Translator: Cinder Translations
...
As the thirty members traveling south on land were crossing a grassy area, heavy snow suddenly began to fall. Fortunately, one of the team members discovered a deep hole partially buried in a dirt slope.
Upon entering, they found a spacious cavern supported by stone pillars, clearly showing signs of human craftsmanship. They also discovered wall paintings resembling murals.
"This is a tomb, or more accurately—a grave. However, it's obvious that tomb raiders have already ransacked it and taken everything of value," one knowledgeable member pointed out.
Nearby the entrance, there were numerous animal bones and traces of a fire, suggesting that someone had previously used this place as a temporary resting camp, and they had done so quite often.
To escape the wind and snow, they crawled into the cavern, covering the entrance with animal hides and lighting a fire. The interior quickly warmed up, much more comfortable than setting up tents outside.
The long journey had left the team exhausted. Some sat while others lay down; many dozed off, and some were eating.
Stanford dozed off beside the fire for a while, but a sudden urge to relieve himself woke him. He stepped outside for a moment.
Time returns to the present.
Stanford fastened his belt, reflecting on the recent experiences in the heavy snowfall, intending to breathe some fresh air before returning to the cave.
His gaze passed through the swirling snowflakes, looking toward the indistinct horizon.
"Hm?" Something seemed to be moving in the distance.
Stanford immediately became alert, rubbing his eyes and looking again.
Indeed, despite the obscuring snowflakes, he could definitely see something.
Without hesitation, Stanford turned back toward the cave.
"Everyone wake up! Get ready!" he shouted as he lifted the animal hides covering the entrance.
"What's going on, boss?" Alcott, the acting second-in-command of the team, asked in surprise. He was from the navy and previously served as a gunnery officer on the flagship; he joined the exploration team to oversee the use of firearms on behalf of the military.
"Someone is approaching here; it could be nearby natives. Either way, be cautious."
Hearing this, everyone in the cave became tense and drew their assigned weapons.
Their team was equipped with 20 iron swords, 10 iron axes, 10 crossbows, and 6 flintlock guns equipped with socket bayonets.
"We can't stay in the cave," Matthew said, gripping a flintlock gun, his palms sweaty. He was actually quite a young fellow.
Stanford patted his shoulder. "Listen, don't make a sound. I'll go check it out. They're still some distance away. If they're just passing by, that would be ideal. If they're headed here, we'll prepare our defenses."
With that, Stanford crawled back out of the cave, while the others quietly waited for his news, ready to rush out at any moment.
"They're coming toward the cave!"
Stanford's heart sank further as he realized the approaching group consisted of about 100 individuals, riding what seemed to be livestock—were they orc cavalry?
They might have been attracted by the reindeer tied near the cave entrance.
Without hesitation, he called the others out of the cave. Using the slope of the dirt hill, they arranged themselves defensively, aiming their bows and guns at the increasingly close group.
The approaching party quickly noticed the movement on the slope and slowed their pace, but one of the mounted individuals swiftly approached to investigate.
The rider stopped several hundred meters away and observed for a long time before returning to their group.
Soon after, another figure—possibly not human—on horseback galloped over.
"Don't shoot! They might not be hostile," Stanford warned his men.
Their numbers were vastly inferior, and if they provoked the approaching group, the consequences could be dire.
He sighed with relief as the figure in the distance reined in their mount, dismounted, and slowly approached with arms spread wide.
This should indicate friendliness.
"I'll go over," Stanford said.
He wiped his face with a handful of snow, the cold awakening him completely.
Standing up from his previous kneeling position, he prepared to go and communicate with the newcomer.
"Boss, maybe I should go instead," Alcott said, looking at him with concern.
"No, I'll handle this. It's an order."
Stanford adjusted the ship-shaped cap on his head.
While resting at the native tribe, he had learned a few phrases in their language, such as "hello" and "friend." He wondered if they would be applicable here, considering the two places were quite far apart.
His men, who were entirely focused on returning to the Northwest Bay, hadn't put in the same effort; he worried about an accidental conflict.
So, he set down the single-handed sword he had tightly gripped and mirrored the newcomer's posture, walking slowly toward them.
As he approached, he gradually made out the appearance of the figure, who turned out to be an orc.
Of course, while he could make out their features, in Stanford's eyes, all orcs looked quite similar.
The orcs were all tall, muscular, and covered in varying shades of fur (some thin enough to resemble particularly hairy humans). Their ears were slightly pointed compared to humans, and their large canine teeth were very noticeable when they spoke, with some male orcs even having their lower canine teeth protruding even when their mouths were closed.
The orc before him perfectly matched this standard image of their kind.
Just as Stanford pondered whether he should say "hello" in the native tongue, the orc spoke first, startling him.
"Humans from the south?"
Stanford froze, surprised that this individual could speak Aldor language.
Only when the orc waved his hand did he snap back to reality.
He contemplated the orc's words, noting the accent was reminiscent of the Northeastern Aldor dialect.
"Uh… hello. I didn't expect you to speak Aldor," he replied cautiously.
"Ha ha ha!" The orc laughed heartily.
"A merchant traveling the world must know several languages!"
Stanford was taken aback. "Merchant?"
"What's wrong?" The orc teased. "Is it your impression that we 'savages' only ride horses, shouting at flocks, or wielding large blades to chop people?"
Stanford smiled, trying hard to appear sincere. "If my attitude led to a misunderstanding, I apologize…"
"Never mind, human!" the orc waved his hand dismissively. "As a traveling merchant, I've long since become indifferent to such misunderstandings. Oh, perhaps a few years ago, it would have bothered me."
He continued, "Now, let's talk about the matter at hand. As I just mentioned, we are a trading caravan. We mean you no harm; we merely wish to take shelter in that cave from the wind and snow, and it appears you've already noticed it. Hey, how many of you are there? I hope it's big enough to accommodate both our groups."
Stanford glanced back at the caravan behind the orc, which indeed resembled a trading group, with several large carts filled with goods and dozens of tall horse-like animals. These creatures were even larger than ordinary horses, covered in yellow fur with prominently raised backs, likely the legendary "pack animals" raised by the orcs.
Well, back in the north, he had encountered orcs capable of communication before, though he had yet to meet any who spoke Aldor...
"Um... this gentleman…"
"Finn. Please call me Finn."
"Okay, Mr. Finn. You can call me Stanford. I believe that cave can accommodate both our groups."
"Ha, that's wonderful!" the orc named Finn beamed with delight.
"Please allow me to return and make preparations with my brothers."
"Of course. In this vast prairie, being vigilant is a virtue," Stanford replied with a smile as Finn turned to head back to his trading caravan.
(End of the Chapter)
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