I Refused To Be Reincarnated-Chapter 870: Cycle’s End

Adam followed Zul’Gora and the patrol squad leader back to the pens lining the walls. Scaled beasts nibbled on hay, left unattended by their orc handlers, whose recounting of the ritual fight filled the air. Some mimicked Adam’s last precise strikes, while others lunged at the waist of their friends in attempts to replicate his throw.

The rest of the patrol squad waved at them, their broad smiles and twitching tusks almost painful to watch. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

"Well fought, Adomash!" the one who had been the most suspicious earlier slammed a fist against his chest four times. The others mirrored him until the leader offered Adam a slow nod.

"Uzar couldn’t have defeated that brute. You brought honor to my squad." The leader unstrapped the broadsword at his hip.

No sheath or the flourished guard Adam was used to. He gripped the leather straps carelessly wrapped around the hilt. It felt irregular, but he could hold it strong. Visibly studded nails connected the hilt to a blade the size of his arm. The form was... strange to him, too different from the double-edged swords used by mages or the sabers loved by many cultivators.

The somber metal stretched broadly at the base for two thumbs, formed pointed edges on both sides, then fell back into a straight edge for a couple of centimeters. Two other sharp edges jutting out sideways, a longer stretch of straight blade, but no pointed end. Instead, the metal opened up in a fan-shaped split.

Adam didn’t feel any enchantment. It was pure, resilient, and sharp brutality, magical metal forged to kill and nothing else. Very orcish.

"We can’t see you lose because of poor weapons, and we all saw you barely use Uzar’s axe. Perhaps this weapon will fit you better," the leader said, the corners of his lips curling.

"Won’t you need it—"

Zul’Gora patted his shoulder, interrupting him with a chuckle. "It’s repayment. For what you earned for them, and what you might continue to earn by winning." He sized Adam up, his gaze lingering on his tassets. He shook his head. "We could work on your attire. No champion is as... little dignified as you are right now. But that’ll have to wait until we reach the next village."

"More than one female blushed when your tassets fluttered." One of the orcs leaned closer, whispering to Adam’s ear. "And I don’t mean because of your impressive strikes, but your firm buttocks. Even your face. You’re handsome for an orc... too handsome."

"I bet you were one of these females. Stay far from me." Adam pushed him back with one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other. He turned back to the leader. "I’ll take the blade. But what did I earn you exactly?"

Zul’Gora raised his palm, answering simultaneously. "You replaced Uzar from their squad, meaning you’re considered one of them. They gained Zul’Rakhan’s favor, but they’re nothing compared to the opportunities you’ve opened up for them. The next city, and the next after that. As long as you continue winning, they’ll gain residency in these villages as rewards for training—well, finding you, I guess. Stronger orcs, better craftsmen, better safety. Everything is better up there."

"I see..." Adam tucked his fingers around his chin, then gestured with his head at Zul’Gora. "What’s in for you and Zul’Rakhan?"

"Excellent question—"

"Nothing for that fool." Zul’Rakhan’s voice, laden with irritation, cut through Zul’Gora’s. "Is that how you explain things? By starting with the reward instead of the culture of the ritual fight and its purpose? Ah!" He walked to the orc closest to the pen, leaning on his bony staff with every step. "Open it!"

The shuddering orc kicked the wooden plank sealing the pen and pushed the doors open. Golden and blue eyes ignited in the darkness. Something growled, followed by eleven howls. Adam saw paws brush hay aside as if it were dirt as twelve giant wolves emerged. Their shoulders reached his, while broad leather saddles, decorated with skulls and bones, swayed on fur that caught sunlight in a dark grey maze of hair.

The wargs bowed in front of Zul’Rakhan, who flung the bridle of the second-tallest to Adam. "This one’s yours. Divide the others among yourselves."

Bao’s tiny paws shuddered against Adam’s neck, but he was too busy admiring his warg’s majestic body to comfort her. He leapt on its back, earning a dissatisfied growl from the magical beast.

He simply patted it behind the ears, whispering, "What shame is there in carrying the best orc on your back? None. Take pride in it, or we can use a much less savory method—one that implies you limping and howling in agony in a pool of your own blood for a week."

The warg snapped its gaze to Adam’s narrowed, almost feral eyes. It shuddered. These were not orc eyes but those of a terrifying beast.

The warg flinched as if struck, its ears flattening and its head bowing. It let out a weak whimper, then moved toward the gates obediently.

Zul’Rakhan straddled the biggest warg, while Zul’Gora rode the one he had used to come here. Soon, they crossed the siege engines lining the gates, striding into the wilderness of the gorge. Adam grinned as the wind whipped his hair. Despite its ominous aesthetic, the saddle dulled the vibrations from the warg’s run, giving him a pleasant ride.

But the ride was anything but silent.

"Back to a cultural explanation for our fossil, lest you humiliate me with your heretical cluelessness. We hold the ritual each time a cycle comes to an end. This one lasted fifty years, the last sixty-three, and the one before that forty-two. You’re wondering what marks the end of a cycle." Zul’Rakhan snorted. "Simple, really. You’ve seen the slave market; we’re done conquering the gorge. If orcs can’t conquer lands, they’ll tear each other apart. Villages will once again become independent tribes. That’s not what we want"

How could a ritual fight fix this issue? Adam didn’t know. At most, it could distract the orcs for a few weeks.

"That’s not what humans want either." Zul’Rakhan continued, his red eyes taking crescent shapes. "Today or tomorrow, they’ll lay ruin to half our territory. Perhaps more if they raised good seedlings. Dozens of shamans will die along with thousands of warriors. Not me, though. They barely reach one third of the gorge, much less my village at the center, but that’s beyond the point. The villages down the gorge had their first ritual a week ago."

Adam’s furrow deepened. He had been right. The end-of-semester field trip had triggered the orc ritual. He drummed on the bridle with his fingers as he pieced the information together. "So, the ritual is a way to escape humans. Villages at the bottom of the gorge challenge those above."

"Accurate only for fools like Zul’Gora. No." Zul’Rakhan’s voice grew icy. "We have no place for weak, crippled or old warriors, and no orc wants to die from old age. Shamans are no exception. They shine one last time on the battlefield, dying honorably with a weapon in their hands. But no one chooses their place of birth. Sometimes, weak parents give birth to powerful warriors. The ritual is their opportunity to fight their way to Thaur’Gorath, to become a legendary champion of our race until this gorge doesn’t limit us—until the veritable war begins."

Adam narrowed his eyes. "What war?"