Chương 30: Labor Orc's curse
Volk braced himself for the impact, expecting to be thrown aside or crushed beneath the enormous tusks of the Hazardous Warthog. His muscles tensed, ready to spring into action, but instead of the anticipated force, he felt something else—a warm, gentle whoosh of breath washing over his face.
Confused, he kept his eyes shut tight, heart pounding in his chest like a drum thud thud thud. When nothing happened after several heartbeats, he cautiously opened one eye.
To his shock, he found himself staring directly into a massive nostril, mere inches from his face.
The Warthog was sniffing him, its breath warm and surprisingly gentle.
Volk's jaw dropped with a quiet clack, and his breath caught in his throat.
"Eh?"
The absurdity of the situation hit him all at once—here he was, face to face with a beast that was supposed to be one of the most dangerous creatures in this cursed forest, and it was… smelling him?
Volk's mind raced. "What… is happening?" he muttered to himself, his voice barely more than a whisper. His heart pounded thud thud thud as he struggled to make sense of the scene unfolding before him.
The Warthog's eyes, glowing with that eerie green light, seemed to study him with something that resembled curiosity—or was it pity?
The massive beast tilted its head slightly and nudged Volk gently with its snout.
The touch was delicate, almost tender, as though the creature was afraid of hurting him. Volk's heart skipped a beat, and his body tensed involuntarily, but the Warthog made no move to harm him. It merely continued to inspect him, as if it were trying to puzzle out why he was different from the other orcs.
Volk's confusion deepened as the Warthog continued its strange behavior. It circled him slowly, its massive bulk moving with an unexpected grace. The beast's nose brushed against Volk's chest swish, then his shoulders swish, then his arms, as if it were checking for something.
Each touch was light, almost reverent, as though the Warthog was handling something fragile.
At one point, the Warthog pressed its snout against Volk's side and released a deep, rumbling breath grrrh that shook his entire body. Volk felt the vibration travel through his bones vrrrr, leaving a strange, tingling sensation in its wake. He could feel the Warthog's breath on his skin, warm and steady, as it continued its bizarre inspection.
It then nudged Volk's leg, as if testing his stability.
Shook!
Volk stumbled slightly, but the Warthog didn't react aggressively.
Instead, it pulled back, looking at him with those glowing eyes filled with… pity? Yes, Volk realized with a jolt, there was unmistakable pity in the Warthog's gaze, as though it saw him as something weak and fragile, something in need of protection.
Volk could hardly believe what was happening.
"Is this really happening?" He mumbled.
This creature, this monstrous beast that was supposed to be the most hazardous—no, the most pitiful and weak—creature in the forest, was treating him with a gentleness that was completely out of character for its fearsome appearance.
It even nudged his hand, as if encouraging him to touch it. Volk hesitated for a moment before slowly reaching out. His fingers brushed against the rough, bristly hair on the Warthog's snout shhhh.
The beast closed its eyes, seeming to enjoy the touch.
Around him, Volk could hear the gasps and murmurs of the other orcs gasp gasp, both the younglings and the older, bone-armored warriors.
Their faces were a mixture of shock and disbelief, their eyes wide and their mouths hanging open.
Some of them looked like they had just witnessed a miracle, while others seemed unable to process what they were seeing.
The expressions on their faces were so exaggerated that Volk might have laughed if he hadn't been so bewildered himself.
The Warthog, meanwhile, continued its inspection, circling Volk one last time before stopping in front of him again. It sniffed at his hair, its breath ruffling the strands whoosh whoosh, then released a soft, almost contented grunt hrmph.
The beast's eyes softened even further, the pity in them almost painful to see. Then, without warning, the Warthog turned and lumbered away, its massive hooves thud thud echoing through the forest floor as it disappeared into the dense foliage as if it had simply lost interest.
For several long moments, the forest was silent.
The orcs around Volk remained frozen in place, their eyes still locked on the spot where the Warthog had stood.
Volk felt his heart slowly return to a more normal rhythm, but his mind was still racing, trying to make sense of what had just occurred.
"What… just happened?" he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. He looked around at the other orcs, hoping for some kind of explanation, but all he saw were their stunned faces, their eyes still wide with disbelief.
The bone-armored orcs, veterans of countless battles and hardships, were staring at him as though he were something otherworldly.
One of them, an older orc with deep-set scars and weary eyes, finally snapped out of his stupor and barked an order.
"Mag'Durotans, forward!" His voice was sharp, but Volk could hear the tremor in it, as if the orc couldn't quite believe what had just happened.
The younger orcs hesitated for a moment before they began to move, their steps slow and uncertain.
