ALL NOVEL 94. The Difficulty of Fomor Villages Has Increased Slightly
I dreamt about my old family last night. There was nothing special about the dream. We were just doing normal things, but it got me thinking. If it were only for my own selfishness that I was aiming to fix up this world, then it would only be worth that much. But it’s not just for me; it’s for my family: my old family... and my new family.
Today, I woke up feeling motivated to fight in this war.
The group I sent out to gather livestock didn't come back last night. I'm not worried, since I expected it to take two or three days. Durghan is with them, so I've lost a good chunk of my fighting force. The last of the nearby villages isn't anything to worry about, of course. My concern is with the villages past that. The slaves don't know for sure, but I believe there is a chance that there are still trained fighters there.
I will leave the slaves here in the city to protect it while I'm gone. I already knew when I decided to take war slaves that I had to choose whether I would make them fight their own kind. It isn't something I want to do, but I was slightly worried over what to do with the two slaves who couldn't be brainwashed. I was going to give them the choice between being locked up in a room here all day, or coming with me to fight. Before I could, they volunteered to help with the war effort. I don't know if they're planning anything, but I'll accept their help for now.
We will leave as soon as possible. I want everything with the nearby village wrapped up and all my forces reorganized before challenging the next place. I'm leaving my trust in the hands of father, who will be in charge of the city in my absence. He has sixty-eight pregnant Orc women and my child aunt to look after. There used to be more than seventy who were with child, but those that evolved into High Orcs invariably miscarried.
If the rest could stay as Orcs for just a hundred more days--no, then the burden of nursing would be…
We will manage somehow.
“All forces, march!”
***
“Lord Vyra, the last group has returned,” a male High Orc reported to me. That High Orc is actually Kelk, one of the original three members of my hunting group. He was never a very talkative guy, but apparently he had what it took to evolve. There are fewer men than women who have become High Orcs so far, so I feel proud of him.
Twenty four Fomor slaves were gathered from this village. After submitting, they all had lower Will stats than I, so they were all brainwashed and sent back to the village. All the valuables have been plundered and the enemies slain. There are no more loose ends here.
“Good. Everyone gather up! We’re moving to the next location.”
““Yes, Lord Vyra!””
I'm not sure exactly when it happened, but my title seems to have changed from Chief to Lord. It feels a little strange to be called that way, but I'm outnumbered. Also, it doesn't exactly feel strange in a bad way, to be called a Lord.
We run at a steady pace while traveling to the next village. My troops have become accustomed to running long distances. I don't need to heal them nearly as much. I'm surprised they were able to improve to this extent even with healing magic resetting their progress. I've been pushing them, huh?
Once the edge of the village enters the range of my
Once the whole village seems to be in range, I stop advancing and take a look at the numbers. It’s exactly what I was worried about.
Fomor Villagers: 37; Fomor Soldiers: 8; Fomor Demon Priests: 1; Small Baphomets: 0.
That Demon Priest, I bet he serves as something like the chief in Fomor villages. He must inhabit that one decorated tent that’s been present in every village so far. To be honest, I've been wondering why I haven't seen more of them, considering they didn't show up on the battlefield against the Expansionist Orcs.
More importantly, if that title means anything, that guy can use the Demonic attribute.
I will not be preemptively offering this village the chance to surrender. The strong ones must be eliminated without time to resist.
Combining two of my favorite children,
Now what does
Fomor Villagers: 18; Fomor Soldiers: 5; Fomor Demon Priests: 1; Small Baphomets: 0.
What? So many survived?
They're all of the same race. Could there be that much disparity between the defenses of combatants and noncombatants?
Crap. Since they heard screaming, the others will be rushing in. I'll have to whittle down the numbers at least once more, or there will be casualties.
However, in the middle of casting a second spell, I sense something terrible coming my way. I interrupt my casting to dodge the black orb of energy that came flying toward me from the direction of the village.
[[Curse Orb: first level Demonic attribute spell. Damages health and inflicts fear on contact.]]
That Demon Priest, right? How did he know where I was?
No, of course he knew. Just like I could sense that attack coming toward me, he can sense me too. That’s one of the effects of the Holy and Demonic attributes. I hadn't noticed because I had
I quickly check up on this Demon Priest’s status.
He’s a squishy (by Fomor standards) pure Mage build with a balanced set of skills. I noticed one called
I can't underestimate his defense and attack. Weak points seem to be mobility and physical stamina. I don't want a long battle, so let’s pick on his bad mobility. Too bad for him he’s just a Fomor with a bit of magic instead of a Small Baphomet. Their levitation really was great. I'm jealous how easy they made flying look.
Since my location is known regardless and the others are charging onto the scene, I also run toward the village. More specifically, I run toward the priest. He repeatedly throws spells at me, but I just effect layers upon layers of
He’s probably struggling against the fear debuff right now. I've been there. It’s terrible.
