Black Flame in the Barren Steppe: Epic LitRPG (Realm of Arkon, Book 8)

by G. Akella

  Your reputation has increased. Orcs relate to you with respect.

  Your reputation has increased. Trang an Kharg, Warlord of the Great Horde and Chieftain of the Dragon Skull Clan, is friendly to you.

  "I should hope so." I glanced at the orcs who had just arrived, stopping by the mutilated corpses of their clansmen. I removed my helmet and dabbed the blood from my ruined cheek. My helmet didn't have a scratch on it, and I didn’t even want to guess how Gurkass had managed to land that attack. Trang was alive, though unconscious. The curse had stopped robbing his health, leaving him with only five percent of it. Vaessa would give me a piece of her mind for failing to realize how the curse worked, but if I could survive this, I would survive that. I still found it strange that the poison effect had vanished without any outside aid. Was that thanks to the Blood of the White Dragon? Maybe. But there was nobody I could ask—Lita never responded to my questions these days.

  I approached the orcs lying on the grass, broke the now-useless blackened staff of Gurkass in two with the heel of my boot, then laid the chieftain's son out on the grass. Finally, I looted the last fragment of Jaelitte’s soul from the corpse of the disavowed. There was no other loot since I had taken less than half of his XP, but as usual these days I didn’t give a damn about loot. Nearby, Gloom sniffed guiltily. I ran a hand over the snout of my four-legged friend, sighed, and started wiping off all of the filth that had accumulated there. Disavowed blood, yogurt, flour, seaweed... What a day. Wait, is that raspberry jam? Yes. Yes, it is.

  Your reputation has decreased. Orcs of the Bloody Spear Clan relate to you with hatred.

  The hell! I turned and looked at the approaching soldiers. Seven of them, plus five more standing by the corpses. Their names were red, and the elder, Knugh an Grum, was the head of the Bloody Spear's consulate in Kargalar. Level 400, with one hundred million HP and the look of a veteran killer. The blood brother of Gronn an Ghort that Gurkass had mentioned. Stopping five yards from me, he pointed his five-foot-long flamberge at me and locked his eyes on mine, his gaze drenched with contempt.

  "I don't know where you came from, demon, but you and this bastard of Vill's have just killed seven good orcs." His voice carried notes of steel and pure hatred. He nodded at the chieftain’s son. “We don’t kill the wounded—his father will deal with him. But as for you, prepare to meet your master!”

  What a mess. I had to act quickly. Could I explain the situation? There were no witnesses left. Gloom and I had killed the two disavowed scum before his very eyes, but they looked no different from ordinary orcs. He wouldn't believe Trang, so what could I do? Flash the chieftain's insignia? But then...

  Then the demon in me came storming out. How dare this fanged bastard accuse me, the Prince of Craedia, of serving the Twice Cursed God?!

  By some monumental effort of will, I kept the rage under control. Instead, I nodded at the corpses and tried to sound calm.

  "It was Gurkass who killed your clanmates, orc. These two are the disavowed. They were chopping up the others when I got here. You can check their blades for yourself."

  Apparently, I had failed to fully keep calm—the six other orcs with Knugh adjusted their grips on their axes and moved into a semicircle, keeping their eyes on me and the boar just behind me. They were alert, with no fear in their eyes. Each boasted one hundred million HP. Thankfully, I had no intention of killing any of them.

  "You waste your time on lies, demon." The hatred in Knugh's voice was mixed with scorn now. “I’ll never believe anything a servant of Vill says. Now die!”

  The orc gripped his weapon with both hands and stepped towards me.

  Time for blood, then. The rage no longer knocked at my temples. It had not disappeared, only turned to cold hatred. I grinned and drew my sword, and Gloom roared from behind me.

  "Halt! Weapons down! In the name of the kha'an!"

  The pleasant, throaty female voice cut through the tension hanging over the meadow.

