Chapter 19

Slowly traveling by zeppelin over the vast, unchanging ocean lacked the adrenaline-packed thrill of their previous trips through this new world. All they could see was the endless sky merging with the sea at a seemingly infinite horizon occasionally interrupted by islands here and there. The goblin crew's boisterous gambling and raucous arguments didn't provide much entertainment either, their squabbles quickly becoming as routine as the creaking of the zeppelin itself.

Among the other passengers was a small group of undead who kept to themselves, their presence as silent and somber as a funeral procession. In stark contrast, four trolls lounged nearby yelling and laughing, paying little attention to the rest. They were the first species taller than Ainz, standing way over two meters even when hunched over, possibly even taller when standing upright. The trolls' lanky, blue-skinned bodies bore white markings that stood out vividly, like war paint on ancient warriors, and they wore scant clothing, exuding a primal, unbothered confidence in themselves.

The goblins, on the other hand, were pint-sized bundles of chaos, barely over a meter tall with dark green skin and comically large, pointy ears. If one were to capture their essence in a few words, "recklessness and indulgence" would suit them perfectly. Those on active duty went about the ship like the zeppelin could stay up in the air on willpower and sheer determination alone, performing midflight repairs, spilling oil, and tossing around tools without a care in the world.

Ainz, observing all this, remained poised to cast [Gate] at a moment's notice, ready to whisk himself and Buku to safety if things went wrong. The overnight trip made him grateful for his lack of need for sleep; the boisterous clamor and sheer unpredictability of the zeppelin's inhabitants would have rendered any sort of slumber impossible, even for the most exhausted traveler.

When they finally landed beside a towering structure on a barren shore, the rust-colored sand stretched as far as the eye could see, empty of wildlife. Upon touchdown, Ainz and Buku bolted to get off the flying deathtrap, eager to feel solid ground beneath their feet and escape cacophonous hell.

The first thing Ainz noted was how much cruder the orcish architecture was compared to the human structures. The tower was built with crooked stones and uneven planks, each piece chosen not for aesthetic appeal but for sheer practicality in mind, occasionally patched here and there with more uneven bits and pieces. It was a place built to endure, not to please the eye, no matter what others thought of it. Ainz noticed a clear difference in styles - the orcs' straightforward way of life contrasted sharply with the humans' complex and dressed-up societies. The rugged stones echoed resilience, defying the harsh elements through sheer power, much like the people who constructed them through sheer will. The scene served as a reminder that survival often outweighed beauty and elegance in this wild world.

Their goal was clear; enter the city of Orgrimmar and present Sylvanas's mark to the first authority figures they encountered to ensure their arrival didn't spark immediate hostilities due to their presumed races.

"So, we're holding back if the guards in this city prove to be idiots, too?" Buku asked, her voice tinged with impatience as they descended toward the ground, where they expected to meet the first officials of orc lands waiting for passes and taxes.

They had chosen not to switch up visages for the simple reason that the Warchief of the Horde had already been informed of their appearance through swift correspondence.

"That would be for the best," Ainz replied with a weary sigh. "These constant problems do start to get tiring."

"I guess we just need to decide where to establish our kingdom and, when we travel, we should have a massive escort, prestige, the works."

"I think I prefer to travel like we do now, just the two of us," Ainz replied, pushing open the door that led outside. The fresh air was a relief after the confined quarters of the zeppelin, but the sight that greeted them was anything but comforting.

"I don't mind it either," Buku replied, stopping in her tracks. "It's just… you know, takes a lot out of me to not bash heads in when people treat us like shit for no reason."

Outside, a formidable group of a dozen orcs stood beside their mounts - large, black wolves with fur like midnight shadows, their eyes gleaming with a predatory glint as they surveyed each person passing by. The saddles strapped to their backs were rough and worn, evidence of long journeys and years of usage. The wolves no doubt served as mounts for the green-skinned creatures. The wolves were fearsome creatures, easily towering over Buku, their muscles rippling beneath their sleek coats. But it was the orcs themselves who commanded attention from all who approached.

