Chapter 43: Shadows

  Werewolves’ stomachs weren’t used to vegetarian food, and rumor had it there was a beast-training ground nearby that consumed most of the meat supply. As a result, meat was scarce—too scarce to spare for visiting humans. The soil in the Barbarian Highlands was strange, unable to grow wheat, soybeans, or other human staples. Oufu had no restaurants for humans; nearly all foreign humans had to eat specially prepared meals at the inn.

  The inn itself was built by Oufu specifically for visiting humans. Its owner was a half-orc who spoke fluent human language. Half-orcs were sturdier than humans, with pig-like snouts and two tusks curving up from their jaws—making them look both menacing and clumsily absurd. In truth, though, they were the most intelligent of all orcish races, with intellects nearly on par with humans.

  One-Eye’s body had been returned. It lay quietly in the inn’s dining hall, covered with a cloth by the half-orc owner to avoid spoiling guests’ appetites.

  No one had claimed the body; the human who’d overseen the execution had brought it back with two werewolf escorts. The inn was under the city hall’s jurisdiction, and a quick check had revealed One-Eye was part of Ethan’s group.

  The other guests had finished eating and left. Sophia, still queasy from the hanging, had stayed in their upstairs room. The thieves huddled in a corner, talking to the old thief Fodolen while picking at their food. It was a paste made from the fruits and tubers of plants native to the Barbarian Highlands—barely edible in small bites, but cloyingly thick in large ones, its stench lingering in the nose and even creeping into the head. The coarse pulp scraped at the throat, leaving a dull ache. Even when the half-orc owner occasionally took pity and added bits of cow or sheep offal, it did little to soften the assault on the taste buds. The thieves had eaten this for over ten days, and many were growing irritable. This was nothing like their vision of making a fortune and carousing afterward. But no matter how angry they got, none dared flip tables, fight, or rob anyone here. The constant sight of ogres and werewolves, plus the stelae and gallows in the square, were powerful tranquilizers. Still, days of frustration had left many resentful of Fodolen, the one who’d dragged them into this plan.

  Fodolen had spent days running between goblins and orcs, trying to find a way to negotiate for the stolen goods. He’d learned more about the city now: its leaders seemed to be human. That was good news—from the thieves’ experience, humans were far easier to deal with than unyielding orcs. Some suggested kidnapping the leaders’ families; others proposed threats. These were thoughtless ideas, born of habit. Fodolen’s expression suggested he had a plan of his own.

  Ethan sat with the thieves, eating the paste silently, spoonful by spoonful. He was the only one who seemed to enjoy it.

  They were about to disperse when the middle-aged man who’d returned One-Eye’s body arrived, accompanied by a werewolf. He told them the entire group was to gather at the central square the next afternoon—there would be an announcement for them.

  As soon as he left, the thieves erupted into chatter. The central square was where One-Eye had been hanged; his cold body still lay nearby, and many grieved for their comrade. Days of pent-up anger, resentment, humiliation, and guilt had been sparked into hostility by this vague notice. Several drew their weapons, shouting about fighting to the death.

  "Damn it—do they think we’ll walk right into their nooses?" a bandit roared, waving his sword. "Kill one, we break even. Kill two, we profit."

  Fodolen tried to calm them, but his words only made things worse. Some shouted accusations: had he colluded with the orcs to trick them here, like how private mines captured goblins for slaves? Were they going to be forced into labor—or fattened up like cattle to be eaten later?

  "What do you think we should do?" someone turned to Ethan for advice. He was the most seasoned criminal among them, with the best skills. Now, his silence and calm made him seem wise and in control.

  Ethan kept eating the paste, seemingly the most relaxed and confident of the group. Through a mouthful of food, he mumbled: "…Don’t know. We’ll see tomorrow."

  "If we all go tomorrow, we’ll all get hanged!" the sword-waving bandit snapped. "They know we’re with One-Eye—they know we want the goods. Better fight our way out now!"

  "We don’t know what’ll happen tomorrow. But we do know what’ll happen if we charge out with swords now," Ethan said, setting down his empty bowl and standing up. "Do what you want. Just don’t say you know me if you get caught." He walked out, utterly unconcerned about the tense situation.

