Before the orc could speak, Amukelo's voice rang out again. "Wait," he said, something clicking in his mind. "You said you're trying to get back to your nation. That would be in the west from here, am I right?"
The orc's face shifted into a puzzled expression, clearly not expecting such a question. It stared at Amukelo, confusion in its bloodshot eyes. "I… I don't know," the orc admitted, its voice soft, almost defeated.
Amukelo then asked a simpler question. "Its border with Elandria… is it on a vast sandy desert?"
The orc hesitated, its green skin pale in the firelight. After a moment, it nodded, its head dipping slightly. "Ye—" The orc's voice faltered, and it coughed violently, blood flecking the edges of its lips. "Yes," it managed to choke out.
Amukelo's expression remained cold, calculating as he took in the orc's answer. He had seen the map of Elandria, and he had a basic understanding of the desert.
"You came from there?" Amukelo pressed, his eyes narrowing as he sought more information.
The orc, sensing that it might be given an opportunity to live, quickly nodded again. "Yes… we were… escaping from—"
"I don't care who you were escaping from," Amukelo interrupted, his voice icy and uncompromising. "How long would it take you to reach the border?"
The orc hesitated, its eyes flickering with a mix of fear and realization. It knew what Amukelo was thinking, and it understood that its survival now hinged on how useful it could make itself. After a brief pause, the orc answered, "It took us three months to get here from the border. But… we were being stalked by a group of orcs. They slowed us down. If we were to head straight for the border, without the pursuit, it would take us about two months."
Amukelo's mind raced as he calculated the distance between Gathe and the border, recalling the details from the map he had studied back in Ansford. From what he remembered, the distance between Ansford and Gathe was roughly three-fourths of the total distance to the border. This would mean that the journey to Gathe would take him approximately one and a half months.
Seeing Amukelo's shift in interest, the orc quickly added, "But… we are injured. We need time to heal before we can travel. Otherwise, we'll be too weak to make it."
Amukelo studied the orc for a moment, weighing its words. The creature was clearly injured, and the beast had taken several slashes during their earlier encounter, but Amukelo didn't believe they posed a serious threat to him, even at full strength. The orc's weakened state meant it couldn't fight him now, and judging by the beast's behavior, it was more protective than aggressive. He doubted that the orc was significantly stronger than the beast, which meant that even if they were fully healed, he could still handle them if they turned on him.
"Very well," Amukelo said slowly, his voice measured and cold. "If you help me reach the western part of Elandria, I will spare your life."
The orc blinked, clearly caught off guard by the offer. It had been hoping for something like this but was still surprised that Amukelo would propose such a deal. For a moment, the orc remained silent, as if processing what had just been said. Then, with a cautious nod, the orc spoke again.
"We will help you," it rasped, its voice weak but sincere. "But… we need time to heal first. We can't travel like this."
Amukelo glanced at the beast, its wounded body trembling slightly as it stood in front of the orc, still protective but visibly exhausted. If they tried anything, he wouldn't hesitate to strike them down.
"It won't be a problem," Amukelo said after a moment, his voice steady and cold. "I'll return tomorrow with healing potions for both of you. Once you've healed, we'll leave immediately."
The orc's eyes widened slightly, clearly relieved but still wary. It nodded in agreement, but Amukelo's next words sent a chill through the air.
"But," Amukelo continued his voice hardening, "understand this. If I come back tomorrow and find that you've left, I will hunt you down. No matter where you run, no matter how far you go, I will find you. Do you understand?"
"I… understand," the orc said quietly, its voice filled with a mix of fear and resignation.
Amukelo studied the orc for a moment longer, ensuring that the gravity of his warning had sunk in. Satisfied that the message had been received, he slowly sheathed his sword, the metallic sound echoing through the cave. He clapped his hands together, a sharp and deliberate gesture, and took a step back.
"Very well," he said, his voice clipped and final.
For a brief moment, hope had flickered in the orc's eyes, the promise of survival lifting his spirit. But then Amukelo added.
"I need a trophy," His tone was unwavering. "Without one, the quest won't be considered finished." He pointed toward the lifeless body of the dead beast that lay slumped near the orc. Its once powerful form had begun to decay, and the stench of death clung to the air around it. "I'll take one from that beast."
The orc's face hardened in protest. "Wait," he rasped, struggling to find the right words. "That beast… it was a pet of our comrade. It wasn't just a mindless creature." His voice held a mix of sadness and defensiveness, the memories of a fallen companion visible in his pained eyes.
Amukelo's expression didn't soften. His icy demeanor remained unchanged, his gaze steady as he stared down the orc. "It's already dead," he said, the words as cutting as the sword he carried. "And where is your comrade now?"
The orc lowered his head, a silence falling between them. His shoulders slumped as he admitted, "He's dead too."
