Re:Crafting in Another World
Chapter 92: Orc XV - Human rage

Chapter 92: Orc XV - Human rage

In the center of the village, orcs sat in heavy silence. Their posture wasn’t that of warriors anymore—but of people who had seen too much, who had tasted the bitterness of false power. Ukar, once towering with might and cruelty, now sat bound, his arms shackled and back slumped like a toppled statue. He did not fight it. He didn’t shout. For all his violence, he knew when the storm had passed—and when he had lost.

Ka’ra stood at the edge of the gathering, a tempest in her chest. She had just returned from Shennong’s domain, and what she saw left her more disappointed than surprised.

"So," she muttered, arms folded, voice a low thunder. "This is what happens when I leave you fools for a few days."

The younger orcs avoided her gaze.

"They bowed to anyone stronger," she hissed. "They always do. Power, no matter how twisted, makes you wag your tails. I clearly told Ukar is not fit to be leader."

Behind her, an elder orc woman—the old crone who had once whispered in favor of leaving the tribe—now stood with surprising resolve.

"Let the young ones leave, Ka’ra," the old woman said softly. "I will stay. This tribe is my breath. My bones. I was born into it. I will die in it."

Ka’ra stared at her. "Even if it means dying bounded like Ukar?"

The old crone did not blink. "I am old. I do not fear my death. Only that we forget who we were."

Ka’ra scoffed and turned her back to the crowd. "Then rot with your memories."

Without another word, she walked away. The air shifted as she did, thick with something unseen—an instinct, a whisper in the blood. Her steps quickened, not in panic, but anticipation. She felt it clearly now.

A presence.

A powerful one.

A succubus.

Her path led her past the withered huts, past the blood-stained grounds of the last conflict, into the forest that bordered the village. Trees stretched like tall sentinels, and night pressed heavily around her, but Ka’ra didn’t slow.

Soon, she saw him.

Shennong.

Perched on a low-hanging tree branch like a bird at rest, the human who had built a forest.

His clothes were simple, his posture casual—but something about him always seemed both ancient and inescapably aware. Beside him stood Yenissa, the succubus Ka’ra had sensed. Her gaze was steady, arms folded beneath her chest.

"You watched it all," Ka’ra said flatly.

"We did," Shennong replied, swinging one leg lazily. "Quite the performance. Shame about the walls, though. I rather liked the fire."

"You saw everything. And said nothing."

"I rarely speak during a play," Shennong said, a smile teasing the corner of his lips. "But now that the curtain’s down—how are things, Ka’ra?"

She crossed her arms. "A mess. More than half the tribe want to leave."

Shennong nodded. "They’ll come to the Moonlight Forest, then."

"What about the rest?" he asked casually.

"They won’t," Yenissa said, answering for her. "Too old. Too rooted. The tribe is their life. They won’t abandon it—even if it kills them."

"Mmm. Sentiment." Shennong exhaled, plucking a leaf from the tree. "It’s beautiful. Also terribly inconvenient."

Ka’ra’s eyes narrowed. "What’s your point?"

Shennong tossed the leaf, letting it fall. "The humans are moving. Adventurers, noble armies... they’re organizing to ’cleanse’ the nearby territories of orcs."

Ka’ra didn’t flinch. "Expected."

"You’re not surprised?"

"I saw what Ukar did," she said coldly. "Even if I hate them, the humans aren’t wrong to fear us. Not after that. I would have done the same."

Yenissa tilted her head. "And now that your fire walls are gone, you’re nothing but targets. Easy ones."

Ka’ra looked away. The truth burned hotter than any magic fire.

"What will you do?" she asked Shennong. "Will you just watch? Let them get slaughtered?"

Shennong smiled.

"I will do nothing."

Ka’ra blinked. "What?"

"It’s not my problem," he said simply. "They’re your people."

"They’ll die."

"They might."

She gritted her teeth. "We can bring them to the Moonlight Forest. There’s still time."

"Yes," Shennong agreed. "But the humans won’t stop. Even if you break from the tribe, they won’t care. They’ll say all orcs are the same."

"They’ll kill the ones who stay," Yenissa added. "And maybe even hunt those who leave."

Shennong chuckled. "You know, just as orcs see humans as weak things to raid, humans use orcs in their own way. Your blood, your leather, your bones. All quite valuable."

Ka’ra’s fists clenched.

"They’ll make fine boots," Shennong whispered. "Fine cloaks."

"Enough," she growled.

But he wasn’t mocking. He was just stating facts—cold, practical, undeniable.

"And now you wonder," he said gently, "can you force them to follow you?"

Ka’ra closed her eyes for a moment. The answer wasn’t easy. She didn’t want to be a tyrant. But perhaps she had no choice.

"Yes," she said at last. "I will. If they won’t walk, I’ll drag them. I won’t let them die like fools."

Yenissa gave her a small nod. "Then you’d better go."

Ka’ra turned, but paused when Shennong spoke again.

"Ukar," he said softly, "is an interesting orc."

Ka’ra frowned, glancing back. "What do you mean?"

Shennong simply smiled. "You’ll see."

She scowled. "Cryptic man."

With that, she walked back into the darkness, toward the village.

Toward the ones who still needed her.

On the third morning, before the sun rise the proud skulls and decorations had fallen, trampled underfoot by those now preparing to leave it all behind.

Ka’ra stood on the central platform, armor strapped tight, great club slung over her back, and her eyes hard with resolve. Before her stood over a hundred orcs—young, old, defiant, and broken alike. The reluctant ones stood near the rear, kept in line not by choice but by fear.

