Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 374 Bloodline Aspects

On a chilly desert night, the orcs who had successfully raided the caravan were panting heavily, holding their torches high.

Muttering in a language somewhat similar to the Glacier Orcs' language, they wandered back and forth in the messy camp, rummaging through the area and collecting their spoils.

Meanwhile, in the caravan's camp, starting with Dean and Louisa, followed by Old Hammer, Quick Rope, McKee... the surrendered human prisoners lined up with their hands behind their heads, and were escorted by fully armed orcs to the enemy leader.

Thales was among them, following right behind Dean. Perhaps because of his age and size, Thales wasn't roughly carried by an orc like the others. Nevertheless, as he walked across the sand and past one ferocious-looking alien after another, the gazes and weapons of the enemies on both sides still sent a chill down his spine.

The orcs' murderous aura and appearance were quite unsettling. Almost every orc warrior bore numerous new and old wounds, clearly seasoned veterans. They looked at the prisoners with disdain, deliberately clanging their weapons. Amidst the clinking, Thales couldn't help but recall six years ago, the scene of the delegation passing by the Northern Infantry Regiment beneath Dragon's Lair.

The same tension, the same suffocation.

It was just more desperate than before.

Apart from dozens of orc warriors, three distinct orcs stood before Tomdin's cargo, coldly watching the prisoners approach.

Thales was no stranger to them:

A cold-faced orc with white-painted lips, carrying an abnormally large black bow on his shoulder—it was the very bow that had just killed the mercenary Panga in a duel between archers.

A fierce-looking fellow carrying a greatsword, bare-chested, with bulging muscles and his forehead painted black, stroked the wound on his chest and wore a terrifying grin on his face. The death of Kanze, the northerner, was due to that horizontal slash.
And there was that ferocious orc stroking a spiked club, its face painted with blue paint. It had been chasing Thales ever since the battle began, and now its gaze had never left the boy, its sharp teeth grinding together in hatred.

It mouthed "Flakka" to the prince from afar.

The blue-faced orc clenched his fist, gripping his spiked club tighter and tighter.

Fraka.

It's Flakka again.

Thales muttered to himself, sensing something was wrong.

But these three unusual individuals couldn't overshadow the charisma of their leader:

The pale orc with the severed hand wore black armor and was covered in rare snow-white fur. He looked down at the iron fork on his right wrist and sat casually on a pile of goods, seemingly blending into the surrounding tranquility, waiting for the arrival of his captives in the torchlight.

Its unique posture and height prove its status.

The prisoners were brought before it one by one, lined up in a row. The rude guards pressed and kicked them, forcing the defeated to kneel before their leader.

Thales sighed softly and then knelt down in the sand.

Under the cover of night, the orc carrying a greatsword and shirtless beside the leader huffed and gestured for his men to toss him a torch.

It raised its torch, warmed the wound on its chest, and let out a satisfied sigh amidst the gasps of the merchants and the sizzling of the flames.

After burning his wounds shut, the orc walked step by step past each kneeling prisoner, illuminating their faces.

Thales squinted, startled by the firelight and heat.

Sitting atop the cargo, the leader of the iron forks slowly raised its head to look at its spoils.

The number of survivors in the caravan was far greater than expected: at least eight or nine people knelt among the prisoners, their hands clasped, trembling under the orcs' gaze—probably because the battle had started so suddenly and the enemy's ambush so successful that those who had taken up arms were basically killed mercilessly in the first round, while the rest who hadn't had time to arm themselves were quickly terrified by the brutal battle. Amidst the orcs' ferocious faces, dripping weapons, and heart-stopping roars, they instinctively crawled to the ground, curled up, and surrendered with their heads in their hands.

Having seen their expressions, Thales dared to say: These merchants probably had never seen so many orcs in their entire lives.

The flames were scattered by the cold wind, and the prisoners felt utterly hopeless in the face of the orcs' ferocious expressions.

