Re:Crafting in Another World
Chapter 78: Orcs I - Dangerous victims

Chapter 78: Orcs I - Dangerous victims

Perched on the thick, moss-covered limb of an ancient tree, Yenissa squinted through the forest canopy. Below, amidst the undergrowth and shadowed patches of sunlight, four orcs moved with heavy, deliberate steps. Two males led, towering nearly seven feet tall, their muscular forms hunched forward as if weighed down by their own bulk.

The two females followed behind, towering and powerful, yet their figures bore a raw, primal allure — muscular yet curvaceous, with smooth, green-toned skin and sharp, predatory eyes that gleamed beneath their heavy brows. Their tusks curved elegantly from fierce yet shapely jaws, lending them a beauty that was wild, untamed, and dangerously captivating very different from their male counterpart.

"They’re hunting," Yenissa murmured, her voice calm but sharp.

Shennong, reclining a few feet away on a higher branch, had his arms crossed, emerlad eyes half-lidded as if in deep thought. Despite his relaxed posture, his senses were attuned to everything below. The way the male orcs sniffed the air. The subtle twang in the bowstrings the females carried. The distant chirp of birds silencing as the monsters moved closer.

"Only four," Shennong said finally. "I thought orcs were more... communal."

"They don’t move in large groups unless they’re going to war," Yenissa replied, brushing a lock of hair behind her pointed ear. "And even then, it’s usually against other orc tribes. Power struggles, dominance contests. Bloody, meaningless."

"And when they attack humans?" Shennong asked, his tone lighter, more curious than judgmental.

Yenissa’s expression darkened. "That’s different. They don’t like humans building too close to their forests. The moment they see wooden fences and smoke from chimneys... they come. Burn the villages. Ruin the crops. Kidnap people."

Shennong tilted his head slightly. "To eat?"

"That too," she said with a shrug. "But more often... they’re used for breeding."

A flicker of amusement passed through Shennong’s eyes. "Breeding? With humans?"

Yenissa gave a small nod. "Apparently, human sperm is the only thing that can ensure the orc race spreads effectively. Orcs can breed with each other, sure, but... they find each other unbearably unattractive. It’s become something of a cruel joke among humans to call someone they don’t find attractive orcs. They were supposed to be each other’s mates, yet they can barely stand the sight of one another."

"How poetic," Shennong muttered, the corner of his lip twitching in amusement. "So, they take human captives not just for meat, but to preserve their kind."

"Yes," Yenissa confirmed, watching as one of the female orcs sniffed at a hollow log before tossing it aside. "Most of the human captives are kept alive for that reason. It’s a grotesque system for humans, but... nature always finds a way."

Shennong fell silent, his thoughts drifting. His gaze turned from the orcs to the forest around them — trees bathed in twilight hues, roots coiled like serpents, the faint smell of wildflowers tainted by the scent of blood.

"Are they native to this land?" he asked softly. "Or did they come from the same place as you... as the other demonic creatures?"

Yenissa leaned back against the tree trunk, one leg dangling from the branch. "Native, technically. But many believe their existence is tied to the Gates. When the dimensions bleed into each other... mana leaks into this world. That unnatural energy changes things. Creates things."

Shennong tapped a clawed finger against his arm. "So... they’re mana-born abominations. Byproducts of nature reacting to foreign energy."

"In a way, yes."

He exhaled slowly. "What pitiful creatures..."

Yenissa turned her head slightly, eyeing him. "You pity them?"

"No," he said, a little too quickly. "But I understand why humans think they’re superior. Stories like these spread—stories of beasts who can’t sustain themselves without stealing others’ vitality. It reinforces their belief that they’re better. Chosen."

"And they’re not?" Yenissa asked, her tone challenging.

Shennong smiled faintly. "Perhaps they are. At least... in theory."

A long silence settled between them, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the occasional grunt of the hunting orcs. Then Shennong broke it.

"What would happen, I wonder," he said thoughtfully, "if I dropped these orcs into my Moonlight Forest?"

Yenissa blinked. "You mean... bring them to your dungeon?"

"Yes. I want to see how they’d adapt. Mutate. Whether the mana of my dungeon would twist them further or... refine them."

"That’s risky," she said, sitting up straighter. "Capturing one would be hard enough. We’d need a heavy cage. Strong sedation. Horses to drag them out. Even then... they’re vicious."

"One is not enough," Shennong replied, turning to meet her gaze. "I want a tribe."

Yenissa stared at him. "You’re not serious."

"I am."

"For what purpose? As experimental pets?"

He gave a noncommittal shrug. "Let’s call it... research."

Yenissa narrowed her eyes. "Then you need to understand what holds an orc tribe together. If you want the whole tribe, you need leverage."

"That’s why I asked you," he said smoothly. "What’s the most important thing among them?"

Yenissa’s brows furrowed, her lips parting slightly as if to respond. But then she hesitated.

He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Don’t tell me..."

"You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking," she said cautiously.

Shennong gave her a slow, predatory smile. "Exactly."

Yenissa swore under her breath. "You’re insane."

"Am I?" he said, his voice low and rich with satisfaction. "Every tribe has a pillar. A matron. A breeder. The one they all protect. If we take that person... the rest will follow. Either out of rage, or desperation."

