Translator: CinderTL
The air in the council hall seemed to freeze.
Lamost unconsciously rubbed his fingers over the carved details on the armrest of his chair, his knuckles turning white from the force.
The Ajil envoy's proposal coiled around his heart like a venomous snake—going to the Grassland might be a slow death, but staying meant immediate destruction.
Just as the suffocating silence threatened to break, a commotion of footsteps suddenly echoed from the corridor.
Lamost sprang to his feet, his first thought that the kingdom's army had arrived, causing chaos within the city. He imagined those terrifying soldiers marching in perfect formation, bayonets fixed to their rifles, closing in with each rhythmic step.
Bang!
The council hall door was kicked open with brutal force, the heavy door slamming against the wall.
Five Orc Warriors swaggered into the room, their bodies radiating a thick stench of sweat.
It seemed the guards hadn't been able to stop them, but Lamost actually breathed a sigh of relief. At least it wasn't Grayman's soldiers.
The leading Orc towered a head above the others. His dark skin was crisscrossed with gruesome scars, and a necklace of bones hung around his neck. It was Chief Yulga of the Black Bone Tribe—Lamost recognized him.
"Greetings, Duke!"
Yulga grinned, revealing a mouthful of uneven yellow teeth. "I reckon you could use some warriors right now!"
Lamost's heart skipped a beat. He forced himself to remain calm and straightened his collar. "Chieftain, what exactly are you..."
"I'll cut the crap!" Grom strode to the long table, shoving aside Ajil's envoy who tried to block his path.
The Orc Chieftain slammed his heavy battleaxe onto the floor with a resounding thud. "I can muster over hundred thousand warriors to help defend this city."
His small eyes gleamed with cunning. "For the right price, of course!"
Finance Minister Horn glanced at Lamost and wiped the cold sweat from his brow. "How much, Chieftain?"
"One hundred thousand gold coins, paid up front."
Grom held up a stubby finger. "And after we drive back Grayman's forces, I want the three most fertile river valleys in Yellow Earth."
A collective gasp swept through the council chamber.
Lamost noticed the messenger from Ajil's camp turn pale—clearly, the sudden appearance of the Black Bone Tribe had disrupted the Orc Prince's plans.
Yulga leaned in close, his foul breath hitting Lamost's face. "So, Duke, what do you think? My axe is far more reliable than those cowards who fled back to the Grassland."
He deliberately glanced at the messenger, who stood frozen in place. "At least the Black Bone Tribe... won't run off with your treasure halfway through the job."
Ajil's messenger slammed his fist on the table, his yellow-green Orc eyes narrowing to slits in the candlelight.
"Yulga!" he roared. "Are you questioning the Chieftain's Tent's decisions?"
Yulga bared his fangs in a savage grin. "Decisions? You mean the decision to run with our tails between our legs?"
He deliberately scraped his thumb across the axe blade. "Black Bone warriors haven't learned the art of showing their backs to the enemy."
The messenger's hand moved to his sidearm, bone ornaments clattering with the motion. "Watch your tongue, Black Bone Chieftain. Great Chieftain Abal and Prince Ajil—"
"They should be far outside the Yellow Earth by now, right?" Chief Yulga said with an exaggerated gesture of peering into the distance, drawing coarse laughter from the Orc Warriors behind him.
He turned to Lamost, deliberately raising his voice. "At least our Black Bone Tribe had the courage to stay and fight. Unlike some, who vanished without a trace."
The atmosphere in the council hall grew tense. Lamost's forehead broke out in a fine sheen of sweat as he cautiously interjected, "Honored guests, perhaps we could..."
"Lord Bradley," the envoy suddenly turned to him, his voice laced with warning. "You had better think carefully. Do you want the friendship of the Chieftain's Tent... or the empty promises of this boastful brute?"
Lamost felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. He raised his hand, signaling to the servants to serve wine to both men, using the opportunity to collect his thoughts. "Honored envoy, please allow me to speak with Chief Yulga first. I trust the Great Chieftain and Prince Ajil will understand this cautious decision..."
The envoy's nostrils flared in anger. He slammed his fist on the table with a resounding thud. "Duke, I urge you to make your decision carefully."
As the messenger's angry footsteps faded at the end of the corridor, an eerie silence fell over the council hall.
Yulga let out a triumphant grunt and drained his goblet of wine.
Lamost was still deep in thought.
Yulga glared at the terrified faces of the human nobles in the hall, his copper-bell eyes flashing with impatience.
"Make up your minds already!" he barked, his communication style still rough from his recent arrival in the Human World. "My warriors are waiting outside!"
In truth, Yulga knew perfectly well that his so-called warriors had already packed their bags.
The Black Bone Tribe had been among the second wave of Orcs to answer Abal's call to march south. Due to their distance, they arrived in Aldor only to find the Aldor army already launching a full-scale counterattack and the Orcs in full retreat.
Yulga was seething. After months of arduous travel to reach the battlefield, he found his allies were nothing but cowards. Every time he and his warriors charged into battle, eager for a fight, their allies would immediately rout, forcing them to retreat as well.
This meant the Black Bone Tribe hadn't fought many battles, leaving them with a somewhat inadequate understanding of the Orcs' current combat capabilities.
However, with the Orcs' overall situation deteriorating, Yulga had no ambition to remain behind alone and reclaim Orc glory. His offer to help Lamost fight was merely a ploy to extort a hefty sum.
The commoners only had scrap metal to plunder, which would be too embarrassing to bring back to the Grassland.
But the Bradley Family, who ruled this land, was a fat sheep ripe for the shearing!
"My friend..." Lamost began cautiously, "are you certain you can hold Windbreath Fortress? The Northwest Legion's firearms..."
"Enough talk!" Yulga interrupted roughly, his tusks gleaming menacingly in the firelight. "Do you think the Black Bone Tribe is like those soft-bellied cowards?"
He spoke these words insincerely, his mind already racing: as soon as the gold arrived, he'd slip away under the cover of night. After all, these human nobles wouldn't dare chase after him to demand it back.
In the corner, the young clerk suddenly mustered the courage to speak up. "Chieftain, your asking price is far too high!"
Yulga whirled around, grabbed the clerk by the collar, and lifted him off the ground. "You little whelp, dare to speak again, and I'll string your tongue into a necklace!"
He growled the threat, but in his mind, he was wondering: Is hundred thousand gold coins really too much?
The Black Bone Tribe still practiced barter. Having spent some time in the Human World, Yulga knew money could buy things, but he had no real understanding of the value of hundred thousand gold coins.
"You can pay... what was it called? Ah, a deposit! Uh... uh... sixty thousand gold coins will do!"
Chief Yulga was quick on his feet, putting his newly acquired knowledge to immediate use.
(End of the Chapter)
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