Each orc was a towering giant, standing a full head taller than Ainz, their broad torsos and bulging muscles giving them the appearance of veritable living fortresses. But it wasn't just the height, their skin, a deep green, was scarred and toughened like ancient oak bark, each mark a testament to the brutal life they led in these lands. The weak had no place here, only those who could survive.

'Great' Ainz thought, a hint of sarcasm coloring his internal monologue. 'Just what we needed - more towering muscle-bound giants who probably think with their fists first and their brains never'

He glanced at Buku, who met his look with a raised eyebrow, sharing the same unspoken sentiment. She squared her shoulders, her posture relaxed but ready, as if anticipating that things could go sideways at any moment, already subtly reaching for her blade. For all the tension in the air, there was a strange comfort in facing yet another challenge together, even if it meant dealing with orcs who looked like they could bench-press a small fortress by themselves.

Taking a deep breath, Ainz prepared to approach the orcs, hoping Sylvanas's mark would be enough to prevent yet another confrontation.

The orc leader's voice was gruff and commanding as he addressed Ainz and Buku, his deep-set eyes narrowing with suspicion, "You must be the two that made the undead all scared. Warchief wants to make sure you don't cause any trouble, so you are coming with us. Hop on." He motioned toward the two massive wolves beside him, their dark eyes glinting with an eerie intelligence.

"Thank you for the welcome," Ainz replied smoothly, his tone polite but edged with caution. "We appreciate Warchief's consideration," He approached the wolves, their thick black fur bristling as they sensed the unnatural aura around him. The creature let out a low, frightened whine as Ainz helped Buku get onto one of the mounts and then hopped onto his own. He noticed the orcs exchange uneasy glances, murmuring in their guttural language. But no one voiced their concerns aloud.

They set off in silence picking up dust as they traversed through the near-lifeless valley. The landscape was harsh and unforgiving, with only the occasional bird or patch of grass as signs of life. How the orcs survived in such a harsh environment, let alone thrived, was a wonder that could hopefully be answered peacefully.

The rhythmic pounding of the wolves' paws was the only sound for a while until one of the younger orcs, unable to contain his curiosity, broke the silence, "Oi undead, how did you scare the banshee queen?"

"Keep your mouth shut!" The leader barked in response before Ainz could respond.

But Buku, never one to back down from a challenge, decided to answer, "My husband didn't have a chance. I was about to kill the entire city with a light explosion when she talked me out of it." Her tone was casual, almost conversational, as if discussing the weather rather than the near destruction of an entire city and all of its inhabitants.

The leader, who was at least a decade older than the rest of his troop judging from the streaks of grey in his hair, spoke with veneration, "A paladin. Fought your kind in the second war. Noble warriors. Shame you are one of those forsaken."

Buku's eyes narrowed slightly, but she kept her voice even, "I am not undead, just using this form to not stand out. I thought you would mind if I looked like an orc despite not being one." There was no point in hiding the fact that she and Ainz could shapeshift now that Sylvanas knew.

The younger orc who had spoken earlier snorted in disdain, "Hmph, to be an orc you need strength. A warrior's heart. No tricks like those damn warlocks do." His lip curled as he spat the last word as if the mere mention of warlocks left a foul taste in his mouth.

Ainz glanced at Buku and subtly shook his head, silently advising her to hold back. Even if she held back, beating some grunt into the ground wouldn't be a good first impression, especially one supposedly important enough for an escort.

Buku, however, wasn't one to let a challenge go unanswered, "Was the twelve orcs being our escort ensuring we don't cause any trouble giving you the impression that we're weak?" Her voice was calm, but there was an underlying razor-sharpness to it.

"Young ones always want to prove themselves and seek challenges. They need to experience someone's strength to give respect." The leader grunted, his weathered face creasing into what might have been a smile at what he perceived to be a banter.

"I would be up for the spar… but I doubt he would live it down if a woman half his size beat him." Buku searched for and quickly found a diplomatic way to say that she might kill the orc by accident if they fought.

