Chapter 8

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Chapter 8: The Orc Girl

Marion ran as fast as she could.

She had bandaged legs but no shoes. Her bare feet stepped on the rough rocks of Angaso Mountain. Large patches of brown skin showed through her skirt made of coarse cloth, which was too short for a sixteen-year-old girl.

Maybe she shouldn’t be called a girl.

If a woodcutter coming home late looked up, he would surely be amazed by what he saw. What kind of girl could run so fast in the forest, with a taller person on her back? This girl was as sturdy as a pony, but the person on her back was even taller, with half of his body hanging on her not-so-bulky shoulders. The figure groaned in pain, Marion’s ears twitched, and she changed direction.

Just by looking at the furry ears on her head, no one would mistake her for a human girl. Those canine ears moved vigilantly, and her sharp toenails gripped the ground like hooks, allowing her to dash on the treacherous mountain path. She had been running for too long, her sweat sticking to her gray hair. Even Marion couldn’t run forever.

"Put me down, child," the tall passenger said.

He was an old man with a long, bushy beard, his skin covered in deep wrinkles like tree bark. He appeared very, very old, and it was surprising how he could still move. It was even more surprising that time hadn’t shrunk his massive body – if his back was already hunched due to old age, how huge must he have been when young? But that question was not important; he was already very old.

"No," said Marion.

She answered many times, each time shorter and more tired than the last, but the answer never changed. The mountain wind howled in their ears, carrying the smell of fire oil, smoke, hunting dogs, and humans. Marion wished she could smell the "scent of those hunting dogs," the ones named Red Setters, used by humans to track and hunt Hybrids, but they were designed to avoid detection by prey.

The old man didn’t persuade her anymore.

Before they set off, Marion noticed gray-white whiskers on her own shoulder, which should have been brown. The roots of the Oak Elder ran deep into the ground, drawing clean water in the desolate wasteland of Angaso, and bore acorns. The acorns attracted birds that fed on them, which in turn attracted various predators, and the people of Wanderer Camp lived off this cycle. He had lived there for hundreds of years until the damned invaders stormed into the wilderness with swords and torches.

When they had to take away the Oak Elder, his roots underground couldn’t come along. Green blood flowed from his two feet, and many people cried as the old man stroked their heads.

They had been fleeing for four full days; Marion tasted the blood of a mountain rat in her teeth, while Oak Elder had only sipped a bit of clean water. He needed a fertile field to take root; how could an ancient tree endure fleeing in the rocky mountains? But they had no luxury of resting. On the first night, Marion climbed a hill and saw a massive fire raging in the distance. The houses painstakingly built by the Wanderers were set ablaze, and the roots and branches left by Oak Elder turned to ashes; did the nesting birds and squirrels manage to escape? Marion wanted to know, but Marion would never find out.

It used to be her second homeland, her only remaining home.

The second day after leaving Wanderer Camp, they encountered a second attack, with Marion still among all the refugees. The exhausted Wanderers were attacked by soldiers with Red Setters, and seven people were left behind forever, while two more got lost, and one was fatally wounded. "We should leave them behind!" cried the widow who had lost her child hysterically, "The Red Setters won’t find us from such a distance!"

This is true, many people present at Wanderer Camp know. The residents of Wanderer Camp are all outcasts of Aryan, and many of them are aware of the soldiers’ hunting tactics for the "Hybrids." "We should have been safe!" the widow cried out, Marion could feel many eyes turning towards her.

She was not the only newcomer to join Wanderer Camp in recent years, but Marion was the only one who clearly did not look human at first glance. The stronger the Hybrid bloodline, the fartherMarion.n Setter can search, even Marion herself suspected that she had brought disaster upon herself.

"I will lure them away," Marion stepped forward, "Split up, I will go…"

"And me."

There was a commotion in the crowd, and to the surprise of the wanderers, Oak Elder stood up. He extended a bony hand and gestured towards the bewildered people, struggling to suppress all confusion and pleading. "My Hybrid blood is stronger than Marion’s, if they can find her, they will surely find me." He saiddict Marion, "This is not your fault."

In the end, they split up, Marion carrying Oak Elder away. If they could successfully shake off their pursuers, the headwaters of a creek on the other side of the mountain would be their meeting point. Marion guessed that less than half of the people would go there to meet, the residents of Wanderer Camp were all like startled birds, and after this incident, few would be willing to take the risk of being discovered.

Marion does not blame them. When she was seven, she and her mother were captured and put in a human cage, she knew well what fate awaited the Hybrids. At the age of eleven, she escaped by chance, and for the next three years, wandered and hid in different places of Aryan, feeling lost and like a stray dog. By the time Marion was fourteen, she had given up hope of staying anywhere, and then she unexpectedly found the Wanderer Camp, where the short residents bandaged her wounds, children curiously looked at her ears, and a tree said, "Of course you can stay."

At that time, Marion was determined to die defending this place, just like her father who died defending their homeland.

Sweat trickled down Marion’s forehead, crossing her damp eyebrows, stinging her eyes. There was a scab wound on her eyelid, running from top to bottom, almost blinding her. This wound was from a skirmish two days ago, but the soldier who inflicted it had already been killed by Marion.

