Chapter 29
#29. The Temptation of Meat Soup
Clink, clink.
The sound of colliding chains echoed through Winterwald's vast underground mine.
"Kurrk……! To think that I, Krok, the great warrior of the Red Fang Tribe, should suffer such humiliation……!"
Krok ground his teeth as he dragged a boulder as massive as his own body. It was essential stone for constructing Winterwald's new city and repairing the rampart.
As if that impregnable fortress weren't enough, they were building yet another wall to serve as a first line of defense.
Of course, the orcs were doing their fair share among the laborers assigned to the project.
It had been three days since Krok's crushing defeat at the hands of the monstrous Grand Duke Kylan.
After Krok and the 217 surviving elite orcs had been imprisoned in the Grand Duke's castle dungeon, they were immediately dragged from place to place and put to forced labor.
"Kurrk! Heavy! Kurrk!"
"Be... careful! Kurrk…! There...! A stone's falling!"
Krok's eyes turned bloodshot as he looked around.
The elite orcs who had risked their lives to march south with him...
In just three days, they had begun carrying stones in perfect order at a single word from the humans.
The orcs already seemed either half resigned or, conversely, to be adapting to this simple life of labor.
"You weaklings! Where did you sell the pride of the orcs? Kurrk!"
Though Krok shouted, spraying spittle, the other orcs around him merely cast furtive glances at the guards.
They already knew.
The humans of Winterwald were not the frail creatures they had once known.
More than anything, the eyes of the human knights guarding this underground mine were ferocious.
"Quiet, Orc 217! If you have enough energy to spout nonsense, grip the rope tighter!"
A human guard shouted as he cracked a leather whip against the floor.
Krok glared at him as though he would tear him apart, but because of the mana-suppressing restraints around his neck, wrists, and ankles, and the pain in his ribs from Kylan's beating yesterday, all he could do was growl.
At first, he had intended to choose death rather than become livestock for weak humans.
But Kylan had not granted him the mercy of death.
Then he would simply wait for a chance to start a rebellion.
Biting his tongue and dying would be a warrior's disgrace, after all.
Krok intended to endure to the very end.
'I am the chieftain of the Red Fang Tribe. I would rather starve to death than become livestock for weak humans.'
Grrrrrrowl!
But regardless of orcish pride, his stomach was making a pitiful noise.
After carrying enormous boulders dozens of times all day long, his belly kept crying out for food.
"All right, everyone, stop what you're doing and come over here. It's mealtime."
Just then, a woman with dazzling platinum-blond hair neatly tied back walked in from the mine entrance.
She was Winterwald's lady of the house, Grand Duchess Eleanor von Winterwald. Behind her, human servants filed in, pushing carts loaded with enormous cauldrons.
"The Grand Duchess is here!"
"Kurrk…! Meat soup! Meat soup!!"
Not only the human guards and knights, but even the orcs who had been carrying stones moments before all turned to look at her.
The knights put away their whips, and the orcs set down their tools.
Then, regardless of race, they all converged around the carts, drooling.
It was a scene of interspecies unity.
"Line up in order so no one gets hurt. There's plenty for everyone."
Eleanor took up a ladle herself with an angelic smile and began serving meat soup into large wooden bowls, filling them with cloudy broth and thick chunks of meat.
"Kurrk…… Delicious! Really delicious!"
"Humans… not bad! Give meat!"
"Kukuruk! Fighting. Actually stupid...?"
"Work nicely. Get meat!"
The orcs began wolfing down the soup, snorting with delight.
The rich, savory smell of meat filled the entire mine. The scent mercilessly shook Krok's reason, already frayed to its limit by hunger.
Saliva pooled in enormous quantities and dripped onto the floor of the mine.
"Krok, come over and get some too. You've worked especially hard today, so I'll give you extra meat."
Eleanor looked at Krok with kind eyes and held out a wooden bowl.
By now, only the orcs in his situation and a few kind humans still called Krok by name instead of by a number like Orc 217.
The meat soup was steaming right before his eyes.
He only had to pick up the spoon to taste that heavenly flavor.
But Krok clung to the last of his pride.
Bang!!
With a rough swipe, Krok knocked over the bowl of soup Eleanor had offered him.
"Kurr-r-rk! I am the chieftain of the Red Fang Tribe! I will not eat something given by a human wench……!"
