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"Be gone!"
A bright cone of light flared into life, striking the few orcs back several feet. Several more tagging behind received the same treatment, that same cone of light blasting them backwards. Manald stood protectively over her two companions, raising her hand for another spell. But the orcs were not at all intimidated.
The green-skinned beasts pulled themselves back to their feet –and a peculiar looking blade slashed across their shins from underground. A red-haired rogue emerged, jabbing her zeny knife artfully on the precise acupoints that would immobilize the orcs. They tried grabbing the dodgy rogue, but Maraulea's was fast enough. That made the orcs fluster inconsiderably.
Expecting that the orcs would abandon Maraulea's attacks, Manald enchanted a small unit of pavement with some sort of green energy, just enough to encompass the three of them. When the orcs stepped within the enchanted area, they would be wrecked with an anonymous pain, before collapsing.
"Hurry!" Manald called out to her rogue friend. "The sanctuary spell won't last any longer!"
The undergrowth rustled madly as Maraulea slit the single orc she was handling at the kneecap, and leaped over the orcs to enter the enchanted ground which could emanate little, but sufficient healing waves. When Sagi felt more inclined to stand up despite his thigh injury caused by a spear thrown by an orc earlier, he dragged the assassin back to the direction of the camp while the other two dealt with the remaining orcs. Though he had doubts about their abilities to completely ward them off, he had no other alternatives this time. He had to trust them now.
"Are you well enough to quicken our pace?" Sagi asked as he limped quickly.
Skull grunted his reply, and the two increased their pace slightly. Sagi had to use his staff often for support after he realized that he could not bear with the pain for long. As he half-ran, blood flowed freely, the pain increasing just as they quickened their pace. Finally, he let go of Skull and fell onto a pile of dead leaves, pressing his hand against the wound.
"Get back to the camp! Don't bother about me," Sagi shouted.
He did not have to make that statement. Apparently, Skull continued wadding his way through the woods in a manner as if he had downed a dozen bottles of Morroc alcohol. Whether was it because of his injury, or was it because of the withdrawal effect of his bloodlust, the assassin's movements were clumsy. Sagi felt around him for the staff, and found it lying somewhere near his left. Taking it in his hands again, he tried pulling himself back to his feet, but it was unsuccessful. An acute pain shot up his thigh, soon the entire leg felt numbed.
He knew further down the woods behind him, the priestess and the rogue were still trying their best to buy them time for an unscathed escape. He must get back up and return to the camp. If he failed such a task, then the two's efforts would be for naught. Looking around him, he reached up for the lowest foliage, and pulled himself up with more effort than ever. His grunts became gasps by the time he was standing up, the Staff of Soul clutched tightly in his right hand supported most of his weight.
Sagi leaned against a trunk. Yards and yards from him Manald and Maraulea incapacitated the last of the orcs, and did not bother to hesitate. Orcish horns rang madly every single moment, and heavy footfalls came for them. This time, they were sure that the numbers were definitely not the same minute amount as the ones they just rid of.
"Come on, go!" Maraulea whispered loud enough to be heard.
Manald followed after the rogue who was already ducking and darting through the woods that was growing thicker as they proceeded deeper.
"The orcs are still giving chase! They won't give up!" Manald remarked when she heard distant footfalls even though they had ran quite a distance into the woods.
"They ain't got the brains! Just follow me!" the confident rogue turned her head back as she spoke.
Thinking that her friend has devised a ploy, Manald approved of it silently as she kept a close distance behind. Halfway along the main trail, Maraulea suddenly veered off to a sharp turn to her left, and soon they entered a rather muddy part of the woods with tall undergrowths that reached their hips. The two had to cross over fallen branches and they gradually became slower for walking proved difficult in the boggy ground. Occassionally their footgear became partially submerged in it.
Not only did the region become wet when they went further, there were more shady trees and taller grasses. Thick foliages hung down from lower portion of the trunks, causing them to lower their head.
"Where is this place!?" the priestess exclaimed in revulse.
"Keep it down, Man, they're still hot on our heels," the rogue said softly.
True, the orcs did not give up just yet. Seeing numerous comrades die, those orcs could not bring themselves to let the intruders off. It was like they had lost a brother. Moreover, those green-skinned hulks assumed that the intruders had somehow got hold of information regarding their next assault arranged by their new lord, the Lord of Death. All the more they had to pursue, unless until it was truly impossible to do so.