Ka’ra’s voice rang out, clear and sharp like a war horn. "You all had a choice. You wasted it."

She swept her gaze across the crowd. "Now hear this. Anyone who stays—anyone who turns back—I will consider them dead."

Murmurs spread. Some gasped. A few clenched their jaws.

She raised a hand. "And I mean it. If you fall behind, I will kill you myself. Burn your body. Scatter your bones. I won’t leave anything for the humans to pick over."

Her words struck harder than fists. No one moved. No one dared to protest.

Chains clinked as Ukar was dragged to the front, wrists and ankles bound in iron. Two young warriors shoved him forward with spears. He didn’t fight them.

Ka’ra didn’t even glance at him.

"Move out," she barked.

And so they marched.

Through ruined brush and scorched hills, across the river that once marked their hunting borders, Ka’ra led them forward. Ukar, once their brutal warlord, now limped behind like an animal ready for slaughter. He said nothing. His eyes stared ahead, blank and unreadable.

Ka’ra occasionally glanced back at him, her mind a knot of disgust and calculation. Maybe I’ll use him as bait, she thought coldly. Let the Moonlight Boars chase him while we escape. Let the dungeon feed on him first.

She didn’t hate him—no, hatred was too pure. She simply had no more use for him, not as a leader, not as a rival. But perhaps as meat for the wolves.

The journey took two days.

By the evening of the third, they finally stood at the edge of a clearing hidden deep in the forest. Trees twisted away from the center like they feared what lay there. The grass was silvery underfoot, and the wind carried an unnatural chill.

And at the center, carved into the belly of a great stone hill, was a dark opening: a wide mouth arched with glowing runes. It pulsed with faint blue light, ancient and ominous.

The orcs halted as one.

"This..." someone whispered. "What is this place?"

"It reeks of magic," growled another.

"Are we walking to our deaths?"

Ka’ra stepped forward, turning to face them all. Her voice was solemn, low and resonant.

"This place was built by spirits," she said. "Not by orc, not by man. Ancient spirits—older than the forest, older than your fears."

The crowd shifted uneasily.

"But why?" someone shouted. "Why would spirits help us?"

Ka’ra took a slow breath. "Because they chose me. I endured. The spirits have watched me. And now they offer us sanctuary."

A long silence.

Then the old crone, her eyes cloudy with age, lifted her arms and shouted, "Long live the ancient spirits!"

Ka’ra stiffened. The words echoed across the trees. A few orcs murmured them too.

The crone shouted again, louder this time. "Long live the ancient spirits!"

A chant rose. Uneven at first, but growing.

"Long live the ancient spirits!"

Ka’ra stood still, letting them chant, hiding the weight in her heart. Because she knew.

She was lying to them all.

This wasn’t the blessing of ancient spirits.

It was a dungeon.

A deadly one.

Built by a man.

And yet... she felt no regret. Only guilt. At least they’ll live, she told herself. At least they’ll be safe for now. Better a lie that protects than truth that dooms.

She raised her arm, and the chant fell quiet.

"Step forward," she commanded. "Step into the Spirit’s Den. Leave your past behind. Enter with fire in your hearts—and you will find strength."

And then, without hesitation, she turned and entered the dungeon first.

The light of the Lunamarite flared.

The orcs followed.

One by one, hundreds of them passed through the stone threshold, their boots echoing against ancient stone, their faces a mix of awe and fear. Even Ukar was pushed through the gate, his chains dragging behind like an omen.

When the last orc disappeared into the dungeon, the clearing fell silent again.

A soft footstep broke the stillness.

From the woods, Shennong emerged, his hands behind his back, his lips curled into a quiet smile.

He watched the last flicker of light disappear into the entrance.

"They really did it," Yenissa’s voice came behind him, smooth and amused.

Shennong nodded. "Yes. They entered the dungeon."

She stepped beside him, her tail flicking lazily.

"Congratulations," she said. "You’ve successfully relocated a hundred orcs into our forest."

He chuckled. "Thank you. I hope they will show me interesting things."

Yenissa raised an eyebrow. "You’re a cruel man."

"I prefer ’curious.’" He reached into his robe and pulled out a bundle.

"What’s that?" she asked.

"Just a few souvenirs." He unwrapped it: human boots, a broken orc helmet, a torn tribal banner. "Leftovers from the old village."

She frowned. "Why?"

He walked to the edge of the clearing and gently laid the items near the dungeon entrance.

"This will attract the humans," he said. "The scent, the signs... they’ll come. Looking for the missing tribe. Looking for war."

Yenissa smirked. "You’re baiting them into the dungeon?"

"I want to see who survives," Shennong said lightly. "Who will beat the first floor. Who dares step into the unknown."

"And what about the next floor?" she asked, eyeing him.

His smile grew. "It doesn’t exist yet, but I have plans."

Yenissa laughed. "You are insane, my boy. I have never been this entertained in my whole life."

"Possibly insane," he replied. "But aren’t all artists?"

She leaned closer. "I like it."

He turned, staring at the dungeon mouth, now silent, now full of new life and danger.

"I’ll let the dungeon rest for a few days," he said. "Let it absorb what I’ve prepared. The orcs. Their fears. Their stories. I want it to grow hungry."

Then he stepped away from the clearing.

"I think it’s time," he added, more to himself than to her.

"Time for what?" Yenissa asked.

"To visit Cassandra’s daughter," he said. "I want to see how she’s doing in that academy of hers."

And with that, he walked into the shadows.

Behind him, the dungeon glowed faintly, pulsing like a newborn heart.

The play had only just begun.

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