Chapter 62

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Chapter 62: Orcs

Those who do not work shall not eat; such is life.

The Orc gladiators stared blankly at the scroll listing their debts. Most could not read, but could at least see how long the list was. The item posted on the bulletin board was more like a scroll than a piece of paper, stretching from the ceiling to the floor. Staff explained each item to them clearly and thoroughly.

When you all came, you took the passage that needed to be dug, right? Since the passage became unusable after accommodating everyone, the maintenance cost for fifty years condensed in one night is shared among everyone, roughly this amount. From Ribe Lake to the southeast corner, tariffs need to be paid, and we can’t evade taxes just because you all used the underground passageway. Getting documents requires a processing fee, staying in housing needs travel expenses, medical expenses and meal costs of course can’t be overlooked, there are also service charges for the staff and so on. There is absolutely no racial discrimination in the southeast corner, providing everyone with the best services, so the prices are…

The new members had no idea about the prices here, and remained continuously bewildered when the staff mentioned numbers. "Is this number big or small?" someone whispered privately, "I’ve used up all my brain cells, and still can’t count, gee."

"Just tell us what you want us to do!" impatiently exclaimed a person, "We are working here to pay off debts, how much longer do we have to do this?"

"It depends on what profession everyone chooses," the staff mentioned, "Different occupations have different salaries. Considering that you are all newcomers, there might be some issues during the application process; the southeast corner offers some choices, and we will explain them specifically later."

Many positions in factories are open to new members, but operating machinery requires specialized knowledge, and employment training is essential. When officially employed, the more you work, the more you earn. It all depends on your performance; deductions for expenses such as food and accommodation within the factory will be made. What remains can be used to pay off debts and interest, as well as freely exchange for other goods. If you excel, it is possible to clear your debt in just over a year.

The military has the highest salary, but the length and difficulty of employment training stand out. Indeed, gladiators are excellent warriors, but marching and fighting are not solitary endeavors. Military school is not as ruthless as a gladiator school; there are breaks and various entertainment activities, so the not very tight training period will become longer.

If you are unsure about what you want to do in the future, applying for a student loan would be a good choice. Various schools with different majors in the southeast corner are open to outsiders; upon passing the exams, they will provide meals and accommodation. After graduating, working in a designated position for the same duration as the schooling period will completely clear the debt.

As long as you abide by the rules here, once you stay for a sufficient period, your temporary residence permit will become a citizen’s permit. Many benefits restricted to citizens of the southeast corner will be available to them, such as insurance and low-interest loans. High-interest loans targeted at outsiders will become very low later on; the system used on the "circus" members initially will be improved and applied to the Orcs, making it more comprehensive, easier to manage, and beneficial for career growth.

All basic training will teach these Orc Aryans about common knowledge and current situations, slowing down the revengeful’s pace, cooling their heated brains for a while, allowing their eyes, fixated on a tragic past and an uncertain future, to look at the present reality. Some ideological education will be incorporated, Tasha dares not claim she can give them a course on "how to rebel," but honestly, compared to the strategy of gladiators who only focus on battle, textbooks from Earth can be considered valuable words of wisdom.

They need a break.

People willing to settle down can only slow things down if they are taken along. Tasha provides them with a place to stay in exchange for their help. Those who want to fight again must clarify their goals, organize their team, understand themselves and their enemies, and not fall apart like many failed uprisings in history. Passion is important, but passion alone is not enough. Those who only focus on destroying the old world without any idea for building the new world are just destroyers.

Of course, talking about destroying the old world now seems very far away.

Tasha doesn’t care if the gladiators are grateful to her, she only cares if they are useful to her. She doesn’t want their enthusiasm to go to waste, nor does she want a group of fanatics shouting for holy wars causing chaos.

Accepting the gladiators is not easy, these warriors have some psychological issues, like retired veterans with post-traumatic stress disorder. The staff initially assigned to receive them were all Orc slaves bought previously. On the day of the unified training, they found out that the instructors were humans, which many of the gladiators were not happy about.

