Ch.21

"Byak'tal. Mean kneel. Lower head in surrender. Docile." An orc explained, sitting across from Erik, cross-legged in the confines of his home. "Zm'ba. Mean food. Hunger. Feed."

The orc was instructed with teaching Erik their native tongue, a simple language, far from diverse.

Even though all of the orcs had learned common, he took it upon himself to learn their orcish tongue, managing to grasp it well within only the two days of practice since he began. His reasons, however, would surely not be because of something like respect.

A small and weak chirp cried out from Erik's lap.

"Vak'tyul. Mean large. Mountain."

Yet another chirp cried out. Erik then reached his arm out, taking out of a small bowl next to him, a small and deceased insect. In his other hand, he held a small baby owl, which he then fed.

"Continue."

"My lord..." The orc cleared his throat. "I believe, that is all I know. I have taught you everything, that I, would have taught, children."

"I see. Very well." He stood up, gently holding onto the baby owl in his palm. "You will be allowed to take extra bragon to give to whoever you wish. Consider it payment."

"Ahh... Thank you, my lord."

Outside, the orcs practiced with simple bows and arrows, with strings made of linen. The men practiced shooting, while the women put together the arrows on the sideline, taking feathers from a small basket full of them.

"Milord!" Chester rushed over upon seeing him. "The chicken eggs've hatched, milord!"

"Good. Take care of them personally. Don't let them die, and keep them under the roof. Don't let them go outside where a predator can take them."

"Understood, milord."

"Oh, and Chester."

Chester stumbled in his tracks, turning back. "Yes, milord?"

"Ready the wagon and the horse, make sure to fill it with empty crates."

"...Yes, milord."

Marasia then approached him with four orc men behind, holding baskets full of fish. They also held long fishing rods, which could hardly be considered as much as they were nothing more than sticks with long strands of string attached to the end.

"My lord. We have managed to catch nineteen fish, even after releasing the females full of eggs."

"I see. Feed the men, then continue to catch before dusk."

"My lord!" One of the orcs voiced their concern. "Our families, starving! They must eat."

"They will, when you catch, more fish. We will be leaving the village within an hour's time in and these will satiate our hunger for the journey."

"Where will you go, my lord?" Marasia asked almost worryful.

"Now that the men have gained their strength..." He handed her the baby owl he was holding. "...We have established animal husbandry, and the rations have boiled down to gathering fish, we must leave in order to raid other settlements."

The orcs exchanged looks of uncertainty. "My lord..." Muttered the one who'd spoken before, keeping his head down in avoiding eye contact. "They are strong. They outnumber us by many."

"They are weak, and many matter not, when so easily become few."

The orc warriors, consisting of only a dozen physically fit men, rallied at the prepared wagon. They brought with them stone-tipped spears, bows, and arrows. They wore animal hide coats, were forced to carry their weapons, as well as walk as to not weigh the wagon down any more than necessary.

Erik had abilities, unlike ordinary humans. He had heightened senses, not because he was born that way, but because he made himself in that way. Even his ability to see mana. He even had low-level omnipotence, able to see around him even without the use of his eyes, though it was entirely dependent on his focus and magic. He was no fool. The land was unknown, so they tread carefully through the land. They avoided the dense forests, and when it came to steep hills, the men pushed the wagon with their own strength.

Eventually, they came to a totem in the middle of a field, a clear sign that they were entering another clan's territory. It was made of wood and bone, with red markings smeared on the face.

Everyone seemed to share the same thoughts and wishes of wanting to turn back, but their wishes and prayers were met with not, as Erik lightly whipped the reins, causing the steed to press on. They went deeper into the territory until they reached a forest line. By now, it was an hour and a half before sunset, and clouds covered the ether.

They left a single man to guard the wagon, while the rest stealthily made their way around the curve.

Past the trees, they could see light, an opening where a village lay. The size and width couldn't all be seen from their perspective, but it was clear there were many more than their small tribe had.

"Do not kill nor harm. We are here to take them of their resources, not their lives." Erik commanded his warriors.

Under the shadows of the forest's cover, they hid. Erik took an arrow, lighting the tip on fire and holding it out for the rest to light their own. He then lined his still burning arrow on his bow, aiming toward the village and firing at the roof of a house. The rest took different positions, scurrying with their heads lowered, before taking up their bows and quickly firing at different rooves.

Before long, the whole of the village was in a panic. Fires began to rage and spread, while the villagers could do nothing but evacuate, unable to extinguish the flames.

In the chaos, Erik and his men made their move. They swapped to their spears, Erik, his trusty round shield and short sword that he'd wielded in the Seratholic Holy War.

They attacked only men, leaving alone the women and children who fled in terror. Of course, as ordered, they didn't shed blood. Their spears, if anything, mostly struck fear into the villagers.

"Byak'tal!" Erik shouted over the roaring flames, the collapse of their homes, and their fearful cries. "Nre golomop, baz'ma vree!" His voice was still so clearly heard, and the tone, even though he shouted loudly to the point that he could be heard from deeper within the village, his cold and callous tone carried on the wind as the ash did. "Byak'tal."

Many resisted, attempting to drive out the invaders from their village with primitive weapons, but they couldn't even kick up the dirt at his feet.

In the end, their homes were burned down, and those who had not fled into the forest were gathered together.

"Byak'tal!" To kneel, they were told, while holding onto their loved ones, at the mercy of the orc's spear.

"Enough." Erik lowered his warrior's spear. "Gather everything with the rest."

"Yes, my lord."

The children had finally stopped crying in the arms of their mothers, while the heft of the villagers looked up at Erik, fearful for not only what he would do, but also because of what he was, because of how differently he looked from them. They looked at him like he were a stranger or an attraction in a zoo, as they'd never seen a human before. When he looked back, they immediately glanced away, a nervous look on their face.

He began to slowly step forward, kicking up the ash in his path. "Vid yamal, erose mrain. Chukt, vand." He pointed to the east, to the direction of his territory in guidance. "Nomal keeg."

He turned to leave, returning to his village by nightfall.

By the next day, the refugees he'd created approached their village. They felt the shame and disgrace of a beggar, dropping to their knees and speaking in orcish, pleading to him.

Moments passed before he finally told Marasia, who was standing by his side: "Have them bathed, then give them food and water before beginning their education. They may choose an occupation depending on their preference. Women may choose to become a priestess, men may choose to be a knight, and all others may choose to be a farmer, builder, fisher, or caretaker. You will be in charge of every refugee from now on. You will record them and their kin's identities, and have them take on second, family names, the same as you have done with everyone up until now."

"Yes, my lord."

Dozens of refugees came to him, but he knew that it was merely a fraction of their numbers.

Others sought refuge elsewhere, turning instead to the north and west, to other clans and tribes.

The influx of refugees brought to light the incident of what'd happened to their village to the other clans. Soon, rumors considered to be truth whispered across the whole of the forests, hills, and plains of a pale-skinned creature that spoke their tongue.