In the chilly desert night, the orcs who successfully raided the caravan were breathing heavily and holding torches high.

They muttered a language slightly similar to the glacier orc language, and walked back and forth in the messy team camp, rummaging around and collecting their trophies.

In the camp of the caravan owner, starting from Dean and Louisa, Old Hammer, Quick Rope, and McGee...the surrendered human captives put their heads in their hands, lined up in a line, and were escorted to the enemy leader's place by the heavily armed orcs.

before.

Thales was among them, right behind Dean. Perhaps because of his age and size, Thales was not escorted by an orc roughly pressing his back like the others. Despite this,

When he walked through the sand and passed a ferocious-looking alien, the looks and weapons of the enemies on both sides still gave him chills.

The murderous intent and appearance of the orcs made people quite uneasy. Almost every warrior had many old and new wounds on his body. At first glance, he looked like a warrior who had experienced hundreds of battles. They looked at the prisoners with disdain and deliberately knocked on their hands.

Amidst the clanking of weapons, Thales couldn't help but think of the scene six years ago when the envoy passed by the Northland Infantry Regiment under Broken Dragon Fortress.

The same tension, the same suffocation.

Just more desperate than then.

Outside of dozens of orc warriors, three unique orcs stood in front of the goods belonging to Tomdin, watching the prisoners approach with cold eyes.

Thales was no stranger to them:

A cold-faced orc with whitened lips and an unusually large black bow hung on his shoulder. This was it. It had just killed the mercenary Pangja with one arrow in a sharpshooter's duel;

A ferocious guy carrying a big sword, with his upper body bare, muscles knotted, and his forehead blackened. He caressed the wound on his chest with a terrifying grin on his face. The death of Northlander Kanze was attributed to his

A horizontal slash;

And the ferocious orc who was stroking the mace and with blue paint on his face had been chasing Thales since the battle. Now, its eyes have never left the boy, and its mouth is full of sharp teeth.

Rubbing up and down in hatred.

It said to the prince from a distance: Flaka.

The blue-faced orc made a fist-clenching gesture, holding the mace tighter and tighter in his hand.

Flaca.

It's Flaca again.

Thales muttered silently, feeling bad.

But these three different guys couldn't hide the style of the leader behind them:

The pure black orc with a severed hand was covered in rare snow-white fur, looking down at the iron fork on his right wrist. He sat casually on a pile of goods, as if integrated with the surrounding silence, waiting for the captives in the light of the torch.

s arrival.

The different postures and heights prove its status.

The prisoners were brought to it one by one and lined up in a horizontal line. The rude escorts pressed or kicked them to force the defeated group to kneel down before their leader.

Thales sighed slightly and knelt down in the sand.

Under the night, the naked orc next to the leader who was carrying a big sword let out a cry and motioned for his men to throw a torch.

It raised the torch, roasted the wound on its chest, and let out a satisfied sigh amidst the inhalation of the merchants and the sizzle of the flames.

After cauterizing the wounds, the orc walked step by step over each kneeling prisoner, illuminating their faces.

Thales narrowed his eyes due to the firelight and temperature.

The leader who was sitting on the cargo and looking at Tiecha slowly raised his head and looked at his trophies.

There were many more people in the caravan who survived than expected: at least ** people were kneeling among the prisoners. They were also holding their hands and shivering under the gaze of the orcs. Probably because the battle started too suddenly and the enemy's sneak attack was too slow.

It was so successful that those who took up arms were basically killed mercilessly in the first round, while the rest who had not yet had time to arm themselves were quickly frightened by the tragic battle situation. Under the ferocious faces of the orcs,

With bloody weapons and thrilling roars, they huddled on the ground without any guidance and raised their hands in surrender.

Thales, who saw their expressions clearly, dared to say: These businessmen have probably never seen so many orcs in their entire lives.

The flames were blown by the cold wind. Facing the ferocious faces of the orcs, the captives were filled with despair.