On the first day, there were several conflicts. Firefighter Jacqueline used her singing voice to calm down some who were overreacting, and Amazonian Dora, who acted as both a teacher and a security captain, shot arrows to pin down the clothes of several individuals to the back of the classroom ("Next time, I’ll aim for arms, and then neck, mark my words."). A lone teacher was attacked and had his arm broken during the assault, but luckily, the patrol team found him just in time to prevent things from getting worse.

This was seen as a serious and terrible incident, and the perpetrator was publicly tried and convicted. He would receive psychological treatment in the hospital and then serve a three-year forced labor sentence as punishment.

This incident caused quite a stir among the former gladiators. Zachary led a radical group who were discontent, while Marion and Terence had to put in a lot of effort to prevent them from doing anything foolish. Rumors and pleas for pardons circulated among the crowd, but Tasha remained steadfast. She would help those willing to change, but the stubborn destroyers would work in the factories as laborers and avoid causing harm to others or themselves. She watched coldly until Marion rushed into the victim’s ward.

"What are you thinking?" Marion said angrily, slamming the door of the ward.

In the hospital room, the person was still writing clumsily with a clipboard in one hand. When Marion walked in, he stopped and said, "Good morning."

"Good morning?" Marion strode to the bedside, looking like she wanted to shake the patient, "Did you intentionally provoke him, didn’t you?"

"I do not accept these false accusations," the person lying in the hospital bed, Saro Saint Child Samuel, frowned.

Marion snatched the notebook from Samuel’s hand, threw it onto the nearby table. She looked with icy anger in her eyes and demanded, "You clearly think of Orcs as pests, why did you sign up to become a teacher? What are you up to?"

"That was two years ago," Samuel said uneasily.

"So what? Are you saying you’ve had a change of heart in these two years?" Marion sneered, "You still go to class wearing that cloak, preaching about light and justice to others. Who would believe that suddenly you’re full of goodwill towards us?"

"You’ve been away for so long, many things have changed," Samuel said, "I’ve been trying…"

"Is the Reverend trying to show us mercy too?" Marion mocked.

Anger flashed across Samuel’s face, he opened his mouth, took a deep breath, and spoke evenly, "I’m sorry," he said stiffly, "I am also… reflecting, thinking about some things."

Marion looked at him with uncertainty, never expecting to hear an apology.

"Have you seen those Orcs who arrived first?" Samuel said, "I helped out when they arrived."

He was referring to the first slaves and prostitutes who had been bought, and the half-orcs who now worked as staff members.

Initially short-staffed, the southeastern corner always lacked doctors in the dungeon. When asked to help by the visitors, Samuel realized he had to treat non-humans. He saw people he had only glimpsed from afar before, up close their eyes seemed emptier and more frightening. Saro’s Saint Child, looking concerned, left thinking the human nurse did not care for him, while in the midst of his busy work, the nurse found time to fetch warm water and a chair for him.

Sitting there, watching people bustling about, he felt uncomfortable all over. Eventually, Samuel couldn’t resist and performed surgery on a woman’s deformed leg. She looked completely human, except for a few scales on the back of her hand. She was quiet, gentle, harmless – how could you tell she wasn’t just a sick person?

The priest lingered in the ward, enduring suffering from both sides. The wounds on their bodies and in their hearts undoubtedly contradicted with light and justice. It went against doctrine to watch them suffer, but at the same time they were not human – no matter how much they resembled them. This conflict tormented Samuel, who could only sing prayers softly at midnight and seek answers from Saro God. A few pairs of eyes opened during the song, and a few half-orcs looked up at him, their gazes reminding him of suffering soldiers.

Various problems arising from the previous battles surfaced in Samuel’s mind once again.

Do people need Saro God? What exactly is a god? After the departure of the deities, what significance does Saroism have in Aryan’s land? Does God truly love all people indiscriminately and hate all beings other than humans? What parts of the doctrine are true to Saro’s intentions, and what has been distorted over time?

And so…

"Are you spreading teachings among the orcs?" Marion asked, astonished.

"I’m not spreading teachings, just telling stories to guide them towards a better path and to distract their attention," Samuel paused. "Well, maybe I am spreading teachings, I’m not sure."