Volk remained where he was, his mind still struggling to process the encounter. As the others moved past him, one of the bone-armored orcs approached him, his eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and something Volk couldn't quite identify.
"Young Mag'Durotan," the orc began, his voice low and cautious. "Who are you?"
Volk blinked, the question pulling him out of his daze. "I'm Volk Mog'ger," he replied, the words feeling strange in his mouth after what had just occurred. "The current Kaz'rogal of this year."
The orc stared at him for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. "Current Kaz'rogal?" He asked before contemplating, "I see… I heard the current one was a Labor Orc. No wonder the Hazardous Warthog didn't attack you."
Volk frowned, still confused. "Why?" he asked respectfully, his tone polite despite the whirlwind of questions in his mind. "What is that Warthog? Why it didn't attack me?"
The orc sighed, looking out at the forest with a distant gaze. "The Hazardous Warthog," he began slowly, "is a creature that is considered the strongest among magical beasts in this land. This is because it is filled with hazardous magic particles compared to others, which make it more dangerous and stronger. These particles, though dangerous to others, are the Warthog's power. This forest is its domain, where it lords over creatures even weaker than itself."
Volk listened intently as the orc continued, his voice taking on a tone of grim resignation. "The Warthog despises those who are weaker or who don't have hazardous magic particles, or those who aren't burdened by the hazardous magic. It sees them as nothing but a consumable existence, and it will often attack them out of spite, as if to prove it's the strongest there is. But for those who are even more affected by it, even weaker than itself, it feels like a strange kinship. It treats them as more talented than itself, and if you grow to your peak, that's when it would only attack! To beat you! To prove that it's mightier than you."
The explanation left Volk speechless. He had never imagined that such a creature could exist, one that was simultaneously so dangerous yet so... arrogant.
The orc's words painted a picture of a beast that was desperate to assert its strength in a world where it was inherently fragile, a contradiction that Volk found difficult to grasp.
The bone-armored orc placed a heavy hand on Volk's shoulder, his grip firm but not unkind. "You, Volk Mog'ger, must carry a burden even greater than the Warthog's. That is why it spared you. It saw in you a potential enemy, one who can endure the same or more hazardous magic particles as the warthog himself."
Volk didn't know how to respond. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, none of which seemed to settle. He looked up at the orc, searching for answers, but all he could manage was a weak, "I… I see."
The older orc nodded, his expression softening slightly. "You have much to learn about this world, Volk Mog'ger. But know this—you are not alone in your struggle."
There was a long silence, broken only by the rustling of the leaves above them rustle rustle. Volk felt the weight of the orc's words settle heavily on his shoulders, a responsibility he hadn't anticipated but could not ignore. He took a deep breath inhale, trying to steady himself, but before he could speak, the orc's voice cut through the quiet.
"Are you familiar with the Labor Orc curse?" the orc asked, his tone serious.
Volk looked up, his confusion returning. "No," he replied slowly, unsure of what this new revelation would bring. "What is it?"
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Chương 31: Curse information
The march through the dense, verdant forest was steady, and the sound of their heavy boots and the occasional clank of armor were echoing through the trees occasionally.
Volk found himself walking beside the bone-armored orc who had approached him earlier.
This orc, unlike the others, seemed particularly interested in Volk, his gaze thoughtful as they moved forward.
Finally, the orc broke the silence, his deep voice filled with pride. "I am Grommash, known as Grommash the Great Hunter. My title is well-earned, for I have hunted and slain beasts that would turn the stomachs of lesser orcs. My arrows have found the hearts of creatures that would make even the bravest warriors tremble."
Volk nodded, acknowledging Grommash's introduction. He was keenly aware of the orc's prowess, evident in the way he carried himself and the respect he commanded from the others.
Grommash's eyes, however, were not filled with the usual condescension Volk had become accustomed to. Instead, there was a strange mixture of curiosity and something close to pity.
As they marched, Grommash began to speak again, his voice lowering slightly as he broached a more serious topic. "You have heard of the Labor Orc curse, yes? Right?"
Volk nodded, but Grommash continued, as if compelled to explain in more detail. "Long ago, all orcs were warriors, fierce and proud. Our ancestors fought with unmatched strength and courage. But as time passed, some among us began to consume food tainted with hazardous magic particles. These particles, though not immediately fatal, had a slow and insidious effect on our people."
Volk listened intently, his mind recalling the memories of the Labor Orc that he occupied, but Grommash's account was more detailed, more vivid. "The food, rich in hazardous magic particles, began to weaken our bodies over generations. Those who consumed it became less robust, less fierce. They lost their desire for battle, their bodies unable to withstand the rigors of combat. These orcs became what we now know as Labor Orcs."