Instead of using a knife, she wished she had sharp teeth and claws to tear flesh, but her teeth and nails were not much longer than a regular person’s. Marion preferred cooked meat over raw, and her tribe members were skilled with tools rather than their own bodies. Sometimes she even felt they were not much different from human hunters.

Marion’s mother said their ancestors could shift between giant wolves and human forms effortlessly. Marion vaguely remembered seeing a wolf walking upright in cave paintings, unsure which ancestors she belonged to. They were always on the move, listening to stories from their parents, who got them from their own parents… Many of the tribe died before passing down their stories, some never had children, and much history was lost in blood. Marion never saw any tribe members again, not a single one, and some nights she couldn’t sleep, fearing she might be the last. She wondered, if she was the last, how would she tell her child about their playful adventurous mother’s lack of legends and history?

Now it seemed like a naive thought. She probably wouldn’t live to see that day.

Marion felt a heavy weight on her shoulder as the old man’s painful breathing grew weak. "Grandfather?" she called out anxiously, wanting to turn and see Oak Elder. At that moment, she collapsed forward.

Was it a protruding rock or a dead vine? Or perhaps Marion’s legs had grown too weak to run any further. She fell forward, unable to keep her balance, the ground looming closer in her sight. She cushioned the fall for the old man, ensuring his safety until her head hit the ground, all worries drifting away.

Marion was awakened by her necklace poking her, her mother’s tooth pendant against her cheek, bringing her out of her daze.

It was completely dark outside, her head throbbing from a bump. Judging by the movement of stars in the distance, she hadn’t been unconscious for too long. Thank goodness Marion was close to reaching the foot of the mountain, the distance from where she tumbled down to the flat ground was only a little over ten meters.

Oak Elder lay beside her with closed eyes, faintly breathing. Marion scrambled up, suddenly feeling the starlight was off.

Too bright, too close, as if it were right beside her.

Marion suddenly turned her head and saw a ghost floating in the air.

How long had it been watching them there? At least ever since Marion woke up… Still watching? It had no face, just a silvery mist, with seaweed-like hair floating around. It stayed still in mid-air, its hair drifting gently, the blank face facing Marion as if watching her.

"Mom?" Marion whispered.

She immediately bit her tongue, drawing blood, wanting to punch herself for her foolishness. Yes, Marion had heard stories about Ancestor Spirits – if you think of a relative enough, and they think of you enough, their ghost will appear before you. Just a bedtime tale, Marion didn’t believe it at all. Otherwise, how could she have never seen her parents even once? That wasn’t her mom, it didn’t have pointed ears.

Marion stood alert, facing this unknown creature, growling in warning.

——————————

"What is she saying?" Tasha asked.

"She’s calling you mom," Victor said, sounding a bit smug.

Tasha directed the gnome to dig a portal in a hidden spot, then they started floating on the ground. It was a plain landscape with mountains and forests in the distance. Not knowing much about plants, Tasha couldn’t see much difference between here and Earth. The Book of Dungeons urged her to catch the goblin; the ghost was faster than the gnome and soon arrived at the spot Victor had mentioned.

"Is this how goblins look?" Tasha looked at the unconscious girl with animal ears and the tall old man, and asked, "The differences are quite big, huh?"

"They’re not goblins, but their magical levels are similar." Victor whispered, "Probably a human with a hint of Orc blood? Oh, this old tree sprite is dying soon."

"Can you really be mistaken about this?" Tasha questioned.

"It’s been almost five hundred years!" Victor protested, "The magical energy in the air is as weak as a zero magic zone, and I was heavily injured, plus you refused to share your Core Strength with me!"

Tasha couldn’t be bothered with him.

Time went back to the present.

"Is this how you talk to your mother?" Tasha looked at the growling girl in front of her, "She seems like she wants to rush over and bite me."

"Maybe that’s how Orcs greet their mothers." Victor said irresponsibly.

"Tell her I’m not her mother."

"I can’t speak, dear master!" Victor said, "You are my covenanter, so you can communicate with me in my mind from such a faraway place, but it’s not possible to communicate with other creatures. Plus, you won’t give me Core Strength…"

"Okay, be quiet," Tasha said.

The beast-eared girl had a head of indistinct grey fur, with sharp triangular ears standing up between her hair, like a vigilant puppy. She was covered in dust and blood, and she shouted something at Tasha.

"What does this sentence mean?" Tasha asked.

"Probably means ‘stay away’…"

"’Probably’?"

"It’s been almost five hundred years!" Victor argued, "Languages can change in countless ways over a hundred years, I can’t reach the Abyss now, and I’ve been seriously injured…"

"Were you guessing just now?" Tasha squinted, thinking of those irresponsible subtitle groups that go "Sorry, I can’t make up a translation here."

"’Dad’, ‘Mom’ and such childlike terms usually don’t change for hundreds of years! Do you think you can deceive countless demon races without knowing countless languages? Orc language is the simplest!" Victor tried to save face, "And I can help you learn this new language immediately!"

"Really?" Tasha said, sounding doubtful.

"Of course, just eat her up," Victor said proudly, "She’s practically half-dead already, five gnomes can definitely handle her. Kill her in the Magic Pool, devour her body and soul, and her knowledge will naturally be yours."