Those heavy footfalls softened when the two waded through the swampy ground. But harsh, rough voices reminded them that stopping was not an option just yet, even if their garments were dirtied. Maraulea looked around desperately while Manald passed her a questioning look.
"Wait, hold on, relax, calm –"
"Surely this is not the way back to camp! They're coming closer, and you had better be thinking of something good!" Manald cut in.
"We can't be drawing them back to camp right? They'll just dine on the injured two if we did," the rogue said casually. "So what ingenious ideas have you thought of?"
Manald gave her a ridiculed look.
"So you led me here, got our clothes caked with mud, get caught by orcs, and this is it!?"
Maraulea rubbed her chin thoughtfully.
"Hmm. Probably… probably."
The priestess sighed deeply in defeat. Perhaps she should have ran back to camp after all. At least she could give them a quick relieve of Sagi or Skull's injuries, while their defence looked more promising. Now, there was a fifty-fifty chance that she was either slain, or kept alive. The more she thought about the latter, the more the pessimistic side of her took control.
"Think you're sneaky enough?" Maraulea asked without the slightest hint of panic.
"What?"
The priestess looked as if she was about to break down when the footfalls could be heard clearly. It was obvious that the orcs were just yards away. If the rogue was to contemplate any further, there could already forget about their evasion.
"I thought I might put my graffiti skills to use. Hmm… now that I thought of it the last I used it was last winter! The snow was so much easier to –argh!"
Manald pulled her blabbering friend into the nearest shrub, while their ankles were sinking below the soft mud. They had to extricate their legs every now and then in disgust, but they had to do it quietly. A foliage from a young tree not far from them started shaking violently. She knew that the orcs would appear any moment now…
"Look, Man," Maraulea said, pointing through a small gap in the shrub.
At first Manald thought she was referring to an oncoming orc who had already made his arrival. But a "tsk" by the rogue hinted that she was pointing to something else. Following the direction of her finger closely, the priestess thought she saw alphabets engraved into the earth. She then craned her head to an appropriate angle to read the message properly.
"Orc ladies found naked by the swamp… hurry before they leave…" she mumbled to herself. Beside her, Maraulea could not control herself but giggle incessantly.
Before Manald could comment on that though, the orcs barged into the area with axes ready. The priestess clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent herself from gasping. Through the gap, she counted at least two dozen of the hulking greens. How in the holy heavens were they going get away from them, let alone facing them.
Whispering a brief prayer to God, she hoped whatever the rogue planned, the orcs had better not foil it. It was unlikely that the other two companions would save the day. Right now, she was forced under circumstance to trust her rogue friend, whether her plan was sound or not.
"Eh? Orc ladies…" one orc spoke out as he licked his lips.
"N… naked!" another exclaimed in over-excitement.
"Chief, we go see! We go now!"
Most of the orcs were already grinning lustily, or with eyes gleaming in anticipation, except for the chief who still kept a dour look. Knowing well that the orcs would not control themselves, he did not bother calling them back. All except the chief ran in the direction of the swamp, shouting crudely with subtle enthusiasm.
"They fell for it! Now's our chance!" Maraulea nudged the priestess.
Snapping out of her trance, Manald stood up and caught the attention of the brawny chief. He wanted to cry out in surprise, yet no voice came out. The priestess had silenced him with her Lex Divina spell. Taking over the situation, Maraulea jerked both feet out of the soft mud and leaped over the shrub. The zeny knife already out in her hands, she dodged a swipe from the orc and drew a slit on his unprotected knee cap. The larger orc fell onto one knee, but the rogue did not give up just yet. She gave a knee strike across his face for a good measure, knocking him out cold.
"What are you doing?" Manald dared raising her voice level a little higher.
Maraulea was down on her knees, stripping off every piece of armour off the orc impressively fast. Rogues were taught to strip an opponent's armour and weapon during certain period as one. It came as no surprise as such skills were easily mastered and it was rather popular among rogues. Bending down to inspect the chief, she even took other items like his sword and a horn. She put on the bulky armour and the helm, even though it was all oversized. But at least, she looked almost as stout as the chief. Then, standing there pensively, she sounded a prolonged high note on the horn.