But I won't have mercy on my enemy. Using my swiftest attack, I jump and thrust my Demonic bone mace into the priest’s throat. There is an unpleasant sound as his windpipe is crushed. The priest loses consciousness and I deal the finishing blow. For the first time, I feel… dissatisfaction with my weapon. My hands are itching to grasp something, but I don't know what it is. What’s with this feeling?
Well, I don't have time for that right now. The soldiers left in the village naturally came charging when they saw their priest-chief being attacked. I seem to have aggroed four of them. I can take them on my own, but I might receive some damage. I appreciate Varoon, who came to help me. Urmsur, Dodoran, and Kelk seem to be teaming up on the last Fomor soldier. Momma is mowing down the villagers as she pleases, and the regular troops are pitching in wherever they can, though most have submitted themselves to corpse-gathering duty.
We only gained two slaves from this village. It can't be helped. The stronger the enemy is, the more likely it will become a situation of us or them. Every time I start to feel bad about slaughtering them, I have to remind myself what will come next summer. Fomor children are born at the end of winter. Their numbers will swell, and they will use that Summer Tribute of theirs to gain the Demonic attribute and evolve. I won't allow that to happen.
Search tells me there’s nothing else nearby to worry about.
“Alright. Gather all the loot! We’re going home.”
The boys start running around the village, taking just about everything that isn't nailed down. We’ve brought plenty of wagons. Meanwhile, I'm looking down at my Demonic bone mace, turning it over in my hands.
There are some cracks in it. The Small Baphomets have bones similar to the Demonic Wolf Beast I got this from. Thanks to that,
Is that why I felt strange wielding it just now? Maybe it’s on its last legs…
“What you thinking about, baby?” Momma came over and asked. She’s covered in blood, with her axe resting upon her shoulder. It isn't as dissonant to her appearance as it probably should be. I probably look worse, to be honest.
“I don't know. I think I want a new weapon.”
“Oh? Is yours broken?” Momma grinned and hefted her blade. “Does baby want to try a good axe?”
“No, I'm not a fan of things like swords or axes.”
Something about the balance, or maybe the bladed edge. I don't really like sharp things, to be honest. I have healing skills now, but I'm still afraid to cut myself. A heavy, blunt weapon should be just perfect for someone like me.
“Hnnf,” I heard Varoon snort behind me, and I looked to see him stifling a laugh. What’s funny?
After apparently bringing up his mood, Varoon threw me some food for thought. “Hey, Vyra, have you thought maybe a Dominance Orc has a specific weapon preference?”
“Weapon preference? Wouldn't it be the same as my own?”
“I'm just saying it’s possible. Orcs tend to like axes and clubs. My race, which is a War Orc with a Monk mutation, is better with bare fists. Maybe Dominance Orcs have some special weapon that’s suited to them.”
Ah, it could be, but, “Now that you mention it, I've been meaning to ask you about that, brother. You’re part Magic Beast?”
He tilted his head. “What, you knew already?” He cast a fleeting glare at momma.
“What you is staring at? I wasn't telling her.”
Brother’s expression relaxed somewhat, then he gave a comeback with a snort. “Mnph, of course. You don't tell my sister anything, Oolga.”
Momma released a rare glare from her squinted eyes, so I hurriedly acted to defuse the situation. “I knew on my own. I have a skill called
It’s a lie, obviously. I've used it on just about everybody and everything by now, but I don't want to be thought of as someone who peeks into other people's private matters. Besides, it’s not like I judge much, and I'm not going to spread the information.
Varoon blinked and drew back at my shouting, but he didn't get angry. “So you had a skill like that. You have a lot of skills, don't you, Vyra?”
“Eh? That’s,” I'm somewhat caught off guard by that statement. Momma answered before I could recover completely.
“Your lore knowledge is weak, Varoon. The Orc Lord is having a god-like soul. My baby can learn as many skills as there are in the world.”
Instead of getting mad at momma again, he turned to me in surprise. Brother's eyes are on the small side, since he’s an Orc, but they're wide open.
“Yeah, that’s how it is,” I confirmed it for him. Though I will reach the upper limit eventually. I'm 0.03% full as it stands, and I'm only 97 days old. It’ll only be a few years at this rate.
Varoon sighed. “I want to yell at you for cheating, but I still think you're working too hard. Not that I can blame you. No, if it were me instead, I might be working even harder.”
Brother, what the hell? Ah, no, I don't want to let this chance slip while we’re on the topic.
“Momma, will your
“Mm, so we would know when the Fomors have been thoroughly eradicated, right?”
As expected of my brother. He gets it.
Momma smiled. “It might tell me. So when has baby been using your skill on me, I wonder?”
“A-ah? No, um--” I almost said Fiara told me about it. That was close. “Is it strange to be curious about my momma?”
Her smile widened and she shook her head. “It’s not strange. I thinking it’s best if baby peeks on everyone you can. You said your skill was called
Why say it so weirdly like that? “Um, the spirits say it’s a rare skill, but I got it easily. Do you know anything about it, momma?”
“Do baby want to know?”
That playful smile--won't you just tell me if you know? Ah, but I can't hate you if you're like that.
“Please tell me.”