Grommash's voice was heavy with the weight of history as he continued, "Labor Orcs are a shadow of what they could have been. They are much weaker than the warrior orcs, unable to fight, only capable of working for the rest of their lives. They lack the fire that drives us, the desire to breed and carry on the bloodline. Worse yet, they are sterile—unable to produce offspring unless certain conditions are met. They are born to toil and die in obscurity."
Volk felt a pang of sadness as he listened. He had always known about the curse, but hearing it laid out so plainly, with such stark honesty, made it all the more real. He nodded, signaling to Grommash that he understood. But the Great Hunter wasn't done.
"Even in their Grum-gar form," Grommash said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "Labor Orcs are weak. The Grum-gar form is supposed to be the ultimate expression of an orc's power, a transformation that grants us the strength of the ancients. But for a Labor Orc, it is a pale imitation."
Grommash explained further, his words deliberate and slow, as though he was choosing each one carefully. "A normal warrior orc, when in their Grum-gar form, can strengthen themselves up to five times over. This is the mark of a true warrior, to tap into the power that runs deep in our blood. But a Labor Orc… they can only manage to double their strength. Even this is a rarity among them. It is a pale shadow of what should be. In the neighboring clan, there are still some who can manage fivefold transformations, but they live in seclusion, their strength too precious to be risked in battle."
Volk's mind raced as he absorbed this information. He had never fully understood the limitations of the Labor Orcs especially his own, but now it was clear.
If he could only strengthen himself twice in his Grum-gar form, then his arsenal in combat was severely limited.
"Am I really limited in combat? Is that why even though when I introduced myself as a Kaz'rogal, they didn't find it that much special?" He mumbled.
This realization struck him hard, like a cold stone of dread settling in his gut. He felt powerless.
Back when he fought Luk'Tar, he only got strengthened twice, and nothing more than that. If he can only truly strengthen twice, doesn't that mean he will still be considered weak?
Grommash continued, his tone growing even more serious. "There's more. The Labor Orcs, once they miss the ceremony of Union to the elves, lose the ability to breed forever. Even if they manage to participate, they can only produce offspring with one female elf. No others."
Volk knew this already, and the mention of it stirred memories of his own struggles. He had nearly missed his chance to wed Solluha'r because of Luk'Tar, the thief who had stolen his earth mole kill. That near-miss could have cost him everything. The reminder sent a shiver down his spine.
Grommash's words cut through his thoughts like a blade. "This is why we pity you, Volk Mog'ger. The curse is not just about weakness. It is about loss—of strength, of heritage, of potential. Even your children, if they inherit your Grum-gar form, will be weak. Though they might awaken the power, it will be a faint echo of what it should be."
Volk felt a deep ache in his chest at the thought. His children cursed before they were even born. And yet, Grommash offered a sliver of hope. "But take heart, Volk Mog'ger. Despite all this, you are different. Your rise to the position of Kaz'rogal is proof of your strength. You will grow, perhaps not in the way others do, but in your own way. Your Labor Orc blood will make you more efficient than others, and your rise to power will be swift. You may not be able to multiply your strength fivefold, but what you can do with your twofold strength will be unmatched."
Volk struggled to process this. "Is that really it?" he asked, his voice tinged with desperation. "Am I truly so limited in combat?"
Grommash paused, his expression unreadable. "Yes and no. Your strength may be capped at twice what it could be, but your mind, your tactics, your ingenuity—these are where you will excel. A warrior is not just muscle and bone. It is also the mind and heart. You will find your own path, Volk Mog'ger."
Volk would think this is just a consultation to make him feel at ease, but it's not helping him. Still, to look polite, he nodded, while still reeling from the weight of Grommash's words.
Immediately after that, his thoughts swirled, questions bubbling up, but before he could voice them, a loud, commanding voice cut through their conversation.
"Mag'Durotan, Haaaaaaalt!"
The order was immediate, and the entire company of orcs came to a sudden stop.
The forest, which had been filled with the steady rhythm of their march, now fell into an eerie silence.
Volk could feel the tension in the air, the anticipation of what was to come.
"Formation!"
The voice rang out again, this time closer, more insistent.
The orcs began to move, falling into practiced ranks with military precision.
The younglings, including Volk, quickly fell into place, their hearts pounding in unison with the drumbeat of war that seemed to echo in the distance.
Volk's mind was still racing with the conversation he'd just had with Grommash, but he forced himself to focus. This was no time for introspection. He didn't know what happened, but it seemed like something came up.
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