Chapter 58

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Chapter 58: Half Orc

Larry was stunned by what he saw in front of him for several seconds. Then, he hurried towards the petite figure, trying to rescue Anthony from the girl with animal ears. As he rushed towards her, she didn’t even flinch, instead she forcefully struck out with her empty hand. The impact hit Larry hard in the stomach, causing him to stagger back, fall to the ground, and vomit.

This girl’s petite body was definitely full of muscles in every corner.

Michelle ran towards Larry in shock, while the surrounding people whispered among themselves, hesitant to interfere. The visitors from Lame Leg Street witnessed Larry’s fate but were too scared to intervene due to the terrifying presence of the she-wolf. The Craftsman Dwarf and human staff were intimidated, the Amazonians turned a blind eye, and Mavis was nowhere to be found. The middle-aged merchant’s face turned ashen as he struggled to remove the claw from his neck but it remained firmly in place. His legs kicked futilely in the air, blood gushing from his neck, his eyes rolling back in his head.

"Marion, let go!" Tasha said.

Thud! The human merchant’s body collapsed to the ground like a punching bag. Coughing and gasping for breath, he scrambled away from the girl of a different race, fearing she might change her mind. Michelle and Larry quickly scrambled back into the carriage, while the other residents of Lame Leg Street retreated a few meters away, unaware of what had happened, as Tasha’s voice resounded only in Marion’s ears.

"Good child," she said soothingly, "take a deep breath, everything will be okay."

Marion let out a frustrated growl, her tail whipping through the air like a whip, her bared fangs changing length with her breath, her nails digging into her palms. "He’s talking about slaves!" the Worgen girl said, too angry to speak clearly, "He’s saying – slaves!"

She shouted this out, even to this day Marion still struggled with telepathic communication. Her eyes still fixed on the panicked merchant as if she might pounce on him at any moment, Anthony looked like he was about to have a heart attack. Tasha said, "Come to me, Marion."

"I’m going to kill him!" Marion thought to herself, probably not mastering telepathy, but thinking too loudly. "I’m going to bite his throat out, tear his guts out! Damn slave trader! Don’t even think about going back!" A bunch of bloody thoughts crowded her mind, mixed with chaotic howls of wolves, so Tasha spoke again, "Come back, let’s talk."

The tone of her words was a bit colder than before, faintly warning, not as friendly but very effective. The restless beast in Marion’s body was restrained by the reins around her neck, she glared angrily at Anthony, then turned and walked back to the dungeon.

"He said he wants to buy and sell slaves!" the Worgen girl complained to Tasha, "He wants to buy and sell my people!"

"That’s why you have to keep him alive," Tasha said, "We need his connections to buy Orc slaves."

Marion widened her eyes.

"What do you think?" Tasha asked, "Kill everyone involved in Orc slave trade?"

"They deserve to die!" Marion said angrily.

"But what we need to discuss is not whether they deserve to die or not," Tasha said. "Have you thought about the feasibility of doing this? How will you find and kill all the people involved in the slave trade, one by one? Even if you can do it, what will happen after you kill them all? Will the Orc slaves be safe and sound then?"

Marion’s expression seemed to say, "Why not?"

"Have you been to Ribe Lake?" Tasha asked again.

The Worgen girl shook her head. She had heard that Ribe Lake was a big city a little to the north, but she had never been to a big city before.

Perhaps she had been there when she was a slave. From the age of seven when she was captured to the age of eleven when she successfully escaped, Marion vaguely remembered being transported with some others of her kind in cages to different places. The places where they were kept were always similar, either underground or surrounded by very high walls, completely unknown. After successfully escaping, Marion roamed the wilderness, only stealing necessities from small places at night, as going to a big city was like walking into a trap.

She never saw her kind again, never saw her tribe again.

It’s no wonder, Tasha thought.

"Do you know how many Orc slaves there are in Ribe Lake?" Tasha asked.

"I don’t know…" Marion said, hesitating with Tasha’s encouragement, "Seven or eight…?"

"I don’t know either." Tasha said, "Too many to count."

Marion stood still, surprised.

The dungeon possessed Marion’s soul, allowing Tasha to read the memories, emotions, and current thoughts of the Worgen girl. Therefore, Tasha quickly understood the reason for Marion’s reaction: limited by her experiences, she lacked awareness of her own kind’s current situation.