  In such a fraught moment, his casual attitude and calm words were surprisingly persuasive. Seeing someone so composed, the thieves began to calm down. The smarter ones reasoned: "If they wanted to kill or capture us, they’d just send werewolves. Why warn us in advance?" They decided to wait. They praised Ethan for his poise—how he’d stayed unflustered in a crisis, a true veteran of big moments.

  The half-orc owner, hearing the commotion, walked in. "What’s going on?"

  "We’re talking about burying our comrade," Fodolen lied smoothly, his voice heavy with grief. "We’re all so upset, we got a little loud."

  The half-orc made a strange snorting sound. "City rules—corpses must be handled by their own kind, to avoid race conflicts. Bury him, burn him, whatever. If it’s a hassle, the beast-training ground outside the city buys corpses. Meat’s scarce these days—thirty copper coins."

  "Oh, thank you," Fodolen nodded. As soon as the half-orc left, he pointed at One-Eye’s body. "Whoever takes him there keeps the money." No one moved.

  Ethan walked out of the inn. It wasn’t that he was calm—his mind was filled with far more personal, sweeter thoughts, leaving no room for anything else.

  Her scent still lingered. The wind brushing his face felt like the soft touch from earlier; her voice echoed faintly in his ears. His senses were stuck in that moment.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Since Sophia had joined him, a strange, subtle feeling had grown inside him. He’d grown used to being with her every day, and her face and voice had become a natural part of his life—something he needed to see and hear to feel at peace.

  Before dinner, he’d been completely drunk on that feeling. Everything else had faded into insignificance.

  He’d never had experience with women. Back home, no girl his age had paid any attention to the animal-like boy who spent all his time fighting, training in the wild, and never seemed to bathe or dress properly. He’d been immersed in his own dreams and training, living like a hermit through his teens, pouring all his energy into endless exercise and brawls.

  He’d only heard of love from bards and drunk miners—too noble and abstract to understand, or too crude and physical to imagine. He’d never thought he’d experience it himself. He didn’t even know what to call this feeling now; he just let himself sink into it.

  Walking through Oufu’s streets felt like wandering through a forest of stone fortresses. The buildings were probably designed for ogres’ massive size—plain stone, unadorned, their height and thickness imposing even if not grand. But to Ethan, they were the most fascinating structures in the world.

  It was afternoon. Orcs strode everywhere, most carrying goods or hauling custom-built construction tools, chatting in their own languages. The clatter of iron, the scrape of wood, even the hum of weaving drifted from the houses. The city had brought in human and dwarf craftsmen to teach orcs trades. Every corner breathed with the vitality of something new-born.

  Ethan felt reborn too—even the strange-looking orcs seemed pleasing to the eye now. He’d never felt so happy; the whole world had changed because of her.

  He reached a market not far from the inn. It was a large open space where foreign merchants and dwarves traded their goods. In the days they’d been here, more and more people and dwarves from other kingdoms had arrived. It was filled with goods from all around, almost indistinguishable from a human market. The cries of peddlers, haggling, and the thud of moving crates filled the air with energy. After a while, the green-skinned, furry figures blended into the peaceful bustle, no longer jarring.

  In a corner of the market, a few young orcs sold odd specialties from the Barbarian Highlands. Ethan bought some native fruits from a young ogre. The ogre was a child, but already bigger than Ethan. Orcs lived slightly shorter lives than humans, but like all beasts, they matured fast—their bodies and minds were mostly fully grown within a few years.

  Six months earlier, he’d watched a furry giant hand wield a weapon, turning his comrades into mangled flesh. The sound of breaking bones, the sight of blood and entrails flying—these had haunted his dreams, jolting him awake. For a time, he’d wanted to avenge those deaths. Now, he was buying fruit from such a hand, his heart free of tension, hatred, or bloodlust. Those feelings had been chased away by the sweetness in his chest.

  He returned to the inn room with the fruits. Sophia sat on a bed made of planks by the window, using the light to organize her notes. When she took the fruits from him, her cheeks flushed slightly, and she smiled. "Thank you."

