Chapter 87: The Damn Old Man

Among the orcs, Nasa possessed the greatest strength. Even Philo, who was renowned for his extraordinary brute force, was no match for him. Moreover, Nasa held the highest status; whether it was Daken the werewolf or Philo, both followed his words with near unquestioning obedience. At the same time, Nasa’s origins were the most enigmatic. This was evident even from his appearance: he bore the noble beastkin bloodline of the Behemoth tribe, yet his face was unmistakably human. These two traits alone were enough to set the imagination wild regarding his true identity.

“Let’s go,” Nasa said to Vell, his words brief. When it came to the human tongue, Nasa was clearly far more adept than Daken; at least, he could utter a whole sentence without stumbling over his words like Daken, who always seemed to be chewing his own tongue.

“Go? Us?” Vell seemed to realize something. He turned and glanced back. To his surprise, Daken had said something to the others, and, including Buck, they all paused in confusion before collectively taking a step back. This bizarre reaction left Vell utterly perplexed.

Nasa gave Daken and the others a faint, somewhat peculiar look, then remarked to Vell, “It seems they’re not willing to go.”

“Uh, in that case, I also…” Vell began to say he’d rather stay behind as well, but Nasa, as if he’d anticipated this response, cut him off. “Don’t you want to see that woman? She’s gravely injured, you know…”

Only then did Vell realize that Nasa was not nearly as cold or rigid as he appeared. When Vell looked up, he clearly caught a fleeting, inexplicable glint of amusement in Nasa’s eyes.

“Of course, I mean, since they’re unwilling, then it’ll just be the two of us,” Vell, never one to be stubborn, rolled his eyes and grinned. “But before we go, you should at least tell me where we’re headed, right?”

“To see the High Priest,” Nasa replied, glancing at Vell. Then he added, “An old man so infuriating you’ll grind your teeth in hatred.”

…

Truth be told, Vell was intensely curious about what kind of person this High Priest could be.

From Nasa’s words and demeanor, Vell could tell that this so-called High Priest must be an exceedingly troublesome figure. Otherwise, given the status of a priest—let alone the High Priest—among the beastkin, no one would dare refer to him as “that damned old man.”

Surely, he couldn’t be the sort of fanatic who would immediately call for someone to be sacrificed as a living offering upon meeting, could he?

Vell’s thoughts wandered chaotically as they walked, when suddenly Nasa, leading the way, turned to inform him that they were nearly there.

“So soon?” Vell looked up in mild surprise, only then realizing that they had unconsciously wandered into a secluded alleyway, where hardly a trace of beastkin could be seen. Not far ahead, a massive yet rudimentary shed sat alone, exuding an inexplicably eerie aura.

He didn’t want to go in. Yes, that was precisely the feeling! Each time Vell attempted to take a step closer to the shed, an inexplicable sense of discomfort welled up within him. Though nothing had actually happened, it felt as if a blaze was being forcibly quenched in his chest, leaving him vexed—deeply, unreasonably vexed.

“Do you feel it?” Nasa glanced at Vell, and for once a playful smile touched his lips. “This is just the beginning. I assure you, when you actually meet that old man, this feeling will be dozens—no, hundreds—of times stronger.”

“I’m already starting to regret this…” Vell gave a wry smile as Nasa strode into the shed ahead of him.

Upon entering, Vell was surprised to find not a room, but a small, courtyard-like clearing. The area was utterly empty, and only behind this plot of open ground were the living quarters themselves.

The room was spacious and tidy; aside from the bare essentials of tables and chairs, there was hardly a single item of clutter, which lent the space an odd sense of emptiness. Notably, there wasn’t even a single window, and the pitch-black interior gave one a chill.

Vell circled the large room, finding not a soul. About to question Nasa, he suddenly sensed something—his instincts as a mage far more acute than those of most, especially in such quiet surroundings. Whipping around, he called out sternly, “Who’s hiding back there?”

No answer came, but Vell was undeterred, lowering his voice and repeating his question. Only then did some faint movement stir in the shadows.

“Heh heh, not bad, boy. Your senses are surprisingly keen…”

What? Human speech? Vell blinked in surprise, for the man’s laughter was anything but pleasant—a thin, mocking cackle that grated on the ears, prompting an involuntary frown.

“High Priest, I’ve returned!” Like Vell, Nasa clearly found the laughter distasteful, but he still respectfully pounded his fist to his chest in a salute.

“Mm… Nasa, I already know everything. Heh heh, you’re eager to leave me, aren’t you?” The figure in the darkness gave another oily laugh, not waiting for Nasa’s reply. “Don’t bother denying it. I know exactly what’s on your mind… heh heh…”

Nasa’s face turned pale. Though the light was dim, Vell, standing nearby, could see beads of cold sweat forming on Nasa’s brow.

For a moment, neither spoke. The oppressive atmosphere seemed to congeal, thick enough to stifle breath.

“Very well, you may go,” the shadowy figure finally declared. Nasa, hearing this, let out a visible sigh of relief, bit his lip hard, and left the room without another word—not even glancing at Vell.

In an instant, only Vell and the mysterious occupant remained in the gloom.

Once again, the air seemed to freeze; the uncanny mood made Vell deeply uneasy. Just then, the person hidden in the darkness suddenly spoke: “Boy, why are you still hanging around here, refusing to leave?”