Marion thought there were only a few of their kind left, survivors from when they were captured together. But in reality, despite the scarcity of wild Orcs, Orc slaves were not rare.

Only a few remaining individuals cannot form an industry.

Prior to this, Tasha was also almost clueless about this. The information she obtained from the dungeon residents was incomplete, and a firsthand look was needed for a clear understanding. In the large city of Ribe Lake, she saw many half-orcs hidden in plain sight, like an open secret.

There was a pointed tent, decorated fancifully and beautifully, resembling a candy house in a carnival at first glance. People also called it the "circus," but the tent’s exterior was not the usual red and green of a circus, but pink. The clustered tents were located on the west side of Ribe Lake city, quiet during the day and bustling with activity at night. Most of the members residing in the tents were women, with a few men, chained and scantily dressed, engaging in one of humanity’s oldest professions. Their Orc heritage was not prominent, with some having only one animal-like ear while the other ear belonged to a human.

In contrast, the half-orcs in the affluent district of Ribe Lake were more Orc-like. The mixed-blood slaves raised by the wealthy had a set of selection criteria, with several in every household here, seemingly a trend or a status symbol like purebred horses. They served dishes at banquets, resembling exquisite little cakes, their inhuman features accentuated flamboyantly. Guests marveled at their ears and tails, while the hosts casually mentioned how difficult it was to acquire such a Hybrid.

"You know, some old-fashioned people still believe that keeping a live one is an act of treason." They pointed to their heads and smiled knowingly. The lady used her carefully decorated nails to pinch the face and ears of the Orc slave with a fan covering her mouth, sighing that even the best specimen could not compare to a live one.

Aryan publicly maintains the Hybrid threat theory. If they strictly follow the rules, the captured Hybrids would either be executed on the spot or confiscated. But just like how tax evasion is hard to eradicate, the illegal Orc slave trade has a long history in the dark corners, being one of the important commodities in the black market.

If the total number of half-orcs in Ribe Lake were to be counted, Marion would be greatly surprised.

With such a large number, a nearly mature slave trade, can it really be resolved as simply and brutally as Marion thinks?

Even if a balance was secretly reached with the manager of Ribe Lake, this cannot be accomplished.

Killing all the slave traders, a task that even Aryan’s officials couldn’t achieve, is a pipe dream for the dungeon. Forcing the mayor of Ribe Lake and the acting governor to strongly stop the Orc slave trade from Tasmania will surely interfere with many people’s interests, potentially attracting unnecessary attention (which the dungeon currently tries to avoid), and will only make the slave traders run with their slaves to places beyond Tasmania, beyond the reach of the law.

Like the fable of the sun and the wind, hoping that those who would risk everything for profit would abandon a bit more of the risk, it’s better to offer them incentives to voluntarily send Orc slaves here.

Would this escalate the slave trade and further harm wild Orcs? Come on, A good case scenario in Aryan is not comparable to real-world situations like "kind people buying birds for release leading to more endangered birds." Here, even without the slave trade, humans wouldn’t show mercy to Hybrids. To some extent, Orcs are not extinct yet, thanks to the slave trade.

Not to mention, Tasha didn’t buy slaves to release them.

Anthony was dressed nicely, but his shirt had a loose thread at the collar and his pants had a stain on them. The faded white marks revealed that the businessman’s financial situation was not good. Ribe Lake’s market was competitive and constantly changing. Anthony used to own a factory, but now he was almost bankrupt, so he took a risk coming here.

He tried to convince Tasha to invest in his factory and make the products stand out, but all his boasting meant nothing to Tasha. She valued the factory itself, with its innovative water-powered machines and steam engines fueled by charcoal, over luxury items.

Tasha may not have magical powers, but her knowledge and experience helped her manage the factory. She believed practical knowledge was more useful than anything else. The missing pieces of industrial knowledge were filled by the hardware facilities, and she had skilled workers who could decipher this knowledge.

Why did private factories only produce luxury goods? Because water and wind power were unstable and inefficient, and charcoal consumption was huge. If the products didn’t sell at a good price, operating the machines would lead to losses. Aryan had no coal mines or oil but had Magic Stones to power magical technology.

War brought samples of magical technology, and the Craftsman Dwarf quickly learned from them. As the dungeon could hardly find Magic Stones for expansion, it was clear that the lack of resources caused magical technology to disappear from Aryan’s stage.

In a dungeon that could produce Magic Stones, the stones were a renewable energy source.