  Ethan realized he’d grown to love seeing her smile. Her hazy eyes and thin lips always held a soft warmth, as if she were perpetually happy. But it wasn’t until her eyes crinkled at the corners and her lips turned up in a small grin that he saw her true beauty—the smile hidden in her features.

  Now, with her cheeks flushed, she looked even more lovely—enough to make Ethan’s heart race. He knew, deep down, that flush was for him. He felt he could die happy in that look, in that blush.

  Sophia ate a fruit while flipping through her notes. "Hey, have you noticed anything strange here these past few days?"

  "Strange?" Ethan couldn’t think of anything.

  "Doesn’t this order contradict everything we know about orcs?" she said. "Every year, hundreds of humans used to be killed and eaten by orcs in this wilderness west of the empire. But now? They’re building cities like humans, learning crafts, trading with us, and even have their own laws. And you saw today—the officials here are human! Who could gather these wild, unruly orcs and rule them so well? Why would they do this? Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to know why?"

  "Not really," Ethan said. He’d never cared about such things.

  Sophia made a face. "I knew you’d be clueless. Let me explain."

  "You know the Barbarian Highlands are in the center of the continent, right? The Sanderfirth Mountains to the north, the Lizard Marsh, and the southern deserts are all impassable natural barriers. That makes the highlands a vital trade route between surrounding kingdoms. After the imperial army wiped out the orc tribes here, someone proposed building a city. A city here would boost trade for all nearby kingdoms and grow rich from commerce. But the plan never happened."

  She paused, taking another bite of fruit. "The highlands lack resources. Building a city from scratch, so far from human civilization, would be too hard. More importantly, the wilderness is surrounded by several kingdoms—none wanted another power to build a city on this neutral ground. It could easily become a military outpost. Even the empire, the strongest of them, didn’t dare anger everyone."

  "Only orcs—who already know how to survive here—could build a city this quickly. But they’re never united, and they have no skills. So someone must be leading them. The merchants and craftsmen we’ve seen—they’re all from other kingdoms. This place isn’t that old, so why are so many merchants coming here? Even if it’s a good location, it’s full of dangerous orcs. The answer’s simple: they helped build it."

  She leaned forward, eyes shining. "It’s hard to imagine those conflicting kingdoms working together in secret. So it’s more likely a private force—merchant guilds."

  Merchant guilds were like adventurer guilds—private groups of merchants united to protect their profits. Few things were more powerful than money, so these guilds, though private, wielded great influence—even enough to sway politics. The empire had no such guilds; a handful of noble families controlled most trade.

  "I’m sure I’m right!" Her willow-like eyebrows furrowed, her hazy eyes sparkled, her small nose crinkled, and her cheeks flushed—she looked as excited as an explorer discovering a new continent.

  "No wonder they kept this city a secret from the empire. The military, which has spent years wiping out orcs, would never allow them to build a city. The nobles? A big, accessible market here would hurt their monopoly on trade. But how did they keep it secret? The empire doesn’t pay much attention to foreign merchant guilds, but a project this big should have leaked. Didn’t the military send scouts? Is someone covering for them…"

  Ethan stood up straight and took a deep breath. All the fragmented memories and questions in his mind clicked into place, thanks to her explanation. Finally, he understood.

  But understanding didn’t change anything. He felt a flicker of admiration for the duke’s cleverness, a twinge of anger at being tricked, and a hint of sorrow for the soldiers who’d died on the hills. But he didn’t care about the duke’s motives or plans—as long as it had nothing to do with him.

  "Are you shocked by my reasoning?" Sophia asked proudly.

  "You remind me of someone," Ethan said suddenly, leaning down to study her face.

  Sophia’s cheeks flushed. She raised her eyebrows, widening her eyes. "Who?"

  "That magistrate from Bracada—Lord Bolgan, the one with the pumpkin head," Ethan said.

  Sophia laughed, reaching out to pinch his arm, half-annoyed, half-amused. "That’s mean! I’m being serious."

  "So am I. You two think the same way—so clearly. I really admire you both," Ethan said, putting on a serious face.

  "Go away! You’re the one with the pumpkin head!" Sophia tried to hit him, but he caught her hand. Their palms touched, and his heart skipped a beat. But then he thought of the duke—and for some reason, a shadow flickered across his mind.