"That’s... dangerous. And morally questionable."

"Yenissa... when did we care about such things? I think you’re becoming little bit too human."

She sighed, shaking her head knowing he was indeed right. "You’re going to get yourself killed."

"I doubt it," he replied, already planning his next move. "I think I know how to snuff out their leader. We just have to patiently follow these orcsto their tribe and see how well they live,"

***

The gates creaked open with a deep groan, great pillars of carved timber towering like sentinels over the trail. Smoke curled from chimneys that rose out of massive stone lodges, rooftops stretched wide and tall to house the bulk of the warriors that called this place home. Behind the wall, the orc village breathed like a living beast—throaty laughs, clanging metal, the thump of drums echoing in irregular rhythms.

Through the gate came the hunters, their feet heavy against the earth, dragging their quarry. The giant wild boars, still bleeding from jagged tusk wounds and deep cuts, left red trails in the dirt.

"Rugh-har!" roared one of the returning orcs, a burly figure with skin like cracked bark and tusks filed into sharp points. He held a spear over his shoulder and laughed as blood dripped from the end.

"Brag-har, grol’um da!" another responded—this one smaller, limping, but no less proud.

Among them walked Ka’ra, her short red hair matted with sweat and blood, her green skin marked with battle scars. She dragged the largest boar, its broken snout rattling in the dust behind her. At her side strode Ukar, a towering male orc with greedy eyes, who looked at the boar like a wolf eyeing another’s kill.

"Th’rog, gruuk! That boar... too big for you," Ukar muttered under his breath in their tongue. "Maybe Ukar take it. For tribe."

Ka’ra turned slowly, her lips curling back.

"Skurnak-tha," she snarled. "Touch, and you bleed."

Ukar bared his tusks in a sneer and stepped forward, hand reaching for the boar’s leg. Before he could lay a finger, Ka’ra’s boot slammed into his chest with a sickening crack. He crashed into the mud, wheezing.

"Grak-HAA!" she roared, lifting the boar high with one hand. The gathered orcs growled in approval, some thumping their weapons into the ground.

Ukar spat blood and glared, crawling backward. He didn’t dare try again—not in front of so many eyes. Not yet.

Ka’ra pushed past him and walked toward the largest structure in the village—the Hall of Grom’Thak, home to their dying chieftain.

Inside, the light dimmed, the air heavy with incense and death. Old skins and bones hung from the rafters. In the center of the room lay Thromgar the Venerable, his breath shallow, his body more bone than flesh. His eyes opened slowly as Ka’ra entered.

"Hruhm..." he wheezed.

Ka’ra knelt beside him, holding the boar over his withered frame. The room quieted. Several elder orcs stood in shadow, watching.

"Gur’hak... sur drom!" one of them barked.

Ka’ra snapped the boar’s neck with a brutal twist. Blood poured like a river. She caught it in a bowl, then gently began to pour it over Thromgar’s body. He sighed—a rasping exhale like wind through bone.

"Hrrrrraaaa... ka’hul..." he murmured, eyes closing.

As the blood washed over him, something in the room shifted. The fire flickered unnaturally. The air grew colder, the scent of ancient power rising.

Outside the hall, Ukar shoved past those who mocked him, his pride shattered. He growled and stomped toward the darker side of the village—the Breeding Pens. The guards there—two thick-armed orcs with dull eyes—stepped aside.

"Ukar... don’t," muttered one of his kin, Murn, his voice low and hesitant. "They too weak. You... you kill them."

"Then they die," Ukar spat. "They not orc. They meat."

He stepped inside the pen area, where the whimpers of captured humans echoed between wooden cages. Murn turned his head away.

"Half will die tonight..." he whispered to no one.

Back near the hall, Ka’ra stepped out. Her hands were still wet with blood, her eyes heavy with meaning. The sky had darkened, but the village had lit up with flames and howls.

An elder approached—Eshrah, a thin and wiry female orc who leaned heavily on a staff made of bone and leather. She held a strange bundle in her hand, wrapped in cloth that shimmered with oils.

"Kra’hul... zuu’nok," Eshrah whispered.

Ka’ra frowned. "What is this?"

Eshrah unwrapped it slowly, revealing a massive skull—the size of a boulder, bleached and cracked, with antlers that twisted like thorned roots.

"Skull of Grag’Ra. The First Kill. Your right."

Ka’ra stepped back in awe. "This... this was his?"

"Taken by first leader. From the spirit beast. We keep it for the worthy. You... are."

Ka’ra knelt and took the skull. It felt heavier than stone, humming with ancient memory. She placed it atop her head. It fit perfectly.

A chorus of growls and cheers erupted.

"WAAAAAAHHHHH!!!"

"KA’RA-GRAG’RA!!"

She raised her fist and roared, deep and long. The village answered.

"RAAAAAUGH!"

From across the square, Ukar watched through slitted eyes, his knuckles white. Blood still stained his hands—but not from battle. Around him, none cheered. Not even Murn.

The fires crackled higher. The drums boomed louder.

A new chieftain had risen.

And the blood of the boar still ran through her hands.