Land of Demons

8

It was filled with stars and looked almost exactly like the one above Darnassus, save for a couple of unknown planets and stars that could be seen on the far edge of the eastern horizon.

As a child, Hadjar had always loved his father and uncle’s stories about the skies above distant countries, and now… Now he was looking at the sky of a truly distant country. Unfortunately, this country was his enemy. Thank the High Heavens that he knew the language and the accent. He’d always had a knack for those.

None of my compatriots ever came this far, Hadjar thought. But I don’t feel like I’ve taken even a single step yet. I wonder what the night sky looks like in the Dragon Lands or in the Land of the Immortals.

“I knew I’d find you here.”

Hadjar neither flinched in surprise nor dropped his pipe. From the moment he’d awoken, he’d felt someone watching him. A young man stepped out of the shadows, his hands resting on the hilts of his daggers. Derek.... That was his name.

“I don’t like hospitals,” Hadjar explained calmly.

“I understand,” Derek said. Hadjar doubted that someone his age could truly understand something like that. “Mind if I join you?” He pointed to the place next to Hadjar.

“Feel free.” Hadjar nodded.

They sat in silence for a while. Derek finally opened his mouth to ask or say something when a girl came running toward them. Hadjar didn’t remember her name, but he remembered her peculiar white hair.

“There... are...” she gasped. “The garrison has asked for volunteers.”

“Volunteers?” Derek asked. “Why does the garrison need volunteers?”

Hadjar removed the pipe from his mouth. He recognized the look in the girl’s eyes...

“Orcs… Orcs are coming!”

...It was primal terror.

   

After meeting Dora, Hadjar had decided to fill the gaps in his knowledge about non-human races. By talking to Einen, he had learned about two of them.

The first were the elves, the descendants of the Great Forest, the first forest this world had ever seen. The tree of their ancestor had somehow gotten to Dahanatan, so they’d followed it and settled there.

The other race were the descendants of the First Wolf, the first wolf to ever hunt in this world. According to the legend, the beast had lived in the Great Forest, but for some reason, the elves and orcs didn’t have a good relationship.

The orcs, who had the blood of one of the oldest and most powerful beasts coursing through their veins, liked the vast steppes of the Lascanian borderlands far more than living in forests. Unlike the elves, they didn’t consider themselves subjects of the Lascan Empire. On the contrary, they saw the humans who’d come to their lands as conquerors and oppressors, and waged an endless war for their freedom. They did so despite the fact that, according to Einen, the Lascanians had never wanted to remove the orcs, as they served as a buffer between the two Empires. In addition, the orc path of cultivation was useless to humans. All their artifacts, Techniques, and knowledge only applied to very different branches of cultivation.

“But the orcs haven’t attacked Boltoy for a hundred years.” Derek looked dumbfounded. “What do they want?”

“I don’t know,” Irma answered after catching her breath. “The scouts say that an army composed of several orc tribes is on its way here. A hundred thousand of them, maybe more.”

Alea, who had arrived a minute after Irma, put her hand to her mouth, startled.

“A hundred thousand orcs,” she repeated, fascinated. “They’ll raze the fort to the ground! We have to send out requests for reinforcements or for the Legion itself to come here! Derek, write to your father and-”

“My father has no power over the Legion.” The young man shook his head. “Its only mission is to protect the Barony, and it won’t move without orders from its commander, who doesn’t care about anything. He’ll only move if the orcs get close to the capital.”

Hadjar wondered whether the Darnassian scouts had such information. If not, then he might’ve just acquired information that would help them invade the Lascanian side of the border.

While the three friends discussed the orcs, Fort Boltoy gradually came to life: torches and lamps were lit, soldiers climbed the walls, quickly activating their armor, and officers began shouting commands:

“Load the cores!”

“Grease up the inside of the barrels!”

“Keep the powder dry!”

“Power up the fort artifacts!”

The gates opened and the commander of the fort came out to meet his soldiers. He was a solidly built, stocky Lord at the initial stage, weak by the standards of the capital of the Empire, but in this region, he was almost like a divine figure.

Hadjar preferred to stay at a respectful distance from the man, but wasn’t afraid of him. His sluggish aura, unsupported by any Imperial level artifacts, confirmed that there weren’t actually that many elite cultivators in the Empires.

“Commander!” One of the officers saluted.

“What’s the matter?” The Lord asked, displeased. “Why all the fuss?”

“Commander, please read this intelligence report.”

The disgruntled Lord snatched up the scroll that had been handed to him, broke the seal, and unfolded the parchment. As he read, his face paled and his brows furrowed. The commander of Fort Boltoy was perfectly aware of how strong the orcs’ army was. These creatures, who led rather primitive lives, knew neither gunpowder nor normal artifacts. They were strong, but they lived in houses made from sticks and hides, roaming from place to place. However, their nomadic lifestyle made them unparalleled riders. Their children could ride before they could even walk properly. They rode huge Gray Wolves, creatures at the King Stage and higher. Thus, an orc army, even one that wasn’t particularly large, was far more powerful than it might’ve appeared at first glance. Moreover, the body of any adult orc was comparable in strength to an Earth level artifact. Their physical might, even at a level of cultivation equivalent to a human Heaven Soldier, easily exceeded that of an ordinary human mid-stage Spirit Knight. They also wielded spears, axes, and bows with great skill. Many human warriors who had attained the level of Wielder would turn green with envy at their prowess with weapons.

Even twenty thousand of these warriors were already a formidable force that could easily capture Boltoy. But a hundred thousand? The orcs hadn’t formed such an alliance of tribes since time immemorial. Once, they had swarmed like locusts across Lascan, and only the best of the capital’s warriors had been able to stop their advance and force them into a fragile truce.

“Send reports to the Barony and the Duchy,” the Lord said, handing the scroll back to the head of military intelligence with a steady hand. Then he turned to the fort engineers. “Lay down charges in the powder stores. Organize an immediate evacuation of all the civilians.”

“Commander, what are you going to do?”