"In that case," Amukelo said with cold finality, "it won't make a difference."
The orc's face twisted with grief, his gaze shifting to the lifeless body of the beast. Amukelo's logic, harsh as it was, was impossible to argue with. The orc didn't want to accept it, but there was no denying the reality of their situation.
Amukelo took a step toward the beast, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. But then, he paused, sensing the lingering sadness in the orc's posture. With a detached sense of practicality, he added, "You couldn't take this body with you anyway. If you want to honor its memory, do so before I return tomorrow. I don't want to waste time."
The orc's lips tightened, his face a mask of unwilling acceptance. It was clear he didn't want to give up the body of his comrade's pet, but he knew they were in no position to refuse Amukelo's demand. The orc gave a slow, reluctant nod, unable to meet Amukelo's gaze.
"Fine," the orc muttered. "Take the head. We will honor it before we leave."
Satisfied, Amukelo unsheathed his blade once again, the soft ring of metal cutting through the cave's silence. He moved with purpose, crouching next to the beast and placing the edge of his sword against its thick neck. In a swift, efficient motion, he severed the head, blood seeping from the clean wound. Amukelo wiped his blade on the dead creature's fur before wrapping the head in a piece of rough cloth, securing it tightly. It was a grim task, but necessary. He needed proof of the kill, a sign that the danger had been dealt with.
Standing, Amukelo cast one final glance at the orc. "I'll be here early tomorrow," he said, his voice steady. "Be ready."
The orc, though still filled with a mix of grief and fear, nodded. "We will be," he replied, his voice subdued, weighed down by the circumstances.
Without another word, Amukelo turned and left the cave, the cool night air greeting him as he stepped back into the forest. The tension of the encounter slowly melted away, replaced by the familiar solitude of the wilderness. His mind, however, was still active, replaying the conversation with the orc.
Amukelo made his way back toward the farmer's house, the dense forest gradually thinning as he neared the fields. The moon was high in the sky now, casting a pale, ghostly light over the landscape.
As he approached the modest farmhouse he could see a faint light glowing from within. He knocked on the door, and after a brief moment, the farmer opened it, his face etched with anxiety. The farmer's eyes widened when he saw Amukelo standing there, holding the severed head of the beast wrapped in cloth.
"It's done," Amukelo said simply, holding the bundle up for the farmer to see.
The farmer's eyes filled with tears of relief, his hands shaking slightly as he took in the sight of the beast's head. "Thank you… thank you so much," the farmer said, his voice quivering with desperation and gratitude. "I… I don't know how to thank you enough. You've saved me. You've saved my life, my family's future."
Amukelo gave a brief nod. "There's no need for thanks. It was my job."
But the farmer's relief was palpable. His hands clenched and unclenched as if searching for something more to offer. "Is there anything I can do for you?" the farmer asked, his voice still trembling. "Anything at all?"
Amukelo considered for a moment before speaking. "It would be helpful if I could stay here for the night," he said. "It's already late, and it will take quite some time to return to the town."
The farmer's face lit up with gratitude. "Of course! Of course, you can stay," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "Feel at home here. This house is open to you."
Those words, meant to be welcoming, struck Amukelo in a way he hadn't anticipated. 'Feel at home.' The phrase hung in his mind, echoing with a bittersweet emptiness. The farmer meant well, but the words cut deeper than the farmer could have known. Home. What home did Amukelo have now? His village didn't feel like home anymore, Llyn was gone for him, reduced to ashes along with everyone he had loved. His friends, his family—they were nothing more than memories now, scattered like ashes on the wind. The memory of Pao cut through him like the sharpest blade.
As he stepped into the farmer's house, the warmth of the fire and the smell of cooking filling the small space, Amukelo couldn't shake the profound sense of loss that settled in his chest. The house was simple, yet cozy. It had a lived-in feel, a sense of comfort that came with familiarity. The farmer moved about the room, offering him food and drink, but Amukelo's mind was elsewhere, lost in the past.
Pao, Bral, Bao, Idin… their faces flickered in his mind like fading lanterns, the memories of their shared laughter and camaraderie both a source of warmth and unbearable pain. They had been his family, and now they were gone, leaving behind only a hollow void in his heart. The farmer's offer to feel at home only deepened that emptiness, reminding him of what he could never reclaim.
Amukelo forced himself to push the emotions down, burying them beneath the surface. He couldn't afford to dwell on the past. Not now. He had a mission, a goal, and there was still much to be done.
"Thank you," Amukelo said, his voice low, masking the turmoil within him. He accepted the farmer's hospitality, but as the night wore on, the fire casting dancing shadows on the walls, Amukelo sat in silence, his heart heavy with the weight of loss. Even in the quiet safety of the farmhouse, he felt like a wanderer in a world that no longer had a place for him.