The eerie silence lasted for quite some time, the night wind and cold, along with the distant clamor of the looters, adding a touch of the desolation of an execution ground to the scene.

"Outsiders".

Finally, the pale-faced leader spoke.

Between its twisted, terrifying lips, its Common tongue, as always, was imbued with the desolate charm, spoken so fluently that it was hard to believe it came from an orc: "You people here..."

"Who's in charge?"

The prisoners kneeling on the ground stirred, and many instinctively turned their heads.

Thales caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye: the pot-bellied Tomdin was also kneeling on the side of the line, his head in his hands.

But the once-powerful caravan owner, whose ancestors had a connection with the wise ruler and who was arrogant and eloquent when discussing business, was no longer there. What remained was a pitiful man trembling incessantly: Tomdin seemed to be terrified by the appearance of the orcs, and simply kept his head tucked in, not daring to lift it.

He knelt on the ground, shivering like a sieve, trying to curl up his muscles and bones, as if every inch of his body exposed in the cold wind would cause loss.

He remained silent in the face of the leader's questioning.

The pale orc chieftain surveyed his captives, a cold laugh echoing in his deep voice: "Hmph, so..."

"So, outsiders, you have no one to talk to who can negotiate with me—even as I begin to consider which people to keep and which to kill?"

These words made many prisoners tremble even more violently.

This is an orc who is fluent in human languages, Thales thought. That's quite rare.

Moreover, according to Dean, they were not scattered, solitary exiles, but large tribes.
Thinking of this, Thales noticed that Dean beside him sighed.

The latter shifted his knees, preparing to stand up.

But before the bald mercenary could make any bigger moves, a slight commotion broke out on the other side of the prisoner column.

“We surrender, and you promised our lives, orcs.”

A girl in armor lowered her hands, stood up conspicuously among the kneeling crowd, straightened her back, and looked calmly at the enemy.

"Damn it." Thales heard McGee mutter a small curse from the other side.

“I am,” Louisa’s expression was somewhat obscure in the darkness, but her voice was incredibly clear and steady:
“I am the leader of this team, Louisa Dante.”

Unarmed, she said softly, "You can negotiate with me."

The unrest occurred again.

This time, however, it was the gruff orc warriors who stirred up the commotion, whispering amongst themselves in a cacophony of roars.

The pale orc's facial features twitched slightly. It changed its sitting posture, resting its elbows on its knees and leaning forward, seemingly very interested in this woman who stood out from the crowd in a time of utter silence.

“I only promised the lives of this man and that Solino,” the orc pointed at Mackey and Thales with the iron fork on his wrist, “not including other outsiders, and you…”

The three orcs below the leader exchanged glances, bared their teeth, and let out a deep laugh that Thales heard as if a cold wind was howling.

“Look, my Holy Guards are all smiling,” the leader said, turning to Louisa with a smile.
"Have the people beyond the desert stooped so low as to let powerless females lead them?"

On the other side, Old Hammer and McGee let out low curses.

Facing the gazes of the orcs, Louisa calmly took a breath.

"Then you can simply give me a weapon and an opponent."

“I can prove to you which is more powerless, your promise or my sword.”

The greatsword-wielding orc, who was holding a torch and was shirtless, breathed heavily, patted the wound on his chest, and said something.

The chieftain responded with a remark, which drew laughter from many of the orcs.

It turned its head.

“You don’t need to prove it, valiant warrior Louisa Dante. I know very well that many females in the world are far more terrifying than males.”

Louisa paused slightly.

“And according to my loyal Holy Guardian, ‘Unhindered Luthana,’” the pale orc said slowly, “he acknowledges your strength; the blow you gave him was excruciating.”

Louisa glanced at the orc wielding the greatsword and noticed him baring his sharp teeth at her.

The chieftain continued with great interest: "He also said that if you were an orc, he would take you home now and make you his most beloved wife, protecting you with his blood and sword, and protecting you and the strong offspring he bore, until his battle spirit completes the test of the Desert God and returns to the land of his ancestors."

