Blood Sacrifice for the Deceased

The battle ended swiftly once Baroque's battle axe severed Sava's arm, and the Frost Giant Wolf, Rak, bit off Huda's leg and dragged him back. The orcs suffered only minor injuries, while the mercenaries were mostly slaughtered. Even Misa, exhausted of Dou Qi, was hacked to death. Of the surviving mercenaries, only a dozen remained, but they were incapacitated, either missing limbs or grievously wounded. When the orcs went on a killing spree, their battle axes cleaved through everything indiscriminately. Once the shield formation was broken, the mercenaries had no means to resist. Surviving at all was a stroke of luck—or perhaps misfortune.

Knowing their fate would be grim, Huda and Sava attempted to bite their tongues to commit suicide when they were bound. Zainzu, grinning viciously, thrust a dagger into their mouths, stirring it around. Their screams were horrific, and pieces of their tongues, mixed with blood, fell out before their mouths were bound with ropes. The tribespeople felt no sympathy. Compared to the massacre of their kin, this was a light punishment.

Dragging the remaining dozen living mercenaries and taking the heads of the deceased, Baroque led the tribe back to their temporary settlement, leaving the headless corpses scattered on the wasteland. By nightfall, the fresh flesh would likely be devoured by sand lizards and sand worms.

When Baroque and his group returned to the settlement, they found that the caravan's camels had been herded back. Wold and a few porters were tied up like grasshoppers to a rock, baking under the scorching sun, while the tribespeople rummaged through the goods unloaded from the camels. Seeing Baroque's return, the elderly orc, Ziad, led everyone to greet them.

"Children, did everyone come back safely?" Ziad was most concerned about the safety of the tribe members. With only a few young people left in the tribe, losing even one was heartbreaking.

"Grandpa Ziad, with Baroque leading us, those human scum were no match," Angray boasted, having long forgotten the embarrassment of being overwhelmed by the mercenaries' battle formation. He proudly tugged on the rope in his hand, at the other end of which were Sava and the deputy leader of the Sand Scorpion Mercenary Group.

Seeing their enemies, the tribespeople's eyes burned with rage. Tears streamed down Ziad's face as he trembled, staring at Huda. "Did you ever think, when you ruthlessly killed my two sons and their children, that you would fall into our hands one day? Wait, your blood will let my family's spirits rest in peace. It will calm the souls of all the slain tribespeople, allowing them to return peacefully to our ancestors' embrace."

Huda closed his eyes, indifferent to the orc before him. He knew his fate was sealed. Any act of weakness or begging for mercy would be pointless. It was better to retain a shred of human dignity in his final moments.

Sava shared the same thought, but the other mercenaries were not so resolute. Not wanting to die, they sobbed and pleaded for mercy, only to be kicked unconscious by the orcs. After all, when their tribespeople had begged for mercy, the mercenaries had shown none.

The wasteland was barren, and everything was simple. The orcs constructed a makeshift altar using the shields, spears, and swords they had seized. All the tribespeople gathered around the altar, with the living mercenaries kneeling beside them. The heads of the dead mercenaries were already placed on the altar. Forgotten for the moment, Wold and his caravan members huddled in fear, anticipating a bloodbath.

Ziad, holding a solemn look, carried a robe made from sand scorpion, sand rat, and sand snake skins. Though ugly, it held special significance at this moment. Baroque stood at the forefront of the altar, shirtless, and draped the symbolic robe over his shoulders. With a dagger in his right hand, he placed it against Huda's throat and made a swift cut. Blood spurted out, and without paying any attention to Huda's dying convulsions, Baroque dipped his hands in the enemy's blood, smearing it on his forehead and cheeks. He then turned to face his tribe. The orc chieftain's inauguration ceremony was usually more elaborate, but today's was simplified for the blood sacrifice.

The tribespeople bowed respectfully to their new chieftain. From now on, even Barotan, Baroque's closest friend, would address him as Chieftain Baroque, not by name. The chieftain's authority held immense weight in the orc heart.

