Chapter 82: The Rhinoceros-Armored Beast

The group trekked through that eerie region of fog for three whole days. It was not until the fourth day that the mist began to thin—no, to be precise, it was not that the mist itself was dissipating, but rather that they were finally nearing the edge of the fog’s domain. This meant that the orc settlement was not far ahead.

Orcs were massive and burly, each of their strides equal to three or even four of a human’s. Moreover, the stamina of these four orcs could only be described as monstrous. For four days straight they had been on the move, barely pausing except for essential sleep. Even meals were eaten on the go—if hunger struck, they would simply gnaw on whatever rations they had prepared. As for the orcs, natives of this forest, food was never a concern for them. In fact, they would eat almost anything—be it tough, unpalatable green plants, or the still-bleeding flesh of freshly slain magical beasts. As long as it could be swallowed, they would devour it without hesitation.

Witnessing this, a strange thought stirred in Weir’s mind: these orcs were born warriors! With their formidable physiques and bloodthirsty natures, what terror might they unleash if gathered into an army of sufficient size? In terms of strength, it would take three human soldiers to barely withstand a single orc. As for efficiency, an orcish army might well rival the speed of human cavalry.

Yet such a fearsome presence stood right on the borders of the Vira Empire—and what had that empire done in response? If these orcs ever chose to invade, what could the empire possibly use to halt their onslaught? On the vast Trelora Plains, there was not even a token patrol to maintain order, let alone a full imperial army.

For the Vira Empire, this was an ever-present, deadly threat.

The more he thought about it, the more Weir’s brow furrowed—until, unexpectedly, he smiled wryly to himself and muttered, “Strange… I’m not even from the Vira Empire, so why should I worry about a country that isn’t mine? Weir, you don’t belong here. You’re not part of any empire on this continent, nor even of this era… You’re just a stranger passing through.”

“So why am I troubling myself with these worries?”

With a self-deprecating laugh and a hint of inexplicable bitterness on his face, Weir shook off his unease. He was not the sort to indulge in gloomy thoughts for long. Soon, he cast aside his worries and turned his mind elsewhere, for they had at last emerged from the fog.

After four days, Weir was finally greeted by the long-missed sunlight. The first thing he did upon stepping out of the mist was to strip off his thoroughly soaked clothes and bask bare-chested in the sun. Although he could have used his mastery over fire to dry his garments, for someone who had spent days in the fog, denied even a sliver of sunlight, with not a single dry patch on his body, nothing felt more blissful than simply soaking in the sun’s warmth.

When Sarna and the other orcs stepped out, they too were dripping wet, but such things hardly concerned them. They merely glanced oddly at Weir, then did what most beasts do after being drenched—they shook themselves vigorously, flinging water from their fur in all directions.

“No wonder they’re called orcs,” Buck, the man with the triangular eyes, sighed unexpectedly. He wrung out his clothes with effort and turned to Weir, who still sat on the ground. “Boss, looks like they don’t intend to rest here.”

“Oh, what a pity,” Weir replied with a touch of resignation. He grabbed his clothes, stood up, glanced at the orcs already preparing to move on, and said lightly, “Let’s go…”

After leaving that uncanny foggy region, they journeyed another two days before finally emerging from the forest. Along the way, Weir encountered magical beasts he had never seen before, as well as many orcs.

Just as when the werewolf Daken first laid eyes on Weir, almost every orc who saw the two humans, Weir and Buck, had a glint of bloodthirsty greed in their eyes. Weir was certain that, were it not for Sarna, these savage orcs would have long since torn him apart for supper. It was only Sarna’s presence that kept them at bay—Daken and the two minotaur companions offered no such protection.

Weir had noticed from the start that, aside from Daken and the pair of minotaurs trailing behind them, almost all other orcs kept their distance from Sarna. They seemed unwilling to approach him, yet dared not provoke him either—a mixture of fear and resentment.

As Weir puzzled over this, a sudden roar of a magical beast echoed from nearby. Looking ahead, he saw a towering beast, three or four meters tall, bellowing furiously. Weir recognized it at once—a mid-tier armored rhinobeast. Though only of middle rank, even such a beast boasted defenses on par with high-level magical creatures. The rhinobeast was slow, but its attacks were unnaturally powerful, and its formidable defenses were notorious.

Yet now, this rhinobeast was trapped, unable to move, surrounded by four or five orcs wielding oversized war hammers. They struck repeatedly, and even from a distance, Weir could hear the thunderous impacts as the hammers collided with the beast’s armored hide.

Among the orcs attacking the rhinobeast, one minotaur stood out—a giant nearly three meters tall, only half a head shorter than the beast itself. His physique was intimidating and, though he gripped a heavy hammer, his movements were astonishingly swift. The rhinobeast’s tail lashed at him, but he evaded with a single leap, vaulting three or four meters into the air to land on the creature’s opposite side. With a mighty swing, he brought his hammer down hard on the rhinobeast’s back, leaving a deep dent in its armor. Before the beast could react, the minotaur rained several more crushing blows upon it.

With a heartrending howl, the rhinobeast’s mountain-like body convulsed, as if trying to break through the encirclement. But at that moment, the minotaur lunged forward, raised his hammer with a single hand, and brought it down with a terrifying force that sent a gust of wind whipping through the air. With a deafening crash, he struck the beast’s head, and in a single blow, the armored rhinobeast collapsed, blood seeping from its eyes and mouth. After a few gasping breaths, it lay still.

Damn! That was an armored rhinobeast! To think it was killed by sheer brute strength alone?

Stunned by the scene, not only Buck but even Weir felt a chill run through his heart.

So this… this was the might of the orcs.