Great!

For each type of magical weapon the Craftsman Dwarf analyzed, the workshop in the dungeon could generate blueprints for manufacturing that weapon. Tasha believed in applying magical technology to production and life, taking inspiration from the ancient ancestors who invented various magical devices.

After this experiment succeeded, Tasha would need a large number of workers.

"Is this the reason you bought this pile of trash?" Victor said suspiciously, "If you had chosen a male body, I could understand… So you really do prefer females?"

The first group of half-orcs were brought here by carriage, aged between their teens and thirties, all females, wearing nothing. Marion, waiting at the gate, froze as soon as she opened the carriage door, realization flashed across her face, followed by a surge of anger. The merchant who planned to take credit saw the situation turning bad and immediately ran away.

The staff brought fabric to cover them, and the Amazonian lent clothes to the warrior women, which hung loosely on the half-orcs. Mavis’s medical team quickly got busy. Most of the people on the carriage were in poor health, and even the healthiest ones seemed dull and weak. They walked clumsily, clearly having not walked in a long time. One tall girl had severe deformities in her ankles; she must have been very young when she started wearing shackles, as the metal had never been changed during her growth.

"This is already the best batch!" Anthony claimed, "The higher-class ones are not for sale to ordinary merchants and are not available at all times. However, my contact said that if we can maintain this fixed purchase amount, we might get discounts in the future…"

Anthony had never seen how elves with pointed ears lived here; he clearly misunderstood Tasha’s purpose in buying Orc slaves. By the standards of a prostitute, this group of half-orcs indeed looked good – no diseases, beautiful faces – meeting the definition of "healthy" for this commodity. After Jacqueline, Mavis’s psychological clinic had a bunch of new clients.

"You made a mistake." Victor said, "Most prostitutes are usually rendered infertile, this batch you brought in can’t increase the workforce at all."

"They themselves are the workforce." Tasha said.

"Seriously?" Victor said incredulously, "Well, you want Orc descendants to work as helpers for dwarves, even more unrealistic wouldn’t make a difference."

"What’s wrong with Orc bloodline?" Tasha said, "Orcs have no problem with strength, right?"

"Yes, Orcs are good at hunting and fighting, but can they handle the work of Dwarves?" Victor taunted, "Why don’t you train Orc wizards instead?"

"You won’t know until you try," Tasha said.

When she was on Earth, Tasha read a sociology study indicating that in primitive societies, people were selected by combat and hunger, while in industrial societies, people mainly faced selection by germs. Therefore, genetically speaking, people in primitive societies may actually be smarter and stronger. Although people from primitive societies may seem less knowledgeable in industrial societies, it is just because they have not been exposed to relevant knowledge. If you put people from industrial societies into a primitive forest, they would also appear less knowledgeable.

Even in this somewhat unscientific world of Aryans, a non-dragon race, knowledge is not passed down through bloodline. Therefore, humans of the Aryan race and Dwarves can be compared to residents of industrial societies, while Orcs can be seen as primitive beings. There is no definitive difference.

Tasha did not need them to learn magic, as the aptitude of different races in different professions ("Professions") was not important. The difficulty of operating on an assembly line could never be compared to magic, and dungeons only required a large amount of cheap labor. Half-Orcs were the natural proletariat here and would be useful in the future, even though the process of rebuilding and training workers may take longer than Tasha expected. It’s okay, she was willing to wait, especially since there were more types of Orc slaves available to purchase.

The mental health issues of the covenanters might be a bit bigger.

Marion ran around among her own kind, trying to take care of them and talk to them. Many half-Orcs felt a bit more at ease because of her presence, while some showed no improvement. What was frightening was not fear and anxiety, but apathy – they did not care that they had come here from Ribe Lake, whether surrounded by unfriendly humans or caring kin, these mixed-blood individuals were indifferent.

The Worgen girl lingered among her own kind, the shadows on those people accumulating on her. Her shoulders were extremely stiff, her ears occasionally pressed back against her head, and she seemed like a bomb about to explode, as if she would blow up if anyone touched her again.

Tasha was the one who reached out.

A heavy feeling overwhelmed Tasha as Marion cried silently, feeling helpless. Remembering a past incident with a strong dog, she tried to keep her balance despite the pain.

She had piled too much on herself, almost suffocating under the weight.

"Don’t go to the hospital tomorrow, there are people there who can take better care of them," Tasha advised.