"You're going to draw them back here! You ruined the chance to head back!" the priestess cried anxiously.
"Of course, we should."
Further down the swamp they could hear the orcs lumbering back. Maraulea put away her zeny knife and motioned for the priestess to come out. However, she saw nobody hiding behind the tall shrubs. The priestess had long ran away to the camp. Erasing the message engraved on the ground, she planted a new one and wisely kept out of the orcs' sight as she figured the route back to her camp.
By the time the orcs reached the small area they last stopped, there was no sign of their chief. But the message on the muddy ground that read "For now, naked chief!" gave them the hint.
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There was no sign of the sun. The sky darkened into an azure shade with dark clouds, but a faint magical sphere of flame radiated sufficient light in a small camp. The creator of it lay weakly on the ground sparsely filled with grass, his eyes half shut. A long, silver staff was placed within an arm's reach, the crystal orb atop it glowing mildly. The black robe he wore was crumpled with several hems torn. It was stained with grime from a recent encounter with orcs.
The torn part of the robe revealed a severely injured thigh. Earlier, during the escape, an orc had managed to score a deep gash on his thigh with his javelin. Clearly a wizard, the man wore an accessory on his neck that looked peculiar. It was designed like two rings, one black and the other white, interlocking each other with a thin metal chain stringing it. His complexion was pale from the injury, yet nobody, let alone a priest, had come across him to offer a cure for it. Too much blood had been lost, even the blades of grasses were painted a deep crimson. Occassionally, he moaned incoherently.
Not too far away from him, an assassin suffered few, but much fatal wounds. The silver hair was now stained with blotches of blood, his face was equally dirtied. His lanky form seemed to enhance the severity of his condition, along with his naturally pale complexion. In his hands clutched a pair of katars which was known as the Infiltrator, the blade of it too brown from dried blood. But it was hard to differentiate if it was from the orcs, or from his own. Unlike the wizard who occasionally moaned and moved slightly, he laid perfectly still like death. No sound came from him, his breaths coming out very lightly. Beside him was an orc javelin that had stabbed through his upper back, but removed forcefully earlier. After the extraction, he could not take the pain and collapsed.
When conscious was restored in him, Skull felt something stroking his hair. Opening a slit of his eyes, a wave of nostalgia washed over him. A lady so familiar to him knelt beside him, stroking his soft silver hair just like how a mother would do to her offspring. She had the same coloured hair as he, but it was tied up in a ponytail. Though she had grey eyes like he did, they portrayed care and love unlike his. She was clothed in the priestess dress he always saw her wear as long as she had lived.
"Sister? You've finally come…" Skull mumbled, but loud enough to be heard.
His sister gave no reply, but merely nodding with a reassuring smile. The assassin very much wanted to get up and give her a hug, but for some reason he felt restrained by some sort of invisible bindings. He could not even wriggle his fingers. He could only speak, which he felt did not suffice.
"Are you staying with me for good now…?"
Once again, his sister did not speak. Instead, she gave him a look of sorrow, and a single tear slid down her cheek. Very reluctantly, she shook her head. By the time, her eyes were already red. Stroking his hair for one last time, Skull's sister kissed him lightly on the cheek, and literally vanished. The surroundings and the kiss felt very surreal…
When he felt he could move, he sat up with surprising ease. Skull inspected his body. The injuries and the pain were all gone. In fact, he felt invigorated, as if he had consumed a hundred Yggdrasil berries.
His surroundings began to focus. It was the same, at least not as foggy as before when his sister was around. For a moment, he thought he might still be lingering about in his dream, for a priestess knelt beside him. Except that her priestess dress was caked with mud, and she was filled with grime all over. Unlike the dream, she was not stroking his hair.
"Huh? Priestess?"
The girl sitting beside him, Manald, leaned over him.
"Are you feeling well?"
Skull nodded. Perhaps for the first time, he felt inclined to appreciate the fact that she had once again tire herself out for the sake of healing him of his ailments.
"Uhh…"
"Yes? Can I be of help?"
"Thanks," he said, though it sounded more as if he was mumbling to himself.
Although she did not hear it exactly, Manald could make the words out. Her expression was surprised at first, then it softened into a wide smile. However, she had no time to feel happy about it.
