Gore

After entering the Duru Basin, the deeper they went, the more desolate the surroundings became. Because of the terrain, this place was hot as a furnace, enough to make the air seem slightly distorted.

There was scarcely any vegetation on the ground. An uninhabited mountain path wound through jagged, interlocking spires of rock, with only withered grass and drought-stricken trees growing from cracks in the cliff faces.

Sheer cliffs surrounded them, and the entrance to the basin was exceedingly narrow, only wide enough for two people to walk abreast. From a strategic perspective, it was quite suitable for building a fortress—a place easy to defend and hard to attack.

"Move faster, slave!" a booming rebuke came from behind.

Gore felt so hot that his heart quailed, and his legs were so sore and swollen that he could barely keep walking. He was an adventurer from the Northern Kingdoms—a mercenary, though sometimes a bandit as well.

He and his companions had seen a mission posted by the Rhine Duchy and planned to try their luck in the south. Instead, they had been captured halfway there. They had not eaten anything since, driven here without pause; perhaps only the gods in heaven knew where this would end.

"Fuck it."

Gore muttered, looking at the several companions who had been kidnapped alongside him as he struggled two steps forward. "These orcs all deserve to die."

Even now, recalling what had happened before still made him feel awful. They had spent a day crossing the Mostel Grand Canyon and reached the Wilds. Seeing the sky darken, they had prepared to rest for the night near a water source. Yet one moment they had just closed their eyes, and the next, they were surrounded by orcs wielding stone weapons.

Ordinary warriors were naturally a notch weaker when facing orcs, let alone when the other side had a Great Warrior among them. So the bandits had captured them all without much effort and driven them here without saying a word.

"My lord, I think you must have made a mistake."

Gore turned his head and barely forced out a smile, thinking it must look terrible in his companions' eyes. "I have never had the slightest connection with orcs in my life. I swear upon my honor—"

"Shut up!"

The orc behind him showed no reaction at all, with only a tattered pelt wrapped around his lower body. "Move faster!"

Damn it, this pile of savage dog shit!

Gore cursed inwardly. Raising his voice and trying hard to conceal the tremor in it, he said, "We are subjects of Grand Duke Belisi Lane of the Northern Kingdoms, under the protection of the Rhine Duchy!"

Orcs were intelligent beings too. Perhaps the name of the Northern Kingdoms would make them wary. This was the only way; trying to fight his way out of the encirclement would be no different from digging his own grave. Those pitiful people who could no longer speak had told Gore the price of resistance.

Bang.

An orc kicked him to the ground, then grabbed his hair and hauled him back to his feet. "Move!"

Gore said nothing more. These orcs were exactly as the old mercenaries had described them—like stones in a latrine, stinking and hard. They forever said only those few words. Where were they taking him? Perhaps only the gods in heaven knew.

Yet as his emotions settled, Gore began to feel somewhat reassured. Since the orcs had not killed everyone on the spot and taken their belongings, they clearly had another purpose. Perhaps they merely wanted to kidnap them for a ransom—most orcs loved doing that. Fortunately, he had several friends in the Rhine Duchy who should be able to afford the ransom.

But what Gore could not be sure of was whether he would last until then. This damned weather was getting hotter and hotter, leaving him drenched in sweat and even making him feel dizzy.

Just as Gore prayed to the gods in heaven for salvation, the orcs reached their destination. They stopped driving the captives onward, standing where they were in silent wait.

"What are they going to do?"

Gore turned back to examine the motionless orcs. The sunlight made the muscles on their chests and shoulders gleam. His throat felt as though it were about to catch fire, and in a hoarse voice, he tried to beg for some water. "My lord, please..."

A gust swept past, and a shadow fell over him.

The howling wind brought Gore a burst of coolness, while the shadow blocking out the sun was more precious still. He turned around, wanting to see what had shown a pitiful man a sliver of mercy in his despair.

Then Gore fell into profound shock.

It was a terrifying beast, black from head to toe. Four sharp horns grew from its head, fangs protruded from its jaws, and rugged spikes with a metallic sheen covered its body. Its enormous wings slowly folded in within Gore's field of vision, while its thick, powerful tail hung behind it.

It was staring at the mercenaries pinned to the ground by the orcs. Its vertical amber-like pupils sent a chill down his spine.

"Is that... a dragon?"

Gore gaped. It looked little different from a black dragon, but where could such a massive black dragon have come from? It radiated even more raw power than a red dragon.

He realized his companions were as utterly shocked as he was. There was such a huge, bizarre black dragon in the Wilds, yet no one had ever known about it! Not a single rumor about this dragon had ever spread through the Northern Kingdoms!

Had those adventurers and army scouts grown up eating shit? A bunch of useless trash!

Gore first cursed them viciously in his heart, then immediately became restless again. No wonder these orcs had brought them here. Could they be planning to feed them to the black dragon?

Just as Gore's thoughts ran wild and he pondered how he might escape alive, he heard the black dragon speak.

"Humans? Where did you catch them?"

"The fringe. All mercenaries."

"Very good."

The black dragon spoke with the Great Warrior orc escorting them. Their exchange was extremely brief, ending in fewer than twenty words. Gore watched the black dragon nod, then simply walk to one side.

Wait, that was it? What were these evil races trying to do?

Gore could not make sense of it. Looking at the silent black dragon, he wanted to beg for mercy, but no words came out. He wanted to scream, but his voice was crushed dead in his throat.

After that, the black dragon and the orcs did nothing. They merely watched them in silence—silent stares, quiet waiting. The wordless terror constantly gnawed at Gore's sanity, making him wish he could die immediately.

As time passed, the sunlight grew fiercer, and the temperature rose higher.

The blazing sunlight had become so harsh that he could not even open his eyes. Gore felt unbearable pain throughout his body. He was drenched in sweat, and his perforated light armor clung to him in a sticky mess. Double images had begun to appear before his eyes.

He did not know how long passed. In a daze, Gore felt as if he had returned to the Northern Kingdoms. He saw the enormous statue at the center of the Rhine Duchy's capital, noble carriages racing past him...

"Enough."

Vaguely, he heard the black dragon give an order. "Try that."

Try what?

Gore felt someone pinch his mouth and force it open. A hard stone bowl struck his teeth painfully, and in the next instant, a sweet, clear liquid was poured down his throat.

Was it water?

His body, already withered dry, was moistened anew. It was as if every organ within him had been replenished. Fifteen minutes later, Gore awoke from his hazy hallucinations, and his thirst no longer felt so intense.

His eyes found focus again, and he discovered several orcs standing beside him. His kidnapped companions were kneeling together with him.

Gore instinctively licked his lips. He did not know whether it was an illusion, but what the orcs had given him to drink seemed like midsummer nectar—cool, carrying a faint sweetness that lingered endlessly on the tongue.

"It works."

He heard the black dragon say, "That's enough. Dispose of them all."

Before Gore could express his gratitude, he heard the final sound of his life.