"Weak!" The young orc let out a taunting laugh, the sound harsh and mocking. It was a sound that cut through the air like a jagged blade, grating on Ainz's already thinning patience. His crimson eyes narrowed as a cold, deadly resolve settled within him.

'They want a demonstration, fine, they'll get one.' The thought burned through Ainz's mind like the flames in his skull. The orc had crossed a line by insulting Buku, his beloved wife, and now it was time to show just how much of a mistake that was. With a flicker of dark energy, he unleashed Despair Aura, Level One. The effect was immediate and devastating. The wolves, once proud and fierce, stopped immediately in their tracks, plopping to the ground and letting out whimpers, their tails tucked between their legs as they trembled in abject terror. The orcs, too, weren't spared. Their brash confidence evaporated in an instant as their bodies began to shake uncontrollably unconsciously, their eyes wide with fear as the oppressive aura washed over them like a suffocating wave.

Ainz stepped off his mount, the world beneath him now as still and dead as a long-dead corpse. He took a deliberate step toward the young orc, his skeletal form radiating a menacing power as his eyes glowed in the darkness. The young orc, though shaken, managed to raise his axe in response, his knuckles white as he gripped the rough handle with all his might. "Warlock tricks," the young orc spat, though his voice wavering, betraying his fear.

Ainz's hollow eyes bore into the orc's soul, "I don't need tricks to deal with the likes of you. You think you can insult my wife and walk away unscathed?" His voice was a cold, emotionless monotone, yet it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken threats. To prove his point, Ainz canceled the Despair Aura, letting the oppressive energy dissipate as if it had never been unleashed. But the damage was done - this orc was obviously too weak to overcome his mere presence, let alone his physical damage nullification.

"Undead freak!" The orc roared, his fear turning to reckless rage as he raised the axe high above his head, ready to strike. The leader, sensing the imminent disaster, charged forward to get between him and the errant orc, but he was far too slow. Buku, moving with a speed too fast for anyone to perceive, pushed him aside effortlessly, her eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness, blade already singing.

As the axe came down toward his head, Ainz responded with deceptive speed, catching the blade mid-swing between two of his fingers. With a casual motion, he yanked the weapon from the orc's grip, the force of it nearly dislocating the warrior's shoulder in the process. To add insult to injury, he backhanded the taller opponent across the face with his free hand. The slap was almost dismissive in nature, but the impact was anything but. The young orc went flying, his massive body tumbling through the air like a ragdoll before finally crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. He landed on his side, his once-proud jaw now twisted and broken from sheer brute force, blood pooling from his mouth as he groaned in pain.

The remaining orcs stood frozen in place, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. The leader, still recovering from being unceremoniously shoved aside by Buku, stared at Ainz with newfound respect, his earlier skepticism shattered. The young orc, once so full of bravado, now lay in the dirt, utterly defeated by a single, effortless, demeaning blow.

Ainz tossed the axe aside, the weapon clattering uselessly to the ground beside the wolves, its sharp edge dulled by the sound of metal against stone. He regarded the fallen orc with a cold, unfeeling gaze and asked in a calm, collected tone. "Does this count as victory, or should I slap him a few more times?"

The orcs' silence spoke volumes. Even the leader, who was no stranger to the brutal ways of orcish warfare, found himself taken aback by Ainz's tone. It wasn't arrogance, it was confidence so absolute that it bordered on terrifying, confidence in their absolute might. Beside Ainz, Buku's expression remained neutral, but there was a glint of satisfaction in her eyes as she sheathed her blade. She knew her husband had made his point, and she was more than content with the outcome she had just witnessed.

The orc leader grunted, his gaze shifting to the young warrior slowly dragging himself to his feet. The young orc spat out a couple of teeth, the remnants of his bravado now pooling in the dirt at his feet as it groaned, "That's enough! You are the clear victor. The young fool got what he deserved. Let's move, the Warchief is waiting. The next one opening his mouth will have his salary taken away!"