McGee cursed under his breath.

But Louisa just gave a cold laugh.

"But I am human."

The leader nodded.

“But you are human, you cannot be one of us,” the pale orc gestured with his chin toward Lusana, a look of amusement on his face.
"So he had no choice but to eat you."

Eat it.

Eat it?

Thales felt a chill run down his spine, and for some reason, he thought of the sand scorpion he had eaten.

And—the Bloodthorn Lizard.

Louisa sighed:

"That's racial discrimination."

The leader seemed amused; it opened its mouth wide and let out a chilling laugh.

"Is this normal?" Thales whispered to Dean beside him.
"Does the orc who captures a human first joke with them, and then heat up a big pot to cook and eat them?"

“I don’t know, after all,” Dean’s lips didn’t move:
"Not many people who are captured by orcs can survive and go back to tell their stories."

Thales tensed slightly.

Louisa looked up.

"So, is it you?"

The female captain faced the menacing beastmen without fear: "Kill those sand bandits."

"People who hunt all living things in the desert on a large scale."

The leader narrowed his eyes.

"So you've discovered it."

Its deep voice rang out.

"Those corpses."

Dean frowned slightly.

Louisa nodded.

“Those camps contain many individual strongmen, even exiles from large tribes, but they are utterly helpless,” the female captain said, glancing around at the dozens of orc warriors.

"I bet it was you who used numbers, tactics, and formations, with your almost army-like tribal warriors, to slaughter them."

"Just like tonight—for this surprise attack, you even removed your heavy armor and came lightly equipped, just to catch them off guard."

Louisa stared coldly at the other person.

"What is she doing?" Old Hammer whispered.

Dean answered him; the bald mercenary sighed softly in Thales' ear:

"She was trying to appear strong... It is said that orcs, especially those from the large tribes, respect the strong and warriors and value honor."

The orc chieftain laughed, raising the iron fork from its severed wrist and pointing it at Louisa:

"Very well, is there anything else to say?"

Louisa took a deep breath, nodded, and continued, "The Riftstone Tribe, I know you."

The leader remained motionless.

Louisa faced the leader and his three formidable henchmen with unwavering composure and spoke.

“You are one of the eight major tribes under the Dragonbone Throne in the desert. You suffered heavy losses in the desert war and had to flee to the depths of the desert.”

"But why would you risk leaving the depths of the desert and coming to a place so close to the Star People's territory, frantically ambushing and killing people everywhere?"

"This doesn't follow the rules of the desert! Even if it's you!"

The leader smiled again.

Compared to its subordinates, especially its three so-called "Holy Guards," this orc smiled more often and more frequently.

This is even more unsettling.

"Rules in the desert?"

“Very well, you can live, woman,” the orc chieftain nodded slowly, ignoring the roaring protests of Luthana, the orc wielding a greatsword.
"As for your skill in battle and your insight, whether you come back with us or... we'll see."

"What about the others?"

“The others, the others must prove their worth,” the orc chieftain turned his head, his yellow eyes sharply sweeping over the prisoners:

"The reason I attacked and captured you was to find out one thing."

The mercenaries all frowned.

"What is it?" Louisa asked, puzzled. In the firelight, the orc chieftain's eyes narrowed.

"A little over ten days ago, I received a report," it said, stepping down onto the sand and raising its massive body, which was twice the height of a person.
"Many people, whether they were skeletons, orcs, sand bandits, or small tribes and groups, fled from the north and the east."

Fleeing?

Doubt arose in Thales' mind.

This doubt also spread among the prisoners, but the current situation left them no time to think about it.

The orc slowly walked to the far left of the prisoner column, passing by each person step by step.

As the menacing creature approached, many merchants trembled with fear. Thales swore he could even smell a faint odor of urine.

