The Half-Orc felt all over his body for ages, but still could not understand how he had come back from the dead.
His last memory was of exploring the pyramid. Their party of orks, Half-Orcs, and hobgoblins had encountered an Undead Abomination Serpentfolk guarding the temple. They had fought desperately, exhausting every method and means at their disposal in a bloody struggle, only to barely drive it back.
Before they could catch their breath, two more Undead Abomination Serpentfolk attacked. The ork party fought as they retreated, their companions dying one after another.
By then, Doherty had understood that their strength did not match the difficulty of this adventure. The ork party carried the best weapons in their tribe, wore its finest armor, and wielded powerful crossbows, yet they still seemed hopelessly vulnerable against the Abomination Serpentfolk.
Once he had tried his hardest, he had no regrets. Once he had experienced it for himself, he harbored no more illusions.
From that moment on, Doherty had resolved to die. Better to blaze with one last moment of glory than cling to life. Even if he returned to the tribe, his only ending would be a humiliating death when another ork tribe swallowed theirs up and scalped him.
Especially for a Half-Orc like him. To orks, he was a bastard born of a lowly weakling. To humans, evil, filthy ork blood flowed through his veins.
A Half-Orc was destined to spend his life seeking the acceptance of others.
So how exactly did I come back to life?
Doherty still could not believe his own resurrection. Did that human resurrect me? Or was it the druid?
How was that possible?!
But there seemed to be no other explanation. The Half-Orc silently picked up his two-handed blade. He could feel bloodlust and slaughter flowing