.

“It seems there’s been some misunderstanding. I’m here as an envoy of the Bahamut Empire…”

“I know that. Aren’t you Wolfgang Leonhardt, the famed hero of the Empire?”

“…Did I mention my name?”

“No, not at all. And I didn’t know your face either. Now I do, after seeing you.”

They say orcs are prejudiced against other races, but that’s a misconception. Orcs simply don’t care about other races. What they revere is nothing but raw strength.

However, that doesn’t mean they disregard others’ achievements.

The renown of great heroes reaches the ears of orcs, whether through the songs of bards or simple rumors.

For example, the noble saint Jeanne or the grand southern mage Arthenar. And Wolfgang Leonhardt, the hero who saved the Empire, was no exception.

But the sole reason orcs took interest in them was for one thing.

A desire to fight.

For orcs, a duel with a strong opponent was fuel to stoke their spirits. And among the many powerful figures, the Warchief Gartahn’s attention was drawn to Wolfgang.

‘The End Winter was more than a disaster; it was a divine punishment. And to think, a hero emerged victorious over such an ordeal… How strong must they be? I’m eager to find out.’

Of course, Gartahn hadn’t known from the beginning that his opponent was Wolfgang.

Undead, beings who defy the cycle of life and death, were abhorrent in all nations, especially to the orcs whose beliefs bordered on shamanism.

There were even a few who believed that killing anyone who witnessed an undead would prevent the undead from invading the tribe. So, he came before any further issues arose.

But the moment she stepped out of the carriage, Gartahn sensed it instinctively: this was Wolfgang Leonhardt.

Never before had he seen such resilient vitality.

If he hadn’t witnessed her himself, Gartahn would have believed that a fierce storm had descended.

His hands began to tremble with anticipation.

How strong could this one be?

He wanted to test her.

He wanted to clash with her, to break through his own limits.

Though he understood the need to uphold the dignity of the Blood Pact’s Warchief, when else would a chance like this arise?

This was truly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

One must seize a chance that comes this close, even if it means risking their life.

Undead are utterly profane to the orcs. Charging through an orc checkpoint with them in tow meant his opponent would have to allow for a certain amount of concession.

“Undead are unwelcome in any country. And to orcs, who strongly believe in their superstitions, it’s nearly a declaration of war. You know that, right?”

…

“Your silence tells me you agree. Normally, exile from the Empire would be the mildest course… but considering your renown, I’ll grant you just one chance.”

And Gartahn’s assumption was spot on. From the Empire’s perspective, if there was even a slight chance that an alliance between the Blood Pact and the Kingdom would succeed, they’d be at risk of becoming a rotten sandwich.

They had to allow for some concessions, even if only through an unspoken deal.

As the Empire’s representative, Wolfgang knew they were still responsible for bringing undead here, and Gartahn’s eagerness for a fight had outweighed his preference for exile.

In the end, Wolfgang had no choice but to accept Gartahn’s terms.

“What do I need to do?”

“It’s simple. Nothing too difficult.”

Defeat me.

An answer only an orc could give.

But at the Warchief’s words, the orcs who’d been watching all had the same reaction – either laughter or clucking their tongues.

“The Warchief can be so mischievous.”

“But this is a rare chance to witness the strength of the Empire’s famous hero. Let’s think positively.”

“Though it’s obvious who’ll win. Any other orc might be different, but the Warchief is on another level.”

Ultimately, in a battle, there’s always a winner and a loser.

But defeating the Blood Pact’s Warchief was not only difficult – it was close to impossible.

The orcs thought so.

Boom!!!

How could they think otherwise?

The Warchief of the Blood Pact had risen to the top of the orcs solely through his strength.

Among the warrior orcs, he was the strongest – the ultimate warrior.

But then Gartahn, the strongest, was thrown back, slamming into the ground?

Who could believe such a thing?

And the battle hadn’t even begun.

A single strike.

With just a single strike, the Warchief of the orcs, Gartahn, had fallen.

All the orcs watching fell silent, unable to believe what they were seeing.

“Kuh… hahaha…!!”

To be thrown back, to be slammed into the ground – it was all a first for Gartahn.

He’d never once been overwhelmed, much less felled.

Yet this overwhelming experience didn’t fill him with the humiliation of defeat. Instead, he felt elation.

In truth, ruling from the pinnacle, he’d grown weary of the boredom others couldn’t understand. Perhaps he even missed the past – the days he’d shed blood and sweat to defeat stronger foes.

At first, he was ecstatic.

He had rejoiced purely at his own talent, grateful and joyful.

Finally ascending to the summit, he’d felt greater satisfaction than lying with hundreds of women.

But the position he claimed no longer brought him any further joy.

There were many duties he had to fulfill as Warchief.

Of course, he never regretted becoming the Warchief.

Yet, there were times he missed those carefree days, when he could fight without any concerns.

He had to admit it.

Yes, he had initially underestimated her.

Whether it was the orcs’ sense of superiority or his confidence from claiming the Warchief’s position, he wasn’t sure.

But now he knew for certain.

This one was leagues above the other weak races. Perhaps she was the only one on this continent who could fight him evenly.

And with that realization, he rose from where he’d been thrown, walking forward again.

Standing before her, he spoke.

“My apologies. I underestimated you.”

“Shall we begin in earnest? A joyous battle.”

Looking at Gartahn, burning with the will to fight, her golden eyes flickered. What thoughts lay within them? How fiercely did her fighting spirit blaze?

Well.

To put it simply.

She was regretting it.

‘Damn it, I failed to control my strength.’

She had meant to knock him out with a single blow.