"I'm puzzled: what makes these scumbags dare to disregard the majesty of the Dragonbone Throne, forget the horror of the Desert God Altar, and flee into the depths of the desert, into the territory of the orcs and the skeletons, into the private lands of the eight tribes and five clans, into the dangerous forbidden zone in the desert known to all?"

“And according to these refugees,” the pure black orc walked past Tomdin, who lay sprawled on the ground, looking like a trembling caterpillar:

"Not long ago, a force of thousands of elite cavalrymen entered the desert."

Dean, standing next to Thales, held his breath.

“Several thousand people?” he murmured in confusion.

What Dean didn't know was that Thales' heart skipped a beat at that moment.

cavalry.

cavalry?

Cavalrymen entering the desert.

The pale orc walked past Louisa, patted her shoulder with his huge left hand, and curled his lips:
"In just over ten days, they occupied almost all the oasis outposts, drove away all the natives, and killed those who refused to leave."

The kneeling mercenaries all looked surprised and glanced around.

"It's them? Not you?"

Louisa asked in confusion:
"The ones sweeping and hunting in the desert, are... the cavalry you mentioned?"

That group of cavalry.

Thales stared intently at the sand in front of him, his expression frozen.

The orc turned around.

"Like you, we also encountered countless corpses and camps along the way, just as many as you have found."

The orc walked past Old Hammer and Quick Rope, his voice growing colder:
"not only that."

"They slaughtered every bipedal creature they encountered on the road without mercy or regard for the cost—whether they were sand bandits, exiles, skeletons, orcs, or ordinary smuggling caravans—sweeping across the northern outskirts of the desert."

"They've almost turned half the desert into a no-man's-land."

They were all slaughtered.

Thales felt a cold sweat trickle down his back.

"This is not over."

The orc walked up to Dean.

The pure black orc chieftain lowered his head and gave Dean a meaningful glance:
"They did not leave, but instead maintained the costly defensive line in place, transporting supplies day and night, watering their horses and replenishing their fodder without restraint, just to stay in the desert for one more day, to rest for one more day."

Dean squinted:

"what?"

"Their scouts roamed everywhere, patrolling back and forth, killing anyone they saw, drinking any water they found, and eating any grass they encountered—the entire northern edge of the desert was thrown into chaos by them."

They were mobilized in all directions.

Hesitating back and forth.

Thales felt his breathing getting slower and slower.

The orcs continued forward, their massive feet leaving chilling marks on the soft sand.

“We hunt, herd, and obtain food to satisfy our hunger, but even the most foolish member of the tribe knows that after obtaining what we need, we must leave the young and not touch the seedlings.”

Slightly panicked, Thales sensed that the orcs were getting closer and closer.

"That way we'll still have food next year...but what about these people?"

"Whether it's water, pasture, firewood, campsites... these mounted killers take without mercy and endlessly consume all the resources in the desert. They neither fight nor occupy; they just waste money, food, and manpower disproportionately just to sweep away this godforsaken wasteland, leaving behind barren sand. The cleared camps are so desolate that even caravans can no longer stay there!"

The orc walked past Dean and finally stopped at the very edge of Thales, next to the youngest human.

Thales was still holding his head, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the orc's strong calves and felt it making a sound above his head.

Oops.

This means...

"In my experience, when these cunning humans behave unusually, they must have something in mind."

"Just like they have always done."

“But since they’ve taken action, we must also take action,” the orc chieftain said, narrowing his eyes as he looked at the prisoners.
"That's why we're heading north."

"That's why I decided to lead large groups of tribal warriors to the east and north in the desert."

It gritted its ferocious teeth: "So, outsiders."

“For the past month, you have been the only ones who came from the direction of Baki Dunes, the only ones who set off from the same direction and place as that group of berserk cavalry.”

"And the only one who might know their intentions."

The orc chieftain said coldly:

"At least, he is the only living person."

The prisoners kneeling on the ground had various expressions.

On the sand, rows of orc warriors stood coldly around, looking at each human prisoner who was either trembling or confused.