The young orc, now thoroughly humbled, stared silently at Ainz for a good ten seconds, silent. Then, in a gesture that likely meant respect, he struck his chest with his fist and nodded. Without another word, he grabbed his axe, returned to his wolf, and began to pull the animal up to his feet. But the beast, still paralyzed with fear, refused to move. It dug its claws into the ground as if it feared it would fall off the face of the world.

'I might have overdone it a bit.' Ainz grimaced, contemplating how to resolve the situation without further frightening the already terrified creatures. Luckily, Buku came to his rescue and with a subtle cast of [Fear ward] on the wolves, instantly removing the terror they felt towards Ainz. The effect was immediate, the wolves, now freed of their paralyzing fear, shook off their unease and stood ready to move again, regaining their fierceness.

The rest of the short trip was spent in tense silence. The towering walls of Orgrimmar soon loomed before them, a massive barrier of stone and iron that dwarfed even the grand Stormwind through sheer size. The gates, made of thick, dark wood reinforced with multitudes of iron bands, opened slowly, revealing the city beyond. The architecture was crude but functional, built with the harsh landscape in mind. It was a city of warriors, where strength and resilience were valued above all else and violence was the norm.

As they passed through the gates, another group of orcs awaited them. At the center of the formation, seated on a midnight black wolf that seemed to embody the primal power of the wilderness, was a figure larger and more imposing than the rest, catching their eyes. Clad in dark, weathered armor and holding a massive hammer in his right hand, the orc exuded an aura of authority. Subtle elemental energies danced around him, crackling in the air like distant thunder.

'That must be the Warchief.' Ainz guessed. There was something undeniably majestic about this orc, a quiet power that commanded respect much like himself at times.

The orc dismounted with practiced ease, landing on the ground with a solid thud that seemed to reverberate through the rock and stone, "Welcome, to Orgrimmar, Ainz Ooal Gown and Buku Ooal Gown. I am Thrall, the Warfchief of the Horde," he declared, his voice deep and resonant, carrying the weight of someone who had led armies and won wars.

"Thank you, Warchief. We are honored to be received by you personally." Ainz replied, tilting his head in a gesture that mimicked the orc's actions, his skeletal form somehow managing to convey the appropriate respect.

"It is an honor to meet you, Warchief." Buku joined in, taking her husband's side, performing the same. Though she was smaller than the orcs, her presence was no less formidable, and the orcs could sense that she too was not to be underestimated.

Ainz found it amusing that he needed to look up when shaking hands for once. It was also easy to note that the Warchief was much stronger than the orc he had humiliated, actually having notable strength behind his grip.

Thrall's keen eyes took in the pair before him, noting their composure, their confidence, and the subtle power that radiated from them. "The Horde welcomes you," he replied, his voice deep and resonant, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Despite the outward warmth of his greeting, there was a guardedness in his gaze, a wariness that Ainz didn't miss. The Warchief was no fool; he knew power when he saw it, and he clearly recognized the potential threat the pair posed. Competent.

"Let's converse in my hold. You must be hungry after the trip." Thrall offered, his tone polite but with an undercurrent of cautious curiosity. As a powerful shaman, the Warchief was attuned to the spirits that surrounded him, and they were practically screaming at him about the danger these strangers presented. He couldn't ignore their warnings. Even without the guidance of the spirits, he had no reason not to believe the message Sylvanas sent through her pet demon. These two were not to be underestimated, he would have to be careful.

She had also suggested persuading the pair to serve the Horde as their power was undeniable and making them enemies would be unwise, but he would have to see for himself. Individuals of power didn't casually serve each other without good reason, especially those who had already found another allegiance.

As they walked toward the Warchief's hold, Ainz couldn't help but admire the orc's calm composure. Despite the clear acknowledgment of their power, Thrall maintained an air of dignity and control. It was a testament to the strength of his character, a trait that Ainz could respect in an individual.