Baroque then erected his black wooden totem pole beside the altar and began his shamanic ritual. He chanted incantations to soothe the spirits, while the tribespeople followed his chant, dancing and jumping in a solemn, mournful scene. It was their way of calling back the wandering souls.

During his research, Baroque never understood how the orc's simple dance could connect with ancestral spirits and summon shamanic power or soothe tribal souls. But today, he experienced it firsthand. As the tribe danced and chanted, he 'saw' countless light particles gathering around the altar. These light particles formed faint light figures that floated in the air, appearing anguished and bound, as if unable to leave peacefully.

Baroque continued chanting, signaling to the tribespeople, who knew what to do. They dragged the remaining mercenaries to the altar and beheaded them without hesitation, letting the blood soak the altar.

The enemies' blood agitated the spirits, who flew around the altar, sensing their binding obsessions fading. Baroque saw their joy as they began to disperse, moving toward the sky, the earth, and all directions, leaving without regret.

When all the enemies' heads were placed on the altar, Baroque's incantation reached its end. As he uttered the final word, just like when he first performed a simple ritual for the tribe, the spirits left behind a bit of essence that merged into the totem pole. Baroque was astonished to see intricate glowing patterns appear on the previously barren totem pole before fading away. The patterns had never disappeared; they had been hidden inside the pole.

The ritual concluded. Although the tribespeople couldn't see the visions Baroque saw, they felt a sense of relief. Their great revenge was achieved, their ancestors' spirits were at peace, and they were truly free.

"Baroque, no, Chieftain Baroque, our tribe has been reborn. You should give it a name," Ziad suggested joyfully. There was nothing more uplifting than having a strong chieftain for the tribe.

Baroque did not refuse; it was his right as chieftain. After some thought, an image of the old gray wolf, Heber, flashed in his mind. Looking at the eager tribespeople, he declared, "Long ago, our ancestors migrated from the northern plains to the Gravel Wasteland to survive. Legend says we carry the blood of the noblest Frost Wolf Clan among the orcs. Though we have no proof, we will name our tribe after the wolf. From now on, we are the Grey Wolf Tribe. And I am Baroque Grey Wolf."

"I am Barotan Grey Wolf."

"I am Angray Grey Wolf."

"I am Mulu Grey Wolf." Unable to speak, Zainzu pounded his chest, signaling he was Zainzu Grey Wolf.

One by one, the tribespeople declared their names. From today, they would abandon their old tribe names and call themselves by the new tribal name. The elderly orcs wept with joy, watching the young people celebrate together. They seemed to see the hope of the new tribe.

"I...I heard a story that might relate to your origins. It might prove your lineage!" Suddenly, a hesitant voice came from afar—it was the nearly forgotten merchant, Wold.

"Oh?" Baroque was intrigued. He approached Wold and cut his bonds. The sly merchant quickly bowed in thanks. "Thank you for your mercy, honorable Chieftain Baroque Grey Wolf. You will be a wise leader, and your Grey Wolf Tribe will surely flourish!"

Flattery was always welcome, and though they knew it was just flattery, it pleased everyone, including Baroque. However, a few words wouldn't grant Wold his freedom; the orcs were straightforward, but not foolish.

"Tell me what you know, and maybe I will spare your life," Baroque said.

"Honorable Chieftain Baroque, I was on a royal mission from the Paddington Kingdom to trade with the Lizardmen deep in the Gravel Wasteland. As a cautious merchant, I inquired about the area and even consulted the library for records of the wasteland. In Dolun City's library, I found an adventurer's manuscript mentioning ruins deep in the wasteland."

"Are those the ruins of our orc ancestors?" Ziad rushed over, grabbing Wold's shoulders.

Wold nodded quickly. "Yes, yes, the ruins are said to be orc remnants, with many carvings depicting orc hunting, rituals, and nomadic life. The adventurer speculated that the ruins held unknown secrets, but he couldn't find them. Perhaps you can!"

Ziad turned to Baroque, excitedly saying, "Chieftain Baroque, this might be true. Our ancestors were said to have lived in the center of the Gravel Wasteland to avoid human persecution and because only the center had oases with enough water and grass for survival. We should investigate, maybe even return to our ancestors' land!"