The three Holy Guards remained expressionless, awaiting their leader's next words.

Finally, the pale orc slowly reached out, raised the iron fork on his wrist, and spoke in a chilling tone.

“And you will tell me.”

"why."

It uttered a word that made everyone frown:
Why would the Star Kingdom do this?

The mercenaries looked at each other in bewilderment, and even the merchants were filled with doubt and uncertainty.

Why did they send so many troops deep into the desert?

"Why did they practically rip up every layer of yellow sand here?"

"Why should we be willing to spend money and resources, and even lose lives, to achieve this?"

"What exactly happened at the Blade Fang Camp and even the Western Wilderness Territory that made them so restless?"

"What is it about these cunning and untrustworthy Star People that they do all this thankless work?"

As the chill crept in, Thales, still shaken, felt a cold sensation on his neck!
A cold iron fork was pressed against the prince's neck.

Amid the mercenaries' gasps, Thales was forced to raise his head by the force of the iron fork, looking into the orc chieftain's bright yellow eyes.

Thales stared blankly at it, looking at the scars on its face and its inhuman features. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the armor beneath its fur, noticing the faint bloodstains and scratches on it, and felt a chill run down his spine.

Unlike the other orcs he had fought.

Those eyes were calm and composed.

It seems to hold many secrets.

“Someone’s here,” the orc raised his eyes to look at the others, but his hands didn’t stop; he was still using his iron fork to hook Thales’s chin.

"Can you tell me?"

no respond.

Only the cold wind howled in the sand.

And the flames crackled.

But at this moment, only Thales knew:
The truth that this pale orc schemed so desperately wanted to obtain...

The secret that stirs up unrest in the desert...

It trembled slightly under its iron fork.

How to do?
Thales was thinking desperately.

Just now.

"enough."

"Kandal Nushan, famous throughout the desert, has no need to make things difficult for a human named Solino."

It was a gentle and mature male voice.

Just like the day he rescued Thales.

As soon as the words were spoken, the beastmen began to murmur amongst themselves, seemingly stirred slightly by a certain name.

Thales, who was so tense he was almost suffocating, felt a slight tremor in his neck.

Finally, his neck loosened: the fork was removed from his artery.

Thales breathed a sigh of relief, resumed breathing, and frantically tried to figure out what to do about his current predicament.

The pale orc turned around, and his gaze silenced all the other orcs.

“Who,” it slowly walked to Thales’ side, to the speaker’s side, staring at the bald human:
"Who...is the person who spoke to me?"

The speaker raised his head, lowered his arms, stood up, and looked up at it.

“I’m Dean, and I’m... Louisa’s second-in-command.”

The next second, the orc's iron fork was pressed against Dean's neck.

Louisa gasped softly.

But the bald mercenary remained motionless, simply letting the other man sized him up.

The orc chieftain lowered his head and stared at him for a long time.

"Human, I was deeply impressed by you in the battle just now."

"You are skilled and intelligent."

The orc chieftain narrowed his eyes: "Do you know who I am?"

The prisoner nodded, his expression indifferent.

"I know."

“I recognize your arms, I recognize your skin color.”

Dean stared intently at the orc:

“You are not a pure-blooded gray hybrid…a pure-blooded desert orc. You have the blood of glacier orcs, so your skin color is different from theirs.”

"Damn ice bastard," Dean muttered to himself.

Thales looked at the other person's skin, noticing its pale color, and understood.

Astonishment appeared in the orc chieftain's eyes.

Dean sighed softly and revealed the other party's background:

“You are Kandar Nushan.”

"Rising from the ashes of an exile, he roamed the desert for twenty years..."

"'Those with different bloodlines'."

There's one more chapter, a few hundred words short. I'll polish the sentences during the day before posting it. For now, I'll post a chapter to prevent theft.

It's the end of the month, time to collect your monthly passes!
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(End of this chapter)