Chapter 100: The Saru Tribe
The freezing wind shrieked through bare, skeletal branches. Gugell trudged through the snow-laden forest, his mind heavy with the weight of his tribe's survival.
The last breeding boar in the livestock pens had been slaughtered and fed to the tribesmen only days ago. This winter had overstayed its welcome. If spring did not arrive soon, the piglets that hadn't even reached maturity would face a similar fate.
A few days prior, several elder Orcs had quietly vanished. They offered no goodbyes; they simply walked out of the camp into the biting dark of the night. It was their final gift—saving the last of the precious rations for the young.
Gugell tightened his grip on his heavy stone axe and looked toward the sky. The future of this land was as bleak and gray as the clouds above, offering not a single glimmer of light.
"ROAR—!"
A high-pitched, thunderous squeal snapped Gugell back to reality. He whipped his head toward the sound. There, standing in a clearing of deep powder, a wild boar of monstrous proportions glared at them. Frost clung to its massive tusks, and every breath it exhaled erupted in plumes of thick white steam.
Gugell exchanged a look with his fellow hunters. In an instant, the embers of excitement ignited in their eyes.
"Prepare for battle!" Gugell let out a low growl.
The boar gave them no time to coordinate. It dug its hind hooves into the earth and launched. Its massive bulk moved like a runaway juggernaut, thundering across the snow.
The hunters didn't panic. Years of skirmishing with mabeasts had forged their instincts into iron. As the boar lunged, they scattered with predatory agility, narrowly avoiding the lethal impact.
The boar slammed into empty air, plowing a deep trench into the frozen ground. Before it could recover its footing, the horn of battle had already sounded.
A nimble Orc warrior lunged from the flank, his lasso whistling through the air. The loop snagged the boar's hind leg with surgical precision. He quickly wrapped the other end around a sturdy oak, pulling back with all his might to anchor the beast.
The boar squealed in pain and fury. With a violent toss of its head, it unleashed a strength so immense it sent the warrior and his rope flying through the air.
Gugell didn't attempt a head-on collision. He waited for the split second the boar turned. He cut in from the blind spot, his stone axe tracing a heavy, devastating arc. The wind whistled as the blade swung toward the creature's flank.
BOOM!
The axe collided with the boar's hide, producing a muffled, bone-deep thud. The massive beast staggered, its skin torn into a bloody mess.
The agony drove the mabeast into a true frenzy. It abandoned all other targets, focusing its entire murderous intent on Gugell. Gugell had predicted this; he retreated instantly, drawing the beast away to create openings for his team.
The hunters moved with seamless coordination. Some acted as decoys, hurling stones and short spears to draw the beast's gaze. Others used the terrain to wear down its stamina. Gugell remained the hammer, waiting for the perfect micro-second to strike.
The battle dragged on. The boar was now covered in gashes, its breathing heavy and wet, its charges losing their terrifying velocity. The Orc warriors were gasping for air, but their eyes grew brighter with the scent of victory.
Finally, as the boar missed yet another charge, Gugell saw his opening. He let out an earth-shaking roar, his muscles bulging beneath his skin. He channeled every ounce of his strength into his arms, raising the stone axe high above his head.
"DIE!"
A spark of black lightning—a low-tier elemental discharge—flickered along the blade as it descended with the weight of an executioner's sentence. It struck the boar's neck with surgical accuracy.
CRACK!
A sickening, tooth-aching sound of vertebrae shattering echoed through the woods. The boar's body went rigid. The murderous light in its eyes dimmed instantly, and the massive creature crashed into the snow, kicking up a white cloud.
The hunt was a success.
The hunters erupted into cheers, jumping and howling around their prize.
"Gugell! You did it!"
"The First Warrior for a reason!"
"We eat like Kings tonight!"
Back at the village, the female Orcs and children had been digging through the snow for frozen roots. Had the hunters returned empty-handed, they would have boiled the roots in snowmelt to survive another day.
Suddenly, a young Orc pointed toward the treeline and screamed, "The hunters! They're back!"
The tribe swarmed the returning party. Seeing the massive boar being hauled by the grinning warriors, a wave of genuine, soul-felt joy swept through the camp.
Gugell grinned, revealing rows of thick, ivory tusks. The smiles of his people washed away the gloom of the morning. He hoisted his axe over his shoulder and strode to the central clearing.
Fire was brought to life. The orange glow danced across the faces of the Orcs, warding off the winter chill. The boar was set over the flames; fat sizzled and dripped into the embers, releasing an aroma of roasted meat and woodsmoke that set every stomach growling.
Every Orc received a steaming portion. Even the smallest cub sat gnawing on a bone larger than its head, grease-smeared and letting out whimpers of satisfaction. For a few hours, the tribe forgot the hunger, the cold, and the fear.
Gugell tore into a charred, succulent leg of pork. As the hot juices hit his tongue, he felt his strength returning. He reached for another piece, but his hand froze mid-motion.
His gaze drifted past the cheering crowd, through the flickering wall of the bonfire. He looked toward the river—now a solid, unmoving sheet of ice at the edge of the camp.
On the opposite bank, a lone figure stood in the darkness.
A skeleton.
In an heartbeat, the world went silent. The laughter died. The chatter vanished. Every Orc noticed the uninvited guest. They reached for their weapons, their eyes narrowing with instinctual hostility as they stared across the ice.
"Undead..." a voice whispered beside Gugell.
The Tribe Shaman stood up, leaning on a staff decorated with bone and feathers. As a Tier 2 Magic User, his face was a mask of unshielded shock as he sensed the aura across the water.
"That Mana... it's immense. That is a Tier 4 Skeleton Archmage."
Tier 4.
In the entire tribe, Gugell was the strongest, and he was only a Peak Tier 2 Warrior. The gap between them was an abyss.
But Gugell did not flinch. He stood up, grabbing his heavy axe, and began to stride toward the riverbank.
"I don't care about its rank!" Gugell growled, his muscles coiling. "If it dares set foot on Saru land, I'll crush every bone in its body!"
Just as Gugell's foot was about to touch the frozen river, the Skeleton Archmage moved. It slowly raised a bony hand toward the sky.
"[EL JIWAL]!"
A bolt of purple lightning tore through the air, striking the ground beside Gugell. The explosion left a jagged, smoking crater in the frozen earth.
"SUBMIT."
A voice—cold, hollow, and utterly devoid of emotion—rang out. It did not travel through the air; it resonated directly within the consciousness of every Orc present.
"THIS IS THE ONLY DESTINY REMAINING FOR YOUR TRIBE."
The voice echoed in their souls, carrying an irresistible authority.
"TO DEFY THE WILL OF THAT PERSONAGE IS TO INVITE ANNIHILATION."
Gugell stopped.
The Skeleton Archmage's Soul Fire scanned the Orcs with chilling indifference. There was no mockery, no pity. Only the cold weight of a fact.
"I REQUIRE YOUR ANSWER BY SUNSET TOMORROW."
With that, the creature turned and vanished into the night, not deigning to look at the terrified tribe a second time.
Left behind were the Orcs, standing in a daze, and the echoes of an ultimatum that reeked of the grave.
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