Translator: CinderTL
The Orc's body trembled slightly, his panicked eyes darting across the tavern, as if suspecting someone had forced him to speak.
The two human soldiers stared at him in disbelief.
Yet the words had clearly come from his own throat.
The candlelight seemed to distort the air for an instant, like a heat wave rippling across sand, before quickly settling back to stillness.
In the corner, Marianna remained motionless, her veil lowered, her fingertips resting lightly on the rim of her cup.
Her gaze never left the tabletop, but the surface of the clear water in front of her had rippled almost imperceptibly at the exact moment the Orc spoke.
The Orc Officer still covered his mouth, his chest heaving violently, a muffled whimper escaping his throat.
His wide eyes were flooded with terror—not fear of an enemy, but the horrifying realization that he had lost control of his own body.
He slowly lowered his hand, his knuckles stiff, as if testing whether his mouth still belonged to him.
He opened his mouth, as if to say something—a command, a threat, even a roar of rage—
Just as he opened his mouth, another voice surged from his throat, deep, clear, and laced with unrestrained mockery:
"Abal, the bully who only picks on the weak, long ago tucked his tail and fled back to the Grassland!"
This voice was louder and more piercing than the first, as if another soul within him was speaking through his body.
"Aaaah!" He suddenly clamped both hands around his throat, his eyes bulging from their sockets, his face contorted in utter horror.
It wasn't that he didn't want to speak; his mouth was uttering blasphemous words he would never say.
The two human soldiers exchanged glances. One cautiously stepped forward, whispering hesitantly, "My lord... are you... alright?"
"Get out!" The Orc Officer roared, lunging forward to shove the soldier violently aside. The wooden table overturned, shattering wine jars and spilling liquid across the floor like blood.
He didn't pause. With a bestial howl, he turned and plunged into the night, his steps unsteady but his pace frantic, as if an invisible demon was chasing his soul.
The two human soldiers exchanged a desperate look, too terrified to linger. They scrambled after him, their figures quickly disappearing into the shadowy alleys of Sandwell City.
Silence descended once more over the tavern.
People sat frozen in place, as if still reeling from the bizarre turn of events. The scene of the Orc openly insulting Abal felt like a grotesque nightmare.
In the corner, Marianna finally raised her hand, gently pushing away the water glass whose surface had returned to stillness.
In the candlelight, a faint, almost invisible rune shadow lingered on the table, a fleeting afterimage from the water stain at the bottom of the glass. It vanished in an instant, as if it had never existed.
The brief silence felt like a thin layer of ice, covering every corner of the tavern.
People remained stiffly seated at their tables, their gazes fixed on the door the Orc had crashed through, still standing open. The wind whipped sand through the opening, causing the candlelight to flicker and the shadows on the walls to dance like phantoms.
Suddenly—
"Pfft."
A soft chuckle escaped from the trembling caravan worker.
He had tried to hold it back, but the laughter seemed to bubble up from deep within his gut, growing more insistent the harder he tried to suppress it. His shoulders shook, and he finally burst into full-throated laughter: "Hahaha! He... he said it himself! That so-and-so is a mangy cur! Hahaha!"
His laughter was like a stone shattering the ice.
"Hahaha! Running with his tail between his legs!"
"He was cursing his own boss!"
"Good heavens, I saw him covering his mouth, but the words still spilled out!"
The laughter spread like wildfire, instantly igniting the entire tavern.
They weren't just laughing at the Orc Officer's humiliation; it was the release of long-suppressed fear and humiliation.
The forcibly requisitioned grain, the casual beatings of their neighbors, the young men locked away in prison never to return... all their grievances coalesced into unrestrained, boisterous laughter.
People pounded the tables, wiped tears from their eyes, and jostled each other to repeat the Orc Officer's twisted expression and out-of-control roar. Each repetition sparked another round of laughter, as if they hadn't just emerged from the shadow of fear but had personally trampled their oppressor underfoot.
No one noticed the silent woman in the corner quietly rise. She didn't disturb anyone, not even the chair made a sound. She simply placed a silver coin on the wooden table and slipped away amidst the laughter.
Marianna continued westward.
The sandstorm gradually dispersed, driven away by a cold front from the north. The terrain slowly began to rise, and at the edge of the barren desert, traces of gravel and permafrost appeared. In the distance, a massive gray-black shadow stretched across the horizon—Watchers Fortress, the iron barrier of the Aldor Kingdom.
The towering stone walls were dotted with arrow slits and watchtowers, flags snapping in the frigid wind. Aldor soldiers at the gate watched like hawks, stopping every passing carriage to meticulously search luggage and interrogate travelers multiple times before allowing them through. Anyone deemed suspicious was immediately detained and taken to the military camp for questioning.
Though the tide of war had turned, it was far from over. The threat from the Grassland remained, and every person who came here could be a dagger planted by Abal: spies, informants, merchants colluding with Orcs...
Marianna rode her horse slowly toward the fortress.
She lowered her hood, but the fine veil still concealed her face, revealing only her calm eyes. She produced a scholar's credential from the Gabella Scholars' Tower, its script neat and the seal clear.
Marianna said she was traveling to the Weiss Academy in Alden Town.
The soldier carefully examined the credential and studied her for a moment.
"Alone?" the officer frowned.
"The path of scholarship is inherently solitary," she replied, her voice gentle and restrained, characteristic of a scholar.
The Orc Officer asked a few more questions, which Marianna answered one by one. Seeing that she was a woman carrying only a slender rapier for self-defense and that her calm demeanor seemed genuine, he finally waved her through.
"Once inside, stay close to the main road. You'll still need to pass through checkpoints along the way. If you encounter a curfew at night, do not venture out."
"Understood," Marianna replied with a slight nod, pulling her hood back up.
Leading her mount, she passed through the fortress's massive gate and entered the designated passage for travelers. Ahead lay the long-awaited land of Aldor.
The wind carried the scent of pine and hearth smoke. The fortress's interior resembled a small town, where despite the heavy security, one could hear human voices, children running, and the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith's hammer. A long-absent sense of order, belonging to the civilized world, was slowly returning.
In the oasis city-states still under Orc rule, the atmosphere on the streets was oppressive. People spoke in hushed tones, hurried their steps, and avoided eye contact. Even children's play carried a hint of fear.
But here, life seemed to have been breathed back into the air.
(End of the Chapter)
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