"What do you really want to do?" she-wolf frowned.

"I’m trying to dispel confusion and darkness, whether it’s theirs or mine," Samuel explained. "I’m not sure, but maybe after this attempt, we’ll both understand."

He appeared calm and composed, while Marion looked more puzzled. She fell silent for a moment, as if she had made a decision, her expression turning unfriendly. Before she could speak again, she heard a call from outside the door.

"Marion," Tasha said.

She stood at the door of the sickroom, nodding at Samuel and gesturing to Marion. Marion approached Tasha, her steps hesitant and heavy. She-wolf hesitated if she should plead with Tasha, yet she had a feeling that she wouldn’t change her mind.

Tasha didn’t give her a chance to continue struggling, she simply said, "Come, let’s go see Ribe Lake."

The difference between sixteen and eighteen was not vast, Tasha could still recognize Marion at a glance, still wrap her arm around Marion’s shoulders. However, some things had changed, she-wolf had gained a sense of calmness, yet a hint of fierceness emerged from her wild nature. When those radicals talked about exterminating humanity, she didn’t agree, but she also didn’t argue.

Mavis used a rolling pin to hide their ears and wings, a merchant brought popular clothes from Ribe Lake, Tasha and Marion rode in a carriage all the way to Ribe Lake. The fancy carriage didn’t stop at the entrance of Ribe Lake, it continued on to the heart of the city.

Their destination was an art gallery.

Marion jumped down, looked around, then turned to Tasha. She had been holding her words in all the way and was about to burst. Tasha smiled and made a "shh" gesture, pointing to a sign at the door that said, "Keep Quiet."

Marion had learned to read and write in a common language in the southeast corner, she could recognize the large sign next to the warning sign. It said, "The Call of the Wild", which was the theme of this art exhibition. Marion saw elegantly dressed people walking in slowly and instinctively furrowed her brow, but Tasha had already entered the door.

The room inside was bright and spacious, the mirrors reflected the light, making every painting on the walls look like they were in sunlight. Marion had never been to such a place, with humans passing by occasionally, the room exuded a luxurious atmosphere, both enough to make her feel uneasy. But Tasha led her in slowly, so all she could do was follow Tasha’s steps patiently and look at the paintings.

The first few paintings looked inexplicable, if the standard of a "good" painting is to look like what it is supposed to be, they were undoubtedly terrible. Marion saw a large area of green with strange little dots sprinkled on it, if it wasn’t for the small words under the frame, she would have thought it was just spilled paint. The fourth painting looked unexpectedly good, with delicate brushstrokes outlining a peaceful forest, a group of deer resting under the trees, the play of light and shadow was very beautiful, almost real.

The next painting made Marion couldn’t help but stop, a full moon hung at the top of the painting, under the night sky, a pack of wolves ran wildly, the lead wolf howling to the sky. The things on this painting were not refined, but had a stunning sense of movement, as if you could see the flow of wind in the shadows, hear the sound of the wind and the wolves howling. The still painting concealed wild power, as though the scene had truly existed on a certain moonlit night, the painter had stumbled upon it, cut it out, and put it in a frame.

"Do you like this painting too?"

A man with a small beard walked over, carrying a familiar scent – the smell of a common visitor to the arena. He was talking to Marion, but his eyes were on Tasha, making she-wolf even more uncomfortable. "Yes," her master seemed unaware, answering cheerfully. Soon, they started talking, the conversation turning to the art exhibition.

"This painting is from the artist Walke, who had the most artworks in this art exhibition," said the man with a small beard boastfully. "There are eleven well-known artists participating in this exhibition, with the theme inspired by a recent accident… I’m sure you’ve heard about it."

Marion lifted her head expressionlessly.

"‘Fire.’" The man with a small beard made air quotes with his hand. "A large number of Orcs disappeared in this unfortunate accident. This art exhibition is to express the artist’s regret and warning about the escape of Orcs potentially leading to a disaster, like the wolves running in front of us…"

Marion slowly moved her finger, her sharp nails gleaming. The man with a small beard couldn’t finish his sentence, but it wasn’t Marion who interrupted him.