Buku, walking alongside Ainz, felt the thick tension in the air but kept her expression neutral. She was well aware that Thrall was sizing them up, and she could sense the weight of his thoughts, likely considering the possibility of courting them to serve the Horde. It was a smart move; their power was undeniable, and making them enemies would be a gamble no one in their right mind would want to take. It was the logical thing to do.

As they entered the hold, Ainz couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between the rough, utilitarian design of the exterior and the more refined, almost ceremonial atmosphere inside. The walls were adorned with trophies of past victories, weapons, and banners, each one telling a story of conquest and survival against the odds, whether Alliance or otherwise. A large hearth dominated the center of the room, its flames casting flickering shadows that danced across the stone floor, its warmth comforting in the chilled air.

The smell of roasted meat filled the air with a hearty aroma that spoke of the orcish love for robust, simple fare. Ainz, though not needing to eat due to his physiology, appreciated the gesture nonetheless. It was a sign of hospitality, a way for Thrall to extend a hand of peace, however tentative. The prepared feast would have appeased even the most gluttonous of guests. Entire roasted pigs glistened with honeyed skin, their juices seeping. Massive kodo chops, their bones still charred from the fire, were piled high beside strider legs roasted to a golden crisp. Barrels of beer and wine waited for them in the Warchief's hold, ready to be drunk from.

Ainz and Buku settled onto thick, woven rugs beside Thrall as more of the Warchief's inner circle joined them, the most intriguing were tauren- towering, cowlike beings who moved with surprising grace, as if afraid that their sheer size might break everything around them. Their calm, gentle presence seemed almost at odds with the primal, warrior-like energy of the orcs, yet they fit perfectly into the tapestry of the Horde's diversity.

Thrall, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, began the conversation after a brief prayer to the spirits, thanking them for the meal, "From what Sylvanas told me, you two want a safe passage through Horde lands?" His voice was deep, resonant, commanding respect without the need for force, unlike the female advisor back in Stormwind nor her king.

"If our presence is not bothersome, then yes, we would like to see more of Kalimdor," Ainz replied. He considered for a moment whether to change his appearance to something more conducive to eating, but the thought quickly passed, it could be considered rude and an unnecessary show of power. Buku, however, had no such reservations, her form and kind were already designed for it. She was already stuffing her face without a care in the world, seemingly trying to outeat and outdrink the locals, all of whom gave her a fight in return, as even the smallest of troll and orc women were at least twice her size.

Thrall watched with a mixture of amusement and curiosity as Buku tore into a massive Kodo steak, not bothering with the daintiness one might expect from someone of her stature as she nearly snapped the bone in half ripping the meat from it. "You have my blessing," Thrall continued, "but I would prefer it if you avoided conflict. Would you consider traveling with a small escort?" The Warchief's tone was diplomatic, but there was an undercurrent of concern. He had already heard about the incident with the young warrior who had foolishly started a fight with Ainz and suffered a humiliating defeat, and that orc had been a decently seasoned warrior. The thought of these two causing unrest in Horde territory was unsettling to say the least.

Thrall's gaze turned inward as he sought guidance from the spirits that always accompanied him. He could feel their agitation, their voices like a chaotic chorus in his mind. 'What are these two?' he silently asked, hoping for clarity.

'Strange. Different. Power, too much power. Death. Destruction. Ambition.' The spirits' voices were frantic, almost panicked, a reaction Thrall had never experienced before from them. It was clear - these two were not to be made enemies of. As long as diplomacy was an option, it was one he needed to pursue to its fullest extent.

Ainz, ever perceptive, noticed the slight tension in Thrall's demeanor, "Is it our appearances that cause unease?" he inquired, his tone as calm and measured as ever. "If that is the case, we can change them."

"We had no problem traveling through Alliance lands as humans, even if we aren't ones," Buku commented between bites, not even pausing in her assault on the feast as she devoured yet another chunk of Kodo steak with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn't eaten in days.

