"So, that is your suspicion?" Even paused. Taking a deep breath, he flipped the situation and questioned the Leader in return. "Tell me, why would a child of a wealthy family like me be found alone on the seashore?"
Even shifted his gaze from the Leader to the massive Orc standing nearby. "Isn't it obvious? When your companions found me wet and unconscious on the beach, it was clear—I was trying to drown myself."
"You were trying to die? Interesting!" The Leader's voice dripped with disdain.
"Yes," Even added. "The truth is, despite having endless wealth, I am destitute today. After my parents' death, my close relatives took everything from me. They are enjoying the happiness that should have been mine, while my life is filled with nothing but agony. I can no longer bear this burden, so death is the ultimate freedom."
Even didn't realize that, unconsciously, he had woven the bitterness of his own reality into his lie. It wasn't entirely a lie; buried in every layer of his story was the acrid truth of his own past.
"That is a truly magnificent tragedy," the Leader said indifferently, "but I am not interested in your sob story. Still, I understand the situation now. Fine, your wish shall be granted. Tonight, through a grand feast, I will accept you and ensure you find that 'eternal freedom'."
Even watched as the biggest heartaches of his life were dismissed by this monster as mere trifles. But as he realized he had accidentally infused his own painful past into his fabrication, his hands tightened. Thinking of his past made his insides feel heavy, like stone.
But this was no time for mourning. He was a prisoner. He had to escape this slaughterhouse and survive in this cruel world. He now carried a mountain of responsibility—the responsibility to change, to manage himself.
Just as the poison of his own misery bubbled up within him, his meditation was broken by an ear-piercing shout. It wasn't the roar of a beast, but a human voice—bursting with rage, disgust, and extreme arrogance.
"Let me go, you bastards! I've slept with your mothers and spawned you! And now you want to eat your father's flesh? Have you no shame, you pack of bastards?"
Even was stunned. Another human in this hellhole?
He quickly turned around. Another group of Orcs entered with their catch. But the prisoner they held was strangely out of place. The Orcs were dragging him by his legs like a chicken, but his skin was tanned by the scorching sun, and hanging on his back was a tattered duster coat, every fold caked in months of desert dust. The butt of a heavy revolver glinted in the leather holster at his waist, as if he had stepped out of a western movie set.
Because he was hanging upside down, the blood had rushed to his head, turning his face red, but all his attention was on his dusty cowboy hat. The brim was frayed and torn, yet he refused to let go of it.
The captive shouted again, spitting at the Orcs, "What are you looking at, you bastards?"
Even noted the details of his attire. Instead of sturdy denim, he wore a rough, dried-out leather fabric. Even though the holster was loose, the engraved handle of the revolver looked modern and sharp. The way the guy was mocking the Orcs while hanging upside down made it seem like he wasn't a prisoner, but someone sitting in a bar or saloon nursing a drink.
Even couldn't believe his eyes. A strange thought crossed his mind—is this guy crazy?
A strange silence descended upon the Orc camp. The torrent of curses flowing from the man's mouth was nothing but wind to the Orcs. Their hideous faces showed no anger, no irritation—as if they were listening to the chirping of an alien creature.
The Orc holding him by the legs grew annoyed by his shouting and struggling. Without a word, he simply tossed him onto the sand beside Even.
Thump!!
Sand flew up like a cloud of dust. The man landed inches away from Even—lucky to keep his bones intact. But this humiliated 'cowboy' didn't falter. Instead of dusting himself off and sitting up, he sprawled out where he lay and unleashed even more terrifying curses:
"You sons of bitches, you broke my hip! I should have shoved my sword even harder into your mothers so you'd have died while still inside!"
Even froze like a stone. A sharp thorn of suspicion pricked his mind. When Even spoke to them, they understood every word and reacted. Yet, every insult this man spewed was nothing but a string of meaningless noises to them!