  A moment later, a tall blond orc female emerged from behind the gazebo, leading twenty more female orcs equipped with crossbows, chainmail armor, leather boots, and spotted cloaks. They quickly circled the perimeter and froze in deceptively relaxed postures, their weapons aimed at us. Their commander, Xena an Arhrot, was level 430. She had pale green skin and carried a two-handed sword on her shoulder, plus a party conical helmet with wings and a noseplate. An orcish version of a Valkyrie from old Earth legends. Seeing a wounded Trang on the ground, she closed her eyes lightly with what seemed like relief, and turned to us.

  "What in Bel's name is going on here?!"

  Knugh looked annoyed beyond measure, but neither he nor his fighters made any moves to attack me. And I had to bring the image of Alyona to mind in order to keep myself restrained. A good trick, as long as I used it sparingly. Sensing the shift in my mood, the boar relaxed as well, puffed noisily, and heaved himself down into a lying position on the grass. The pose was deceptive, as the boar could Charge into battle just as fast from it. But there would be no battle, of that I was certain. Everyone was silent for a few seconds, and then Knugh, weary of playing staring games with me, turned to the woman. His voice trembled with rage as he reported his view of things.

  "Are you blind? Can't you see that your..." the orc hesitated for a moment, then glared in my direction, “that the chieftain of the Dragon Skull has shown his true nature? Together with this creature of Vill, they killed my orcs and this shaman of yours. The shaman’s servant had warned me about what would transpire here, but we had no intention of touching Trang. Gronn and his father can decide the orc’s fate, but I must claim my right to revenge against this horned bastard!”

  "Ghata, Arsi, Riena—take Master Trang home, quickly! And get Master Ra'al!" The orcess raised an eyebrow. “Anything to say, demon?”

  I left combat form, brushed the blood from my cheek, and grinned.

  "For five hundred years, Gurkass has deceived you. Vill had recruited him after the Fertan massacre, in which he played an active role. I helped Trang kill him, and killed these two uninitiated disavowed, which this idiot thinks were his people."

  "Are you going to believe him?!" Knugh roared. “Will you dare deny me my revenge?!”

  "Justice in Kargalar is administered by Kha'an Rehan and by him alone." She adopted an official tone. “Knugh an Grum, also known as Knugh the Cruel, you will be invited to the palace. We will inform you in advance of the time.”

  The orc smiled with contempt and gave his followers a short command.

  "Gather the corpses. We're leaving."

  Then he turned to the girl and bowed his head slightly, though both his posture and still tone showed defiance.

  "Or are you about to refuse us that, too?"

  She remained silent. The orc turned and jabbed a finger at my chest.

  "The gods were on your side today, demon, but just you wait. I'll cut off your filthy head soon enough."

  What a moron. Some sentients were so handicapped by anger that it blinded them to the obvious. I'd never name this cretin to head up my consulate. Although it seemed that it was the slain old orc who had been in charge of negotiations. I held his eyes and kept calm.

  "I'm not going anywhere, orc. You’ll pay for your insults, in blood."

  Knugh opened his hand and slowly clenched it into a fist, then turned back to join his orcs.

  The orcs left the meadow five minutes later, after quickly and silently wrapping the corpses in red cloth and collecting the weapons.

  The crossbow-wielding orc women around the perimeter had remained stationary the entire time, besides those that had carried Trang off. How did they get here? Easy. These were the Spotted Shewolves—the all-female special forces, commanded by a great alchemist and friend of Trang's. The girl at the gate who had hurled her shurikens at me, one of which I had yanked from the boar’s armor on the way, wore exactly the same cloak. Had she overheard our conversation? Or questioned the commander of the gate guard for information? Either way, I didn't m
ind their intervention And by the way, whoever said that orc women were ugly ought to get their eyes checked. The lineup here was worthy of a good game of Ask-or-Pass down at the bar. Xena had clearly been modeled after her namesake heroine from Ancient Greek myths, with all the beauty of a Disney princess mixed in. Something about her reminded me of the demonesses I had left behind in Craedia, but with fangs instead of horns. ...Fangs. Those probably made kissing painful now and then... Hart, what's gotten into me?!

  She watched the male orcs depart and then gave her subordinates some instructions. Finally, it was my turn.