The noisy atmosphere instantly turned icy.
One of the knights placed a hand on his sword hilt.
Even the orcs of his own kind backed away from Krok one step at a time, their eyes filled with shock.
How dare he overturn the meat soup Grand Duchess Eleanor had personally cooked!
It was grounds for execution!
But Eleanor did not get angry. She gazed sadly down at the soup spilled across the floor, then looked up at Krok with an expression of pity instead.
"If you keep starving yourself like that, your body won't hold out. Tell me anytime if you change your mind.”
Eleanor had the servants clean the soiled floor, then continued serving the other orcs as though nothing had happened.
Krok clenched his fists tightly.
She had neither vented her anger on him nor beaten him.
It was merely that kind, pitying gaze, as though she were handling a child throwing a tantrum.
That gaze trampled his pride as a warrior even more thoroughly.
"Kurrk…… What a hypocritical human wench……!"
Krok forced the curse out through clenched teeth and turned his head away. But his gaze remained fixed on the bowls of meat soup the other orcs were gulping down.
***
That night, in the underground dungeon.
Krok lay on the cold stone floor, trying to sleep, but he couldn't fall asleep.
Hunger was a problem, but more than that, it was the strange change taking place inside his body.
'My body…… feels strange. Why does it feel so light?'
Back when they lived deep in the Northern Mountains, orcs always felt a tightness in their chests, while anger welled up for no reason.
Krok had thought it was simply the nature of orcs.
He had never dreamed it was because of the Demon King's corrupted mana, which lay dormant in the north.
But after spending all day sweating beneath Eleanor's 'artificial sun' here in Winterwald, the demonic energy that had ruled Krok's body was gradually being washed away.
"Kurrk…… Is this a curse the humans put on me? What have they done to my body?"
Krok looked suspiciously at his thick forearm as he stroked it.
He had thought it was a curse that drained his strength, but his mind was clearer and his body felt lighter than ever.
"Kurrk, you… ate bread… today? Soft. Soft. Did. Grand Duchess. Good."
"I thought the radish in the meat soup was really delicious. It was chewable even without teeth!"
"You… Kurrk…! Talking… a lot. Improved!?"
"Look at the humans. They all speak so well. How long are we going to keep saying kurrk-kurrk!? Chopping every word off makes us sound… like idiots!"
"Kurrk…! Is that so…!? We. Idiots?"
In one corner of the prison, the other orcs were lying down and chatting among themselves.
They showed no sign of wanting to sleep, chattering about the day's labor and the fantastic food.
"I tripped while carrying stones today, and a human guard came over and asked if I was all right. He even gave me a snack. Maybe humans are nicer than we thought?"
"That's right…! Kurrk…! Great Chieftain Tarkan… that guy is bad! Even when we work, he gives us filthy monster bones…! I like it here! Kurrk!"
"Good grief. I told you to stop saying kurrk-kurrk."
"Kurrk…!"
They were being worked as human slaves, so what were they grinning about?
Normally, Krok would have gotten up at once and smacked their heads, but now he did not even have the strength for that.
His hunger kept him awake.
With his eyes closed, he quietly eavesdropped on his fellow orcs' conversation.
'Humans are kind……? What nonsense.'
That's what he told himself.
But as he listened to the orcs laughing, Krok realized that the corners of his own mouth had quietly curled upward.
"Gasp……!"
Krok shuddered and hurriedly forced his face back into a scowl.
Then, pretending he had heard nothing, he turned toward the wall and forced his eyes shut.
But the other orcs' talk of the taste of the meat soup lingered in his ears all night.
***
The hellish labor continued the next day.
Krok still refused Eleanor's meat soup, getting through the day on the dried-out rye bread the guards tossed him and a single hard potato.
"Kurrk…… I… don't need… pity… from a human woman……."
But the few pieces of rye bread the guards tossed him were nowhere near enough to sustain an orc's massive body.
Krok's vision slowly began to blur.
That was when it happened.
When mealtime arrived, the orcs once again gathered around the carts.
From among them, the orc 'Grunak,' Krok's close aide and the tribe's third-in-command, carefully approached while holding out a bowl of soup.
"C-Chieftain……."
Inside the bowl, a large chunk of meat bulged above the greasy broth.
Steam rising from it enveloped the tip of Krok's nose.
Gulp.
His mouth filled with saliva.
His patience was nearing its limit.