The table fell silent, even Thrall, as one of the older trolls, his skin a deep blue and his eyes clouded with age and wisdom, began to speak, "Da loa say you like dem, walk between worlds." he stated, his voice carrying the weight of ancient knowledge. The orcs, usually so brash and straightforward, watched him with a quiet reverence, while the massive tauren leaned in slightly, their usually stoic faces softened by curiosity and respect. They even stopped eating, putting down their pig and kodo ribs.

"Bwonsamdi greets you as his brotha, Ainz Ooal Gown," the troll continued, his gaze unwavering as he spoke. "Says you and ya wife bring great change."

The words hung in the air, heavy with significance. The old troll, muscles still visible beneath the deep lines of his skin, slowly pushed himself to his feet. His bones creaked in protest, yet he stood tall, his presence as commanding as any warrior in the room. With a slow, deliberate motion, he bowed deeply before Ainz and Buku, a gesture that spoke volumes in this land where strength and honor were the highest currencies, "Da spirits say to show respect."

The room seemed to hold its breath as the elder's words hung in the air, the fire seeming even lowering its blazing roars to hushed crackles. Ainz exchanged a glance with Buku, who had momentarily paused her feasting to listen. For a brief moment, there was a flicker of something like respect, or perhaps, recognition, in her eyes before she resumed her meal with her usual gusto, devouring a rib.

Ainz's thoughts churned behind his impassive gaze. From what little Ainz gleaned from the dwarven books on troll culture, Bwonsamdi was no minor figure for the inhabitants of this world; he was a loa of Death, a being both revered and feared among the trolls. To be acknowledged by such an entity was not a gesture to be taken lightly, especially in a land where the spirits and the gods were as real as the wood and the stones beneath their feet.

Thrall, ever the astute leader, didn't miss the subtle tension in the room. Ignoring an old and wise witch doctor would be foolish, the old troll was one of Darkspear troll chieftain Vol'jin's most trusted advisors. Thrall had received yet another confirmation that making enemies of the pair would have dire consequences, ones that those mighty themselves recognized as strong.

"Perhaps," Thrall began, choosing his words carefully, "taking the appearance of another race would ease the minds of our people, although I will not require it. The Forsaken, although our allies, are not sitting by our tables during feasts. They distrust us, even more than we distrust them. The Loa and spirits see you as honorable guests, and that is more than enough for me." His voice was steady and diplomatic, but his eyes revealed a deeper unease, a wariness that mirrored the old troll's own. The statement was a diplomatic half-truth, a gesture of goodwill toward the duo, but Thrall knew better than to reveal his true reservations. The unease he saw in the old troll's eyes was more than just respect, it was a cautious fear of the unknown, a fear that Thrall also shared. The unknown was dangerous.

Ainz, perceptive as always, noted the slight tremor in Thrall's otherwise composed demeanor, noting and sharing it with Buku. He recognized the wisdom in the Warchief's words, seasoned with age. Adopting the appearance of another race might indeed ease tensions, though it would do little to dispel the underlying wariness these beings of flesh and spirit felt toward him and Buku. They were now even recognized as otherworldly beings, revealing that their gods could see past their disguises, another cause for concern. He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the Warchief's suggestion. "We appreciate your wisdom, Warchief," he replied in his measured, calm tone. "We will consider your suggestion."

Beside him, Buku nodded, her mouth full of food and dripping with grease, her eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and understanding. "We wouldn't want to make anyone uncomfortable," she added after swallowing, a playful grin tugging at her lips. The sight of her, a petite woman among giants, nonchalantly discussing matters of life and death while devouring a meal fit for a dozen was almost absurd for those present. And yet, there was an undeniable charm in her casual confidence, a disarming presence that, even in the face of such gravitas, made her seem perfectly at ease.

As the conversation moved forward, Thrall wondered deep within his mind, his thoughts returning to the words of the elder troll and the spirits' warnings. Would Ainz and Buku prove to be valuable friends or terrible enemies? Only time and effort would tell.

Editing by NabeisWaifu and aidan_lo.

Proofreading by IAMTHEPLOKOKIOPO, Malguis, and aidan_lo.

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