episode_0019

In life, there are things met with indifference and things met with contempt.

The problem is, you never know when or where the trigger for such reactions will come from.

People often call it coincidence—or karma.

“Military Research Department, is it?”

While taking a short break outside and stretching my stiffened arms, a rather gruff voice reached me from nearby.

Dark greenish-brown skin, a wrinkled forehead, a protruding jaw and lips. Wild, long black hair and piercing blue eyes.

Aside from being significantly taller than the orcs accompanying him, he had the typical appearance of a northeastern orc.

He probably recognized the department emblem while stretching and decided to strike up a conversation—coincidentally, he was wearing the same emblem as me.

‘A senior, perhaps?’

I might have seen him occasionally in the arena, or maybe not. That was about the extent of my impression. Given that I usually avoided getting involved with orcs, it was even more likely I hadn’t paid much attention.

“Aye, that’s right. Didn’t recognize your face, so I was a bit confused.”

“Ah… I joined as a replacement, so it’s understandable you haven’t seen me around.”

“Hmm. A replacement?”

The orc let out a low, evaluating snort. Then, a displeased glint slowly crept into his eyes.

“……Come to think of it, I heard a subordinate of the Margrave of Ruticia joined as a replacement. That must be you, then?”

“Correct. I am Baron Hebel, serving under the Margrave of Ruticia.”

“I am Darko, son of Siemowit, patriarch of the Veneti clan, Beastra.”

The moment introductions ended, a sharp exhale escaped the orc before me—an unmistakably unfriendly reaction.

The Veneti clan—a large orc tribe near the Margrave of Ruticia’s domain.

Though already incorporated into the Empire, their sheer size made their loyalty fickle, and even after submission, they had caused numerous problems.

Naturally, this made their relationship with the Rutician Margraviate, responsible for defending the Empire’s borders, nothing short of hostile.

Even in my childhood, the Margraviate had suffered greatly from conflicts with them.

“Tch. No wonder I felt a bad omen. Was already reluctant to go to the arena, and now there’s one more person I’d rather not see.”

“…….”

“We don’t exactly share good ties. Let’s avoid each other, yeah? Unless you want us both hurt.”

Given the circumstances, this hostility wasn’t unwarranted.

Though, it wasn’t as if I had nothing to say.

“Lord Darko, you are studying at the Empire’s Academy—yet you seek to antagonize the Empire’s Margrave?”

At that, Darko’s thick brows twitched violently. His protruding lips curled threateningly.

“You’re the ones who started it. Killing our kin so mercilessly—how dare you?!”

“Are you referring to the Sorb and Vend clans?”

“Exactly! The ones you cowardly slaughtered!”

The Sorb and Vend clans—tribes closely related to the Veneti.

Unlike the Veneti, who were within the Empire’s borders, these clans resided beyond, making them the Margrave of Ruticia’s sworn enemies.

During the conflict with the Veneti I mentioned earlier, they had been hired as mercenaries and waged a massive war against the Margraviate.

Baring his tusks, he continued without lowering his voice.

“Back then, they only came to aid our rightful use of force! Yet you deceived and massacred them under false pretenses!”

“Rightful use of force?”

“Yes!”

From my perspective, it was absurd—but for orcs, this wasn’t an unusual mindset.

For a race living in barren lands with an inefficient semi-agrarian, semi-nomadic economy, the concept of a “clan” was a means of survival.

Multiple families bound as one, treating even distant kin as immediate family—this was their culture.

A crude system by nature, it inevitably revolved around the strength of the leading figure. And what better way to prove that strength than through violent conflict?

The fact that the Veneti were a large clan meant they had fought countless wars.

The Empire had been trying to manage them through the Margrave of Ruticia, slowly integrating them into imperial order…

“The Empire was exploiting us! We had no choice but to rise against those outrageous, unjust taxes! Ours was a righteous cause!”

About ten years ago, they had rebelled, rallying external clans under the pretext that the Empire’s tributes were excessive.

From what I remembered, their actions were far from deserving the label of “rightful use of force.”

I spoke up.

“Do you know Derban of the Sorb clan?”

“Of course I do! He was my uncle! And a warrior you killed like cowards!”

“That ‘warrior’ was busy burning down ten villages in the Margraviate and looting. He avoided proper battle at every turn.”

“What?”

“And what of Kalman of the Vend clan? He slaughtered innocent civilians, took captives, and committed countless atrocities. He, too, never faced a real battle.”

“You—!”

“Shall I continue? I remember exactly what all thirty of those clan leaders did when they invaded the Margraviate.”

As I stared him down, Darko glared back, grinding his teeth.

His reaction told me everything.

‘Ah, so he knows there was a war—but not what his kin actually did.’

Well, the man before me looked young. If I was around ten back then, he couldn’t have been much older. He likely never fought in the war himself.

So instead of hearing about his relatives’ disgrace, he’d only been fed tales of their unjust deaths.

Even in mutual conflicts, it’s not rare for one side to spin the narrative in their favor.

A ragged breath burst from his lips.

“Baron, are you looking to duel me right now?”

I gauged his mood. I had no intention of dueling him—just steering the conversation elsewhere.

“Baron Hebel…?”

But then, a familiar voice called from the path leading to the assembly hall. Instinctively, I answered.

“My lord…?”

“What is all this?”

“Nothing. Just a brief exchange—”

“Exchange? Ha!”