  "Why should I believe you, demon? Give me one good reason."

  "You don't have to believe me. Ask your husband when he wakes and believe him instead." I wearily lowered myself to the grass, leaning back against the heaving side of my boar.

  "Trang's not my husband," she squinted ominously.

  I shrugged and reached for my pipe. "That's your business."

  I really should quit smoking. Inhaling tobacco wasn't harmful to my health here, but any addiction was bad news. I would deal with my dependence on this prophecy first, then take on other addictions after. I wanted to believe that, at least.

  "All right, demon..."

  "Prince Krian of Craedia at your service, my lady," I nodded, but made no move to rise. I was tired of this place already. First they wouldn't let me into the city, then I had to save their own chieftain, nearly at the expense of my own life, and how did they express their gratitude? By accusing me of crimes and calling me names. I was grateful to this woman, to be sure, but I really didn’t feel like telling my whole story yet again.

  "Very well, Prince Krian." She closed her eyes again and sighed. I seemed to be getting on her nerves, too. "You said that the kha'an's advisor, Gurkass, was a servant of Vill who deceived us all."

  "Right. For five hundred years straight."

  "How could a demon see through his sham? Did Kahella and Ingvar tell you this? Or maybe Vill himself?!"

  This is just your style, dear. Jaelitte's voice purred in my head. I sense that you’ve found the last piece, have you? Remember to summon me before... And be careful with this girl. She’s not as simple as she seems.

  Very well, I answered my wife, then displayed my title, Marked by the Warrior God, up over my head, and made Ingvar's mark on my cheek visible.

  "Ingvar didn't tell me." I shook my head, then smiled at the dumbfounded girl. "I was there when Gurkass spoke with the Twice Cursed God, because I am the Dreamer."

  Chapter 11

  As Xena struggled for words, one of the women who had carried Trang into the house ran out from behind the gazebo and declared that he was already conscious. Stopping a dozen yards away, she called over her superior officer and started telling her something, with the occasional gesture in my direction. The chief she-wolf's expression darkened with each passing second.

  Your reputation has increased. Xena an Arhrot, Tribune of the Great Horde and Commander of the Spotted She-Wolves elite detachment, is friendly to you.

  It would seem that Trang more than just regained consciousness, but also told his side of the story. Now, Xena seemed far from gullible from our encounter thus far, but a woman would need solid grounds to doubt the word of her man. Unless the matter involved another woman, naturally. Even then, a strong and confident woman wouldn't fly into a fit of jealousy for no reason. The chieftain's son would likely take a long time to fully recover—former NPCs typically regenerated their HP at a slow pace, though this didn't apply to Vaessa or my demons. But for Kan, Raena, Gorm and the others who had joined my clan without altering their stats, their regeneration was one tenth the speed of players. The local NPCs were even worse off. Though they could receive heals while in combat, there were many restrictions. Certain potions and elixirs were subject to an enormous cooldown, and Greater Healing was among them. For Kan and Raena, the cooldown was a whopping two weeks, despite their high level of 327 and having been admitted into my clan. Which meant that for the chieftain's son, the cooldown could be as long as several years. For all his incredible HP, he wasn't a boss to regenerate his health instantly. We both lucked out that Greater Healing wasn't on cooldown when I healed him.