"Nonsense!" A scruffy young man suddenly burst out, "You ignorant, art-ignorant, arrogant fool!"

"What did you say?" The man with a small beard frowned, "I have been appreciating art for ten years…"

"These ten years have gone to the dogs! We depict freedom, but slave owners see it as a threat and loss. We pour our hearts out, but vulgar perverts are here trying to strike up pointless conversations with people about these artworks!" The young man pointed fiercely at the paintings, speaking rapidly, "This art exhibition doesn’t express regret and warning at all! Wildness is always calling, and Sons of Nature should live in harmony with nature. If there’s any regret, it’s regret that this happened too late – that place should have been destroyed by that fire ages ago!"

"You are really vulgar." The man with a small beard couldn’t hold back the frustration on his face and crossed his arms. "Do you really think it’s a good thing for the Orcs to escape?"

"Better than being used for the amusement by some people with twisted hobbies!" the young man said.

Little Beard chuckled and shook his head, then turned to Tasha and said, "Listen to this!" Tasha looked at him with a half-smile, as he misunderstood who the mockery was aimed at and felt proud of his imagined approval.

"In the past, you would have been hanged for treason," he threatened, "How much blood did our ancestors shed to bring forth the prosperity of the Aryans today? This is a triumph of human civilization, yet you call it ‘perverse hobby’! Young people these days who forget their roots…"

"Fine, if you can’t argue logically, then let’s compete based on experience!" the young man crossed his arms and said.

"You should show more respect towards your elders," Little Beard adjusted his sleeves, looking better than the other person in posture, which pleased him greatly, "Let’s go back to talking about the art exhibition, shall we? Do you really believe that all these artists are supporters of those filthy Hybrids?"

"The Orc War ended two hundred years ago, slavery was abolished among humans five hundred years ago, what did the emancipation declaration from five hundred years ago say? And today, there are still those who consider dissenting opinions on Orc slave trade as treason!" the young man said angrily.

"Humans are humans, Hybrids are Hybrids," Little Beard said impatiently, seeming tired of the argument, "By granting rights, we rule over these Hybrids, which proves the superiority of human civilization. Once Orcs slaughtered and enslaved humans, now humans have built Orc arenas, this is human pride."

"Haha! You talk to me about ‘human pride’?" the young man, seeming to have gone overboard with anger, burst into laughter, "Our army has repelled all invaders and established the prosperous Aryan in a place surrounded by enemies on all sides, that is human pride. Our inventors have created cities where almost everyone can eat well, we don’t have to resort to barbarism to survive daily, this is human pride. The capital boasts the world’s largest library, containing works spanning thousands of years; in Ribe Lake, various forms of art and music flourish every night, with people appreciating artworks and sculptures from different genres, that is human pride! Enslaving an intelligent race, venting dirty desires and dissatisfaction, reveling in wickedness, this despicable, ugly act…"

His face turned bright red, he took a deep breath and said slowly, "This is a shame upon humanity!"

Marion tightened her grip on Tasha’s arm.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she stared at the young man speaking confidently, but she couldn’t see any Orc features on him no matter how hard she looked. "He’s just a human," Tasha whispered understandingly in her ear. But how could this be? Marion couldn’t understand why a human would say such things.

The excited young man was about to fight with the man with a small beard, but soon security guards gathered around. Then, a strangely dressed woman and a man who seemed to be in charge walked over. After a short discussion, the security guards escorted the man with the small beard out.

"It’s this man causing trouble!" the man with the small beard said angrily.

"I’m sorry, but Mr. Walke does not welcome you to continue visiting," the leader said.

"We represent all the painters at this exhibition, please leave," the strangely dressed woman said with a smile.

The man with the small beard complained as he was thrown out, while the young painter named Walke was still there, talking angrily. The woman comforted him with a smile and also spoke with Tasha, "Don’t be misled by that man," she said. "The theme is freedom and peace rights – but the boss thought it was too radical and didn’t include it in the exhibition."