Marion suddenly looked up, her eyes filled with panic. "I’m fine!" she insisted, "I can help…"

"You can help more in other ways, instead of staying where you feel useless," Tasha said firmly.

Marion stood there, feeling lost and small. Looking at Tasha, she couldn’t understand what she saw in her eyes. Was she being scolded? Tasha’s touch was gentle as she urged Marion to go rest.

The next day, Marion traveled to Ribe Lake as a servant to a merchant named Anthony. She would witness things she never imagined before.

"Should I call you kind or cruel?" Victor pondered, "Knowing too much can overwhelm a small mind, right?"

"Marion is stronger than you think," Tasha assured him, "I believe in her."

In the first week, Marion took a ride in a carriage to the nearby town and heard the carriage driver casually chatting about the route that goes all the way around Aryan. News of wild Orc sightings in certain areas would spread through the channels of slave traders, and the big shots would divide the profits on the civilized negotiation table, following many established rules. They wouldn’t let conflicts of interest get out of hand to avoid causing a scene and ruining everyone’s dinner table.

Tasha stopped Marion from going wild dozens of times in the first two weeks. Marion’s patience didn’t improve much afterwards, but she finally realized the enormity of what she hated. It was not something that could be solved overnight or by her alone. This realization lessened some of the self-blame on her and instead made her more determined. As she journeyed back, she squinted her eyes behind her, as if making a vow.

In the second month, Marion attended an auction. Anthony, who had been a long-term client, received an invitation to the auction. Once meeting the admission criteria, anonymity was not maintained within the club, and real-name auctions were a way for the elite to show off. Marion’s eyes, accustomed to seeing in the dark, swept over the faces in the theater, the name tags, remembering them, as well as the faces of her kin on the high platform.

"At least we still have this much," she told Tasha after it was over, "It’s better than just me left, no matter what."

She recorded the information she saw and the auction proceedings, sketching the structure of both the interior and exterior of the club. When busy with something she believed was meaningful, no one had time to complain. Instead of harboring dark resentment and pain, Tasha preferred vibrant anger.

With trade flourishing more and more between the southeast corner and Ribe Lake, as one of the representatives from the southeast corner, Anthony’s status soared. Later, he was finally invited to a wealthy magnate’s banquet, with Marion accompanying him. In the latter part of the banquet, she finally slipped away from most people’s gaze and headed towards her kin.

Tasha knew she had been thinking of doing this since the start of the banquet; Marion’s anger was impossible to hide. Without Mavis occasionally using illusion spells to cover for her, Marion would likely have exposed herself more times than Tasha was able to stop her. Even after such a long time, the Worgen girl’s sense of injustice and care for her kin remained as bright as ever. In a way, it was also a remarkable talent.

Tasha forbade her from revealing herself, so Marion could only approach as Anthony’s assistant. Marion was not good at probing, but luckily those eager words sounded more like nonsense.

"Do you want to leave here?" she asked a butler with tiny deer antlers on his forehead. "I mean… if you had the chance?"

"I have no intention, sir," the butler said politely.

"I am not lying, what I mean is, I am not asking for your master," Marion gestured, trying her best to express her sincerity. "What if your master doesn’t mind? No one will punish you!"

"But why should I leave?" the butler said, "I have food and shelter here, and my master is kind to me."

"How can that be okay?!" Marion said excitedly. "They treat you like a piece of furniture!"

"What’s wrong with that?" the butler asked, looking puzzled.

Marion talked with three mixed-blood servants that night, none of them seemed interested in her proposal. The girl with cat ears quickly interrupted her, claiming proudly that she was the master’s favorite and she wouldn’t go anywhere besides staying by the master’s side. The maid with a fox tail remained silent. When Marion mentioned freedom and the forest, she looked at her as if she was lost in thought.

"I don’t understand," Marion whispered to herself when she returned that day. "Don’t they trust me? Is that why they said those things to me? But it seems they really think that way… I don’t understand."

"They were born in the city, you can’t expect them to yearn for something they’ve never seen," Tasha explained.

Marion remained silent for a long time, leaning against the window and gazing at the brightly lit houses until the break of dawn the next day.

"I will show them," said Marion.

She stayed up all night, but looked more spirited than she had in a long time. Her green eyes sparkled like emeralds, each cut adding a new facet that shimmered in the sunlight.

"Take back what you said earlier," mumbled Victor to himself. "You really went too far with her."