First Spark

"Caesar."

After Sifu and Gar left, Luna, who had stayed inside the little house, flew back in front of him and could not help asking, "You... really intend to kill everyone outside?"

"Yes."

"But quite a few of them are foreign adventurers. They only came to inquire about Summergrass, not as enemies." The little one's emotions wavered slightly.

"Not being enemies now doesn't mean they never will be."

Caesar shook his head. "Do you think that once the lord's army reaches the Wilds, these people will turn a blind eye and sit by with folded hands? No. They'll only join the campaign against the Stone Crow Clan, adding another straw to the back of a dying camel, hoping to get a share of this feast of war."

Caesar had never hesitated to judge others by the worst possible intentions. With war approaching, he had to nip every threat in the bud. If he did not scatter the wolves before the pack formed, then once lone wolves gathered one by one, the Stone Crow Clan could only face the fate of being torn apart and devoured.

"But that's too cruel. If someone discovers your existence, Ortolenso's name will surely end up on the hit list of those righteous crusaders."

Luna was a little worried.

"So what?"

Caesar smiled at her. "I'm an evil dragon to begin with."

If he could help it, Caesar did not want war either. He was not one of those transmigrators who constantly wanted to defy heaven. In his previous life, he had merely been one ordinary person among billions.

As a black dragon, Caesar had no damn dream of ruling the world. He only wanted to guard his own little patch of land, be a mediocre lord—not too great, not too bad—farm a little, sell some cards, and when he had free time, wander around vast Eladia to take in the sights of another world.

The dream was small, yet there were always people who would not let him have it.

...Then they could go die.

After two years of recuperation and growth, the Stone Crow Clan now had a hundred formidable orcs who could truly be called "warriors." However, they did not launch an attack directly.

Under Caesar's command, the hundred orcs split into two groups. One group loaded their weapons and armor onto ox carts, covered them with cloth, then shouted and bantered as usual while leaving the clan territory as though they were transporting Summergrass fruit juice.

The other group remained silent, red-eyed and quietly waiting in their respective caves, fully armed and awaiting their commander's order.

Apart from a few army scouts sent to follow the orcs, no one paid any further attention to those who left. During this recent period, the orcs had gone to Mostel Grand Canyon almost every day to make deliveries and transport Summergrass. People had long grown used to it.

What the observers cared about more was the activity within the Stone Crow Clan's territory.

The six scouts assigned to trail the departing orcs were yawning repeatedly and hardly paying attention. Their original orders had been to watch for any unusual creatures appearing within the Stone Crow Clan. They had little interest in these ugly green-skinned orcs.

This group was led by Orkash. Though the fellow was usually a bit dense and foolish, he looked the part when carrying out a mission. Following Caesar's instructions, he bickered and fooled around with the others along the way, even allowing the orcs to go hunting in the forest and deliberately slowing their pace to a crawl.

They stalled and stalled again, and before they had even covered half the road, night had fallen.

Orkash grumbled loudly for a while, then simply ordered them to halt and make camp on the spot. It looked as if they intended to spend the night there.

The orcs all plopped down, lit fires, and set up bonfires to roast the meat they had caught earlier.

When the aroma of roasting lamb drifted over from the camp, the scouts following them could no longer bear it. The six humans had been watching this group of orcs the whole time—where would they find time to hunt fresh meat? They could only stuff the dry rations they carried into their mouths.

After walking all day, hungry and thirsty, they watched the orcs gorge themselves on roasted meat, their hearts filled with resentment.

Just then, however, they saw the leading orc waving in their direction and shouting, "Friends, friends," inviting them to share the food.

"So the orcs discovered us long ago." The scouts looked at one another.

"Heh."

One of the scouts made a suggestion. His voice was rough, and he was much older than the others. "I say, since they've already found us, we might as well step out openly."

This fellow was unkempt, and who knew how long it had been since his hair and beard were last trimmed. He did not look like a soldier at all; he looked more like a bandit or a robber.

"Since these orcs dared to invite us, we can't show weakness and let them look down on us. We might as well go up and have a meal. Well? Do you dare?" The old hand egged them on.

Yet these men were, after all, Earl Brando's direct troops. Their appetites had not clouded their minds, and they all shook their heads. "Go by yourself if you want."

"A bunch of cowards."

The disheveled scout cursed, then got to his feet and tugged at his waistband. "I can go alone."

As he spoke, under the disgusted gazes of the others, the fellow swaggered straight toward the orcs' camp.

Half an hour later.

The old hand returned safely with his belly bulging and eyebrows raised, as if he had returned victorious. His mouth was dripping with grease and he belched repeatedly, clearly having received a warm reception from the orcs and eaten his fill over there.

Now the other scouts truly could not endure it. Just as the orcs issued another invitation, they left the well-fed old fellow behind to take turns keeping watch and all poured into the orcs' camp.

The orcs clearly did not treat them as outsiders. Calling out to one another, they handed fragrant roasted meat to the five somewhat awkward humans.

The delicious food lowered their guard to its lowest point.

Between huge mouthfuls of meat, the leading orc suddenly slapped his forehead and repeatedly apologized to the five human soldiers. Then, from somewhere unknown, he produced two jugs of fine wine from the Northern Kingdoms.

This made them eat even more happily. When Orkash said he would bring some over for the old fellow from before to taste, they did not care in the slightest, letting the strong orc carry the wine back toward where the soldiers had been waiting.

Ten minutes later.

"Ah! Help—"

A shrill scream suddenly rang out in the distance.

The five soldiers in the camp were alarmed and immediately threw down their roasted meat, drew their swords, and sprang to their feet.

Yet they discovered that they had already been surrounded. The orcs who had been all smiles and harmless-looking had changed their faces entirely, baring savage fangs as they advanced on them with blades raised.

The screams did not stop.

The scouts were quickly chopped into minced meat, and at that moment Orkash returned from the distance, blood smeared over his protruding tusks.

The orcs tore off the coverings on the ox carts and began putting on their armor as they joked, "Orkash, don't tell me you bit that guy to death? Never thought you had that kind of hobby."

"That guy was pretty capable. He nearly got away."

Orkash scratched his head and grinned foolishly. Holding up a torch, he set the surrounding area ablaze, his smile especially terrifying in the firelight.

The Wilds in the dry season caught fire at the slightest spark. The flames roared and thick smoke billowed. It was deep night now; fire in the darkness would throw every living creature into a panic, yet it had no effect whatsoever on the orcs, who were born with darkvision.

The firelight was the signal for the orcs to attack. They split into two groups: one charged out from the clan territory, while the other encircled from outside. Under such circumstances, the old shaman Sifu also chose to act, ensuring that nothing could go wrong.

This was a slaughter.