The environment suddenly dimmed. They saw Sagi standing before them, the Staff of Soul gripped in his hands. Then they realized that he had extinguished the magical flame.
"We have to leave. The orcs are already carrying out a search," the wizard announced dourly. "The nearest party is no more than approximately ten yards away."
Manald's smile disappeared, then her look became resolved.
"If that's the case, we should not be delaying any longer. How did you find out?"
"I went scouting. When I came back, I didn't feel safe. And indeed, the orcs were looking for us!" Maraulea said as she came out of nowhere. Nobody knew why, but she was still dressed in the armour the orc chief wore.
Sagi passed a swift glance at Skull.
"I believe you are fit enough to travel. Then again, you had better not be anymore one-man shows, assassin. We have enough trouble and your safety definitely does not rank the first of priorities."
Skull snorted at what the wizard said. Picking himself back to his feet, he left after the rogue who looked like she had put on tons weight overnight.
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A gleaming knight walked past the half empty camp. Most orc sentries and warriors were dispatched to hunt for the group of intruders by the new lord himself, yet no news was heard till now. He was growing impatient by the moment…
The orcs who sighted him quickly dipped their head low as they knelt. They dared not move a finger, for the look on the lord's face was no less grim. The Lord of Death was not interested in the business of the camp, however, when he headed past the camp to where the orc blacksmiths were.
After the gruelling duel with Doppelganger, he had lost his shield and sword when he sacrificed it to perform a devastating skill that almost wiped out the prominent feature of the orc lands, Orc Dungeon. Death had had his doubts on Doppelganger's survival, and so he did not feel a lost. The destruction of his trusted equipments for the life of Doppelganger… was well worth the price.
'So, you've found out about yourself. Pity… pity,' Death thought bitterly. He had marvelled slightly at the swordsman's persistence and schemes. Even he was dying, Doppelganger chose to plunge into the deep crater rather than submitting his Trait to the avaricious Lord of Death. During the post-battle period, the orcs were too stunned to probe. Or rather, they did not dare to. The explosion underdeath the dungeon sent tremors over the camp, and the orcs knew that a harsh battle had gone underway between both superiors.
They were torn in between their emotions. A part of them wanted the Lord of Death to triumph, out of forced respect and fear. While the other part of them demanded a defeat of their new lord, for his lordship was too harsh. New training schedules were added, more strenuous activities were introduced. Most of all, the lord wanted outstanding performances, and the imperfect or the lazy ones would perish for good. Moreover, he was responsible for the Orc Lord's death, whom they had grown to cherish and believe in him.
Death put on a snarl as he approached an elder orc blacksmith who was melting more oridecon to boost a humongous lance's durability. When the imposing lord neared, he suddenly dropped a handful of oridecons as his chin quivered.
"Voulje!"
"Y… Y… Yes what c… can I do?"
"I want my lance done by dawn, vermin. I trust you know very well how your story will end."
"Y… Yes, lord of orcs," the elder blacksmith named Voulje stuttered.
Death was amused at the violent shiver the elder orc was experiencing, looking as if his skin was going to become droopy if he shivered any further. Then, drawing out a scimitar, he scrutinized it before handing it to the blacksmith who was sweating from the fire of the work pit.
"With this, the strength of this lance," Death sneered as he stepped over to look closely at how it was proceeding. "There is no doubt that this lance would be developed immeasurably."
At first the blacksmith looked puzzled as he examined the scimitar. Though it was a normal-looking one, he was positive that he felt tremendous power dwelling within the bloody blade. As he recalled the battle, a look of realization came across his bestial countenance.
"Lance be done by dawn, I assure, lord of orc!" he said as he knelt respectfully. After the lord left the small area assigned to orc smiths, Voulje handled the scimitar with more caution than ever. He set the curved blade over a fire, and resumed his work on the lance as he waited for the scimitar to melt…
The powerful frame of Death intimidated many. Muscles rippled out and veins were hardened to enhance his biceps. His fearsome visage was hidden by a silver helm, but those fiery red orbs gleamed through the slits. The silver knight was a symbol of raw power. As he made his way out, his pensive look even caused several orcs to falter in their steps.
"The wizard again… Sagizeulus yet again…" he whispered the name with animosity.