As they walked back towards the upper floor, the rhythmic click of Karl’s bones and Rook’s silent footsteps filled the silence. Simon, still clutching his grandfather’s amulet, walked beside Karl, his gaze fixed on the polished stone floor.
"If you don’t mind asking," Karl’s voice, a dry, even tone, broke the quiet. "What’s the deal with your succession anyway? It seems... complicated."
Simon flinched, his shoulders hunching slightly, his eyes dropping to the amulet in his hand. He sighed, a heavy, weary sound. "My father was the previous chief of the Bloodtusk Clan, at the Orc Fortress near the town of Tallowshade. He was... he was challenged to a duel by his own second-in-command, Minur." Simon’s voice grew tight, a raw edge of grief and anger in it. "My father was the strongest fighter in our clan, a legend. Anyone was free to challenge the leadership, but... Minur, he was different. Not even long into the fight, my father was defeated and killed." Simon’s voice cracked. "My brother, Schalezusk, inherited my father’s combat technique, and he was about to take his place as the next chief by defeating my father, as was our tradition. But that all changed when Minur beca the chief. My brother challenged Minur, enraged by my father’s death. I too was devastated, but... my brother couldn’t defeat Minur. He lost miserably. During the fight with Minur, he lost an arm. We were exiled, banished, never to return again."
Simon’s hand tightened around the amulet. "My brother, since then, never cared about being the clan leader. He instead promised he would protect . But I couldn’t accept the duel, my father’s death, or everything that happened. I suspect Minur had used so kind of dark magic. Minur wasn’t even that strong; he was second-in-command because he was my father’s long-ti friend, not because of his skill." Simon looked up, his eyes pleading. "I scoured through the scrolls of the Bloodtusk Clan. The only way for us to win back our clan was to find my grandfather’s amulet, an heirloom that was supposed to be passed on, to maintain our family lineage’s rule over the Bloodtusk Clan. This amulet... it will give the wearer a strength of the true orc. A dark magic that once ruled over the Lowen Plains."
Karl’s empty eye sockets widened, a faint, internal hum resonating through his bones. What?! he thought, glancing at Simon, a new calculation forming in his mind. So this orc is basically a prince, or was. Not to ntion the fact, the amulet contains so kind of magic. A dark magic that once ruled over the Lowen Plains? Is his family lineage sohow connected to this dungeon? The symbols on the amulet are the sa as the Dungeon Core’s. Karl rubbed his jaw, a dry, rasping sound. His mind raced, connecting dots, envisioning possibilities.
Then, a wonderful, truly evil idea blossod in his mind, a cold, predatory smile stretching across his skull, unseen by Simon. If that’s the case, if I help these two brothers win back the most powerful orc faction in the region, won’t I basically have an alliance with the most powerful faction? Isn’t this a jackpot?! AHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! With them on my side, I’ll have the Hillwilds region in the palm of my hands. A powerful military force, loyal to , protecting my trade routes, securing my resources. This is perfect.
Karl turned to Simon, his voice smooth, almost paternal. "Simon, think about it for a second. If you and your brother show up with that amulet, you both will be prioritized, surrounded, killed. Minur won’t let you simply walk back in. Let’s say your brother inherits the amulet and sohow defeats Minur in a duel. What about you then? You will be taken hostage, your brother will be blackmailed into giving the amulet back. Not only will you have lost the right to challenge the current chief, you will also have lost the power of your family’s lineage, your heirloom, the power of the true orc, all for nothing."
Simon’s lean body tensed. His eyes, previously bright with hope, clouded with worry, his brow furrowing. He hadn’t considered that. He looked at Karl, his voice low and concerned. "What... what do you think we should do, Mr. Karl?"
Karl smiled, a truly "genuine" smile that didn’t quite reach his empty eye sockets, but radiated a strange, compelling warmth. "Well, why don’t you and your brother stay here? I can be your ally. With my undead army, you can challenge the orc chief to a duel with no problems. My undead army can protect you, ensure no foul play. Though, as you can see, I’m building an army for the anti, so let’s not rush things. We can plan this out carefully, strategically."
Simon looked at Karl, now hesitant, a flicker of skepticism in his eyes. He rembered Orkesh’s initial fear, Manicia’s hatred. "I’m sure you’re not offering out of pure kindness, Mr. Karl," he said, his voice cautious. "No offense, but... are you asking for the amulet in return? Or sothing in equal?"
Karl’s internal monologue bristled. This is why I hate smartass. His smile didn’t waver. "No, of course I don’t need your amulet. I’m not an orc. Let’s just say I’m investing in you, in a standard business venture. It’s inevitable that you will face bold competitors, the no-gooders, who are up to schey things, who will sabotage your enterprise every step of the way. And , I don’t have ti to chase a few rats that ss up my trade routes. But I have you, as a deterrent, that will scare off the rats before they even take a bite on my plate. It’s a two-way street, you see. I employ you for services, and you will benefit from us. Food, weapons, armors, all supplied by Necro Corp. You will be the brawn, I will be the brains. Together, we could live in harmony. Your kin don’t need to raid and pillage villages for food; I can supply you with those. Instead, you can focus on the no-gooders, the criminals, the true threats to stability. Not only will your kin’s reputation be restored, you will gain the entire region’s trust. The Orcs, the protectors of the Hillwilds region, the vanguard. That’s my offer to you, dear Simon." Karl waited, his smile unwavering, the silence in the corridor thick with anticipation.
Simon’s mind reeled, processing Karl’s words. He is right. The logic was cold, undeniable. Karl’s offer wasn’t charity; it was a calculated investnt. But the benefits... Not only will I restore my clan’s honor, but my kin, we will be living happily with the region in peace. We will beco what our kind is supposed to be: the protectors of the beastkins, not their oppressors. A genuine, innocent smile spread across his face, a stark contrast to the hardened expressions of most orcs. "I accept your offer, Mr. Karl," he said, his voice firm with new resolve. "I will tell my brother about it."
Karl clapped his bony hands together, a dry, sharp sound. "Great! In the anti, you and your brother can stay here. For you, the food is free. You don’t need to worry about the kobolds. Besides, if you want the beastkins’ trust back, you can start with them. Show them not all orcs are the sa."
Simon smiled, a confident nod. "Yes, Mr. Karl. I will."
Karl was already laughing maniacally in his mind. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! One more to go. Let’s hope his brother is as naive as he is. The pieces were falling into place, his grand sche for regional dominance taking shape, one manipulated alliance at a ti.
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