Just then, the man's eyes fell on Even. He noticed his hat had come loose and fallen onto the sand. He roared, "Hey pig, pick up my hat and put it on my head! Or I'll crush your bones into dust. You have no idea what a crime it is to insult an adventurer of the Adventurers' Guild!"
'Adventurer'! As soon as he heard the word, lightning struck Even's brain. That meant there was an Adventurers' Guild here!
This was exactly like the novels Even used to read.
Even steeled his resolve—as soon as he escaped, he would find the 'Adventurers' Guild.' Perhaps he wasn't worthy of being an adventurer yet, but this dream was what would keep him alive now.
Seeing Even's dazed expression, the man shouted again. Even returned to reality, reached out, and quickly placed the dusty hat on the man's head.
The Orc Leader sitting on the throne didn't understand a word the cowboy said. To his ears, it was just strange chirping. Curious, he asked Even, "Hey runt, tell me—what is this new human actually saying?"
Even was caught in a dilemma. Should he save this newcomer, or push him into the queue for death?
A split-second decision—no, he had to save him. He crafted a lie from his heart and told the Leader, "This man heard about the festival, and he is ready to die tonight himself. He has the same wish."
Hearing Even speak of his death, the cowboy shouted again, "Bastard! Why would I die? Not tonight, not tomorrow—I didn't come here to die!"
Even remained as stiff as a stone. He wanted to explain to the man, but he couldn't speak directly. He had already realized that, against his will, he had become a strange translator. When he spoke in his own language, the Orcs understood it in theirs, and he could effortlessly understand the Orcs too.
What was the source of this strange power?
Even felt it was some remnant of the System. The System might hate him, might have rejected him, but there were core features still active within him that the System couldn't shut down even if it wanted to. Unconsciously, he had become a glitch or an automated program of the System.
Even suddenly touched his head. He remembered that before being brought here, he had been struck a heavy blow to the head. After regaining consciousness, he hadn't noticed because he felt no pain. But now he realized—the injury from the Orc who had struck him was still there, but it was strangely faded. There was almost no pain; the wound seemed to be healing miraculously. Perhaps while he was unconscious, some invisible power of the System had healed his wounds.
The moment he thought of the System, he whispered the word—a faint blue light played before his eyes. A System notification popped up, cursed Even, and then shut down, as if rejecting him. Even realized that his connection with the System wasn't fully severed; rather, it was entangled with his subconscious mind. He was now certain—the System was annoyed with him, but it couldn't erase him completely.
…
Under the Orc Leader's orders, they were dragged to a corner of the camp—to be kept captive until nightfall. Even tried to stay silent, head bowed, but the cowboy behind him wouldn't stop his chicken-like squawking. Even didn't know his name, nor did he care to. The man kept cursing Even, firmly convinced that his miserable situation was Even's fault.
Even's politeness tempted him to lash out—he wanted to scream with intense hatred, 'You wretched son of a bitch, you're alive because of me!' But for fear of that strange translation power, he kept his mouth shut. Taking any risk in front of those monstrous Orcs meant certain death. He just tried to scan his surroundings carefully.
This place was strange. On one side, scorching sand and dust like a desert; on the other, dense thickets and a thick forest. Their hideout was in the weird junction of desert and forest. Looking into the distance, one could see a dark, dense wilderness—Even's eyes sparkled, this could be his only path to escape.
Their tents were strange. No common designs or craftsmanship—all over the area, there were ugly, triangular tents. Made of leather and coarse fabric, there was no aesthetic to the structures, only blunt barbarism.
As they walked, the Orcs eventually brought them to the main jail. It wasn't a stone dungeon, but a horrific hole dug deep into the earth. It was covered only by torn tarps and animal hides. Not under the open sky, but in a subterranean pit. As they entered, a sharp, pungent odor hit their noses—a toxic mix of rotting meat and fire smoke. The Orcs shoved them into that dark hell. It was pitch black all around, save for the faint light coming through the gaps in the tarp, revealing damp, dark stains on the earthen walls. This was the world of the Orcs—dark, foul-smelling, and cruel.