The frightening silence lasted for a long time, during which the night wind and cold, accompanied by the noise of the searchers in the distance, added a touch of the sadness of the execution ground to the scene.

"Outsiders."

Finally, the pure black leader spoke. Between his twisted and horrifying lips and teeth, his Common Language accent was as full of desert style as ever. It was so fluent and idiomatic that one could not believe that this was spoken by an orc: "You are here..."

"Who's in charge?"

There was a commotion among the prisoners kneeling on the ground, and many of them turned their heads subconsciously.

Thales caught a glimpse of the pot-bellied Tomdin kneeling at a remote side of the team with his head in his hands.

But the arrogant and arrogant caravan boss who had a long history with the virtuous king and talked endlessly about business was no longer there. What was left was a trembling pitiful man: Tomdin seemed to have been manipulated by the orcs.

His face was frightened, and he just kept his head shrinking, not even daring to raise his head.

He was obese and knelt on the ground, shaking himself like a sieve, trying hard to curl up his muscles and bones, as if every inch of his body exposed to the cold wind would cause damage.

Faced with the leader's questioning, he remained silent.

The pure black orc leader looked around at the prisoners and sneered in a powerful voice: "Huh, so..."

"So, outsiders, if you don't have anyone you can talk to, you can negotiate with me. Even if I start to consider, who should I keep and who should I kill?"

These words made many prisoners tremble even more.

This is an orc who is proficient in human language, Thales thought, which is rare.

Moreover, according to Dean, they are not scattered and lonely exiles, but a large tribe?

Thinking of this, Thales noticed that Dean beside him sighed.

The latter moved his knees and prepared to stand up.

But before the bald mercenaries could make any bigger moves, there was a slight commotion on the other side of the captive team.

"We surrendered, and you promised our lives, orcs."

A girl wearing armor put down her hands, stood up on her knees conspicuously among the kneeling people, straightened her back, and looked at the enemy with a calm expression.

"Fuck." Thales heard McGee curse on the other side.

"I am," in the dark night, Louisa's expression was a little dark, but her voice was extremely clear and steady:

"I am the leader of this team, Louisa Dent."

Unarmed, she whispered: "You can negotiate with me."

The commotion broke out again.

But this time, it was the rough-voiced orc warriors who caused the commotion, and they all whispered to each other in roaring voices.

The pure black orc's facial features moved slightly. It changed its sitting position, put its elbows on its knees, and leaned forward. It seemed that it was very interested in this woman who stood out from the crowd at this moment of silence.

"I only promised the life of this person and Solino," the orc pointed at McGee and Thales with the iron cross on his wrist: "Other outsiders are not included, and you..."

The three orcs below the leader looked at each other in pairs, bared their teeth, and let out a rich laugh that sounded like the howling of a cold wind to Thales.

"Look, my holy guards are all smiling," the leader turned to Luisa with a smile on his face:

"Have the people outside the desert fallen so low that they let powerless females lead them?"

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

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

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

"I can prove to you which one is weaker, your promise or my sword."

The orc holding a torch and naked to the waist took a deep breath, patted the wound on his chest, and said something.

The leader responded to it, causing many orcs to laugh.

It turned around.

"You don't have to prove it, brave warrior Louisa Dante, I know it very well: many females in the world are much scarier than males."

Louisa paused slightly.

"And according to my loyal holy guard, 'Unimpeded Lucanna,'" the pure black orc said slowly, "He recognized your strength, and the blow you gave him was so painful that it penetrated his bones."

Louisa glanced at the orc with the big sword and found that the other person was showing her sharp teeth.

The leader continued with great interest: "He also said that if you were an orc, then he would take you home now as his most cherished wife, protect you with blood and sword, and protect you from having children with him.

A strong cub until his fighting spirit completes the test of the Desert God and returns to the land of his ancestors."

Mikey cursed under his breath.

But Louisa just sneered.

"But I'm human."

The leader nodded.

"But you are human, you can't be one of us," the pure black orc raised his chin towards Lusana:

"So he has no choice but to eat you."
To be continued...