The orc’s hostility immediately shifted from me to our leader—the Margrave. An unexpected turn.

“Margrave of Ruticia! Long time no formal meeting. Seems you’ve been educating your vassals well?”

“……I don’t know what happened, but shouldn’t explanations come first? No matter your seniority, this is beyond rude.”

At the blatant sarcasm, my lord’s eyes narrowed slightly. Apparently, he recognized who the orc was.

“Your man here insulted our clan—and our kin! The Sorb and Vend clans! Not just that, he tried justifying it with nonsense! Go on, tell him! How vile your schemes were!”

The orc vented like a rapid-fire cannon, unloading everything I’d said. The Margrave glanced at me briefly before responding.

“If you had grievances, you should’ve brought them to me. Why harass my vassal?”

“So his words are the Margrave’s?”

“My stance was made clear long ago. I’ve always sought peace with the Veneti. Thanks to their cooperation, I’ve been able to study here—just like you, no?”

As the orc bristled at the Margrave’s smooth words, a slow clap sounded beside us.

The Imperial Princess.

“I’m not entirely sure what’s happening… but it’s getting late, and this doesn’t seem like something words alone will solve. What do you three think?”

“Hmm…”

The orc, about to raise his voice again, seemed to finally realize who the princess was and quieted down.

Even he wouldn’t dare provoke the Emperor’s daughter after the Margrave.

“Then instead of wasting time here, why not settle it properly? You have mock battles for a reason. No need for tempers.”

The problem was, the princess’s solution was so typical of her.

The sun had set, and the stars hidden in the sky now shone brightly.

Given the late hour, the Margrave insisted on escorting the princess back to her quarters—with me tagging along.

Naturally, our conversation revolved around the earlier incident.

“So, that orc senior is from a clan that had a major conflict with your family, and today’s argument stemmed from that?”

“Well… yes.”

At my hesitant reply, the princess tilted her head.

“From what I recall, the conflict with the Veneti ended with reduced taxes for them, didn’t it?”

“Correct.”

“Then why were they so angry? If anything, your side has more reason to be upset. Wasn’t the Margraviate hit hard by that incident?”

“I think there are two reasons.”

I slowly began recounting the situation.

“That orc, Darko, had his underlings with him. For orcs, having their pride wounded in front of subordinates is unacceptable.”

“Isn’t that true for any race?”

“For orcs, it’s tied to survival—instinct. Their hierarchy is far stricter than others’. To outsiders, their lower ranks might as well be voluntary slaves. If we’d been alone, the argument wouldn’t have escalated so much.”

Human social structures are imposed by society, not instinct.

Otherwise, history’s countless revolutions and rebellions wouldn’t make sense.

At least when movements like the French Revolution succeeded, they could reshape perceptions.

But orcs are wired for hierarchy.

Their instinct drives them to seek strong leaders, willingly becoming subservient to survive.

Thus, leaders see even minor slights not as mere insults, but as threats to their survival—lest their followers dwindle.

Ironically, this also makes decapitation strikes the most effective tactic against them.

“But why was he so angry over other clans’ affairs?”

“That’s the second reason. Though separate clans, they were still kin. Orc kinship ties are so strong, they treat close relatives like their own clan. Since their kin were wronged, they feel justified in their anger.”

“I don’t fully understand, but… they had their own reasons. That’s what you mean?”

“Exactly. Plus… the ‘vile acts’ they mentioned weren’t exactly praiseworthy either.”

I nodded. The princess fell silent, pensive, while the Margrave remained quiet.

Suddenly, she spoke again.

“Then, about those ‘vile acts’…”

“……It refers to the time we invited the thirty leaders of the Sorb and Vend clans—the ones who invaded the Margraviate—under the guise of surrender, hosted a banquet, and burned them alive.”

“Ah, I’ve heard of that. After losing all their leaders, both clans collapsed, and the late Margrave of Ruticia stabilized the border by crushing them, right? Though, in the process…”

“He fell in battle due to an unfortunate accident.”

The Margrave’s expression darkened slightly as he answered.

With their leaders gone, the orcs became a disorganized mob, easily routed.

But some, consumed by vengeance, ambushed the late Margrave during the mop-up, leading to his death.

Fortunately, the remaining Veneti accepted the Empire’s lenient terms in negotiations, leaving the Margraviate’s borders so stable that ‘enemies’ were virtually wiped out.

It was only thanks to this peace that our current Margrave could afford to study here.

As the conversation lulled, we neared the princess’s quarters.

“……Now that I think about it, Margrave of Ruticia.”

“…Yes?”

“Earlier, during your conversation…”

The Margrave’s gaze flicked toward me, then away.

Judging by his reaction, it definitely involved me.

“That story… does it relate to what happened today?”

“…….”

Silence.

A common response from the Margrave when he couldn’t lie but didn’t want to speak.

Soon, we stopped before the princess’s quarters.

I took a short breath, looked at the sky, and murmured.

“Truthfully, even if that orc didn’t know, he had every right to be angry at me. Because…”

“Baron…”

The Margrave gave me a questioning look. I glanced at the princess before continuing.

Well, for all her talkativeness, she is the princess. She wouldn’t spread careless rumors.

After being dragged into this mess, she deserved an answer.

I shook my head slightly, signaling it was fine, and finished.

“……The one who ordered the thirty orc clan leaders lured into that underground banquet hall and burned alive… was none other than me.”