  Speaking of Kan's and Raena's levels, a funny story happened a few days ago, back at that camp with the roasted carps. When Donut noted that neither Kan nor Raena had leveled up since joining us, it turned out that they hadn't confirmed some option or other that had been presented to them upon joining the clan. And who could blame them? It had taken them a few weeks just to used to all the new icons, tables, and lines of text. Thankfully, the experience gained was correctly credited after unlocking the function, resulting in a shock so severe that the pair might have needed psychiatric help if it weren't for Donut and his vast experience. Why? Because in addition to the jump in levels, they also unlocked talent trees. In contrast to the talent trees of players and even my Craedian demons, the trees of Kan and Raena were prebuilt around their actual specializations, with most of the points locked and unavailable for reallocation. Thankfully, the available points were sufficient to pick up several more useful talents and add a ton to stats, which were the stuff of players' dreams to begin with. That was the extent of my knowledge, though, as I had let the others have all the fun playing around with different build ideas. My own character was as crooked as crooked got, and any advice I offered would be handicapped at best. So, I took the time to catch up on sleep—and I might have been the only one sleeping for several consecutive nights. Bonbon ended up suffering the most as Donut promoted him to the honorary role of "target dummy" upon which Kan and Raena would test their new skills. The bald man was rewarded for his devotion and perseverance with a bottle of special dwarven moonshine, which made it all worth it. As for Kan and Raena, when next I saw those two, their faces shone as brightly as Ruination had after draining the life force from the bird-headed freak back at Kirana's Temple. And for good reason! Kan's HP had grown to three million, his damage output by twenty percent, and he claimed to have noticed a significant improvement in his mobility, though he couldn't be sure what stat was responsible for it. As far I was concerned, his speed in battle was already bordering on super sonic, but whatever. Similarly, the sorceress had boosted her HP to over a million and her spellpower by over fifty percent. The upshot was that the party's resilience and firepower, though already formidable, saw significant gains. If only we were up against ordinary enemies, but alas. What was a few percentage points against the likes of Vill and the Ancients? Shoot, what am I thinking about? I'm going to embrace my wife today, at last!

  The sudden realization sent me soaring. Now, yes, I couldn't be certain if she'd still want me or even how she'd behave after being liberated, but it didn't matter. I had given her my word, and I wasn't going to renege on it. Besides, we were already married, so she couldn't well tell me to take a hike. I had plenty of time to win her affection, even if it took another thousand years.

  I reached out and scratched the slumbering razorback behind the ear, smiling. I was looking at the same meadow, but seeing it as if for the first time. Neatly trimmed bushes, decorative flowerbeds, a marble statue of a girl with a falcon on her shoulder, a woven gazebo in the shape of a coachbox... Most books and games portrayed orcs as violent savages, denying them this simple beauty. Alas, writers and game developers oft forget that it's precisely culture that shapes the personality of all sentient beings. I felt a flush of pride that the people behind the Realm of Arkon weren't like the rest. In this respect at least, they proved clever and capable.

  I felt a renewed sense of appreciation for this world. And that I could be here with Alyona and Max, and the rest of the men and women that had become so dear to me. I felt appreciation for Trang and Xena, and even for that asshole Knugh, as without them this world wouldn't be so cool. And in return I would do my damnedest to cleanse it of the blight that would see it destroyed.

  "Bel!" Xena walked over, sat down on the grass next to me, and leaned against t
he boar's side without standing on ceremony.

  My piggy didn't move to protest. He had an interesting, almost reverential kind of attitude toward women, even when sleeping. And they seemed to respond in kind. If it were some random dude in Xena's place, I imagined that his reaction would be very different. On the other hand, Gloom could always tell friends from enemies, and adjusted his attitude accordingly. And sometimes I even felt like I understood what he was feeling. More than anything else, he was longing for his friends. Salta, Reena, Tilly, my sister and that other girl from the Blades. My bodyguards who would keep feeding him fruit. And for Craedia... Or maybe I was projecting my own feelings onto the pig?

  "Is something the matter?" I asked her, welcoming the chance to distract from the somber thoughts.

  "Everything is the matter," she said, staring into nothing in particular. "We came to arrest a crazed demon who had invaded the city, and instead got the Dreamer who has been the talk of the town for weeks." Xena tore off a blade of grass, slipped it in her mouth, and gazed contemplatively at the gazebo. "We had found Chloe's body in the back. She was the gardener here. And when we heard that roar, we knew we had a situation on our hands."

  "It's over now," I fished in the bag for my flask and handed it to her.

  "Aye," Xena nodded, accepted the vessel, took a few big swigs and returned it.

  "Except nothing is over," she sighed, slipping the blade of grass back between her teeth. "In fact, it's only the beginning. The Twice Cursed God's army stands on our border. You saw how empty the city is. All the warriors are waiting to be dispatched to the steppe's border, along with their cohorts."