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Chapter 347: The Youngest Saint-Rank Orc
🕑 Added 2025-03-28 16:07:02 +0000 UTCOn the tenth day of Charlot Mecklenburg's occupation of Dubrovnik, an orc army appeared outside the city walls.
Leading the army was an elephant-man, growling low in a fit of irritation. His troops were mostly other elephant-men, along with a scattering of other orcs. Strangely, these were not the fierce, battle-hardened type but instead looked timid, ragged, and weary.
The elephant-man stood at the base of the city walls and roared, “I am Argon, ruler of the elephant-men! Give us food; we are returning to the Southern Continent.”
Charlot glanced at the orcs, finding the situation odd, and called out loudly, “Are you Non-Man-Eaters?”
Argon let out a furious roar and replied, “Yes, I am a Non-Man-Eater! I am tired of war. I just want to return to the Southern Continent.”
Charlot waved his hand and shouted, “Enter the city!”
Argon led his troops into the city. The orc army was about six or seven thousand strong. As soon as all had entered, Charlot issued an order. Two Saint-rank warriors rose slowly into the air, while 20,000 Labyrinth Guards and 5,000 soldiers of the West Wind Knight Order took up advantageous positions, their rifles trained on the orcs, their black muzzles exuding deadly intent.
Argon, already irritable, grew even more enraged and bellowed, “Despicable! Are you with Amisferda, the Black Dragon, or Choudrou?”
Charlot replied, “We are humans and orcs who follow the ideology of the Non-Man-Eaters!”
Argon suppressed his anger and shouted, “We are Non-Man-Eaters too! Let us go and give us food. We do not want to fight.”
Charlot shook his head. “Non-Man-Eaters must unite. You have two choices: fight to the death, or join us and work together to build a better life.”
Rage surged across Argon's face. “Nonsense! You’re just an ambitious schemer!”
Charlot responded decisively, “You’re right, I am a schemer!”
“I have a dream—a dream where orcs and humans are equals, living under the same sun. A world where we thrive through farming, animal husbandry, fishing, and trade. A life where there is no need to kill one another, no need to pick up weapons out of desperation, and no need to worry endlessly about tomorrow…”
Argon, still fuming, gradually began to listen. Finally, he muttered, “But humans will never accept orcs. Your ideals are meaningless.”
Charlot pointed into the distance and declared, “I’ve already secured a large piece of land on Goring Island. Both humans and orcs who embrace the Non-Man-Eater ideology have rallied to me. But I need more people. Join us!”
Argon remained silent for a long time before saying, “I agree with your ideals, but I won’t join you. I must take my people back to the Southern Continent.”
Charlot pointed to the sky and declared, “Join, or die!”
Argon glanced at the Saint-rank warriors above and asked, “If I defeat them, will you let us leave?”
Charlot raised his eyebrows, surprised. He glanced at Herolf the Golden Ram and Tumisan the Leopardman, thinking, “Defeat them? Is this elephant-man joking?”
But then, Charlot witnessed something that nearly made his eyes pop out of his head.
Argon slowly rose into the air, growling, “I don’t want to fight, nor do I wish to join you! Spare the innocent. Let me settle this with them, one-on-two, to decide our fate!”
Tumisan murmured to Charlot, “Argon is the greatest genius among the orcs! He’s also the youngest Saint-rank warrior among us!”
“Alone, I wouldn’t stand a chance against him.”
Charlot finally understood why Argon dared to challenge both the old Golden Ram and Tumisan. It wasn’t arrogance—it was confidence born of true power.
“You couldn’t have mentioned this earlier?” Charlot muttered.
Tumisan sighed helplessly. “I didn’t expect you to force things to this point.”
Charlot thought, “I just wanted to absorb this group of orcs into our ranks.”
Among the 10,000 orcs who came from the Southern Continent, only about 500 qualified as Non-Man-Eaters. For the orcs who had been in the Northern Continent for a long time, finding even five Non-Man-Eaters would be a stretch.
When Argon claimed to be a Non-Man-Eater, Charlot had seen an opportunity to assimilate his group by using a tougher stance. What he hadn’t anticipated was encountering a genius like Argon.
Taking a deep breath, Charlot shouted, “Argon! If you lose, you’ll stay and help me.”
Argon shook his massive head and declared, “No. I won’t lose. And even if I do, I’ll find a way to leave.”
“I will not stay. I must return to the Southern Continent.”
Charlot had to admit that if Argon truly wanted to leave, neither Herolf the Golden Ram nor Tumisan might be able to stop him. Among the orcs, elephant-men were famed for their resilience. The old Golden Ram, Herolf, no longer had a suitable weapon—his Whale Slayer had been given to Annie Mecklenburg. Breaking through Argon’s defenses would be no easy feat.
The Leopardman’s speed-oriented abilities were even less likely to succeed.
After some contemplation, Charlot said, “Fine. You may go, but leave the other orcs behind.”
Argon roared, “I will take them back to the Southern Continent!”
Charlot, seething with frustration, ordered, “Tumisan, give your sword to the Golden Ram!”
Tumisan hesitated but reluctantly handed over Sea Strider to Herolf. Tumisan then withdrew from the battlefield, landing beside Charlot. He muttered, “Argon not only holds the title of the orcs’ greatest genius, but he also wields one of the Ten Divine Weapons: the Dragon Hammer!”
“Herolf, while a veteran Saint-rank, might not be his match.”
Charlot couldn’t help but ask, “Why is he so determined to return to the Southern Continent?”
Tumisan replied softly, “Elephant-men have a deep reverence for their ancestral homeland.”
Charlot raised an eyebrow. “Their ancestral homeland is in the Southern Continent?”
“Yes, their earliest ancestral site is in Machubi.”
Charlot’s eyes gleamed with realization. “Machubi… that’s part of my territory!”
Distracted by his thoughts, Charlot only half-listened as Tumisan continued. Above them, Argon and Herolf had already begun their duel.
Both were peak Saint-rank warriors, and as soon as they clashed, the very skies seemed to shift. Clouds tore apart under the force of their combat energy, breaking into countless ribbons of mist.
With Sea Strider in hand, Herolf attacked with newfound confidence, every slash imbued with the power of boundless oceanic force, unleashing the destructive might of tidal waves.
Argon, however, wielded no weapon. Each of his punches, seemingly ordinary, met Herolf’s empowered strikes head-on, achieving an even stalemate. In terms of raw strength, Argon ranked among the top three orcs. For land-based orcs, he was indisputably number one.
For Charlot, it was the first time witnessing such a pure test of strength between Saint-rank warriors.
Taking a deep breath, Charlot thought grimly, “The old Golden Ram really might not cut it this time.”
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