They chatted happily for a while, while Marion stood by Tasha, holding onto her arm as if in a daze. She stood frozen in place, even after the two painters had left. But Tasha wasn’t going to let her off that easily; she tapped Marion’s arm, saying, "What do you think?"

"Are they really human?" Marion asked quietly.

"Absolutely, positively," Tasha replied.

"But, I…"

She wanted to say that humans shouldn’t be like this, but she also felt unsure about it.

Humans, especially the wealthy ones, always make her sick.

Marion never really liked humans from the start; her childhood was destroyed by human soldiers, she saw a lot of demons on the battlefield, and those in the arena audience were even more disgusting. They had food, clothing, security, and freedom, yet they killed for pleasure, refusing to dirty their own hands – the humans Marion saw all seemed to have the same faces.

The people here are different, very different.

"Are the painters special?" Marion pondered over the attire of the two individuals. "Is it because they don’t have money?"

"Compared to those who go to the arena for entertainment, they indeed don’t have much money," Tasha chuckled. "So, they can’t fund this art exhibition by themselves."

Tasha took Marion to meet the organizer of the art exhibition.

It was a middle-aged noblewoman, her pampered face adorned with exquisite makeup, expensive jewelry decorating her neck and fingers. Tasha conversed with her on behalf of sponsors, including the wealthy lady from the southeastern corner, and eventually presented Marion to her.

"This is my daughter," Tasha said, "She has a question to ask you."

Marion was suddenly pushed to the front of the stage, she stood there in front of the typical wealthy person, stunned for several seconds, then bravely asked her question.

"Why? Why are you organizing this… this," she gestured incoherently around, "Are you like these painters? Why? Orcs have nothing to do with you, aren’t they just like furniture to you?"

Finally, Marion’s words carried a hint of accusation, she couldn’t control it. The wealthy lady smiled tolerantly, completely unfazed by her offense.

"Many people have asked me this question," she said, "I am different from those painters, those children act out of pure indignation or ideals, as for me, it’s just a personal reason."

She gazed at a portrait directly opposite the hall, showing a big cat in a dress holding a little cat.

"I had a nanny, a half-orc, who took care of me when I was young. She liked me a lot, played with me, taught me to read. I liked her too, in fact, she spent much more time with me than my mother, who was always at social events." The wealthy lady reminisced, "One day, she disappeared. I made a fuss, and my parents told me they had dismissed her for doing something wrong. I decided that when I grew up and could make decisions, I would find her again and hire her as my housekeeper. When I finally reached that age, I realized that Orcs cannot simply be ‘dismissed’."

She paused and said, "It seems my mother caught my father involved with her—most likely true, which slave could refuse the master—this led to a confrontation, and to keep peace, my father got rid of her. After that, my relationship with them was never the same, they never truly understood why."

The wealthy lady’s tone was quite steady, the passage of time had buried deep the anger and sadness of that little girl, never to disappear.

"I’ve always hoped that Orc could really be fired," she smiled and concluded, "although I can’t do much."

——————————

Marion was silent for a long time on the way back in the carriage.

She curled up in her seat, hugging her knees, not looking at Tasha, just murmuring to her feet, "I’ve thought about killing all humans."

"Including Amazonian?" Tasha deliberately interrupted.

"Ah, Amazon is Amazon," Marion said awkwardly, "I mean, all humans except those in the southeast corner. Their ancestors slaughtered our ancestors, they did so many unforgivable things to us, I want to avenge them."

"It seems that the humans of the past thought the same way as you did," Tasha said.

If the hatred of ancestors is held on forever, if individual grievances are extended to the whole race, no matter who the winner is, in the end it is just a vicious cycle, with killings never ending.

"How do you want me to do it?" Marion raised her head, seeking help from Tasha, "Please tell me!"

She looked very troubled, the strong hatred and never-ending anger she had since they reunited stopped slightly, turning into confusion, like when she was a child. Tasha smiled, pulled back the carriage curtain, and pointed to Ribe Lake outside.

"I hope you use your own eyes to see, your own ears to listen, and your own mind to think," Tasha said. "Marion, I am your supporter, but only you are the master of your own soul."