I've Got A Mana Processor In A Magic World-Chapter 81: Savages

"Speak," the woman on the massive throne said with a wave of her hand.

"We’ve received reports from Crag. They have a new stray survivor," the figure said with his head bowed.

The woman leaned forward in her seat. "Get those fucking boars to hand the human over, or else they can say goodbye to any call for aid at the border!" She snarled.

The man bowed his head lower. "...We have given them this threat already, and yet they are not ready to yield. The Orc clan that found the human is the Gorefang Clan, who are in direct opposition to us. Their young head has been causing a ruckus recently. He is not easily moved," he explained.

The woman snorted lightly in condescension. "Orcs?" she asked, prompting the figure to correct himself.

"Boars... Your Majesty," he said quickly.

"Hmph. Calling such inferior creatures Orcs is a blasphemy to any True Orc," she shook her head.

"Find a way to handle the matter of the survivor. Promptly," she returned to the crux of his report. "Or do I need to go all the way there myself?" she asked with a dangerously low voice.

The figure brought his other knee to the ground with a thud, bowing even lower. "Never, Your Majesty! Allow this one to bring back good news," he groveled, standing up quickly and walking backward with his head down, all the way to the door until he stepped out.

Just as the door closed in front of him and he let out a soft sigh of relief, he felt another presence in the cold, dark hallway. "Mistress Alyra." He bowed formally before leaning back up, staring down at her small figure.

He didn’t have as much fear for her as he did for her sister. She was still young. His towering frame dwarfed hers significantly, so he felt a bit of superiority towards her.

Not that he didn’t dwarf her sister— his liege— but crucially she had a domineering presence, and her strength had been proven clearly. So he naturally felt respect.

For Alyra though... he only felt despise. She had been so meek and diminutive ever since both she and her sister appeared. Always quiet. Never meeting anyone’s gaze most of the time. Especially her sister.

’Pathetic,’ he thought as he bid her farewell with a mask of courtesy that slipped off his face immediately he stepped around her and went his way.

Here, weakness was sin. Without her sister, she would not even survive. So the fact that she still got the royal treatment every time irked him to no end. But there was nothing he could do about it.

Alyra paused at the door for a long while before summoning the courage to step into the throne hall, pushing the door open.

Her gaze met her sister’s, and she quickly averted her eyes, closing the door behind her.

But before she could speak, her sister’s voice cut her off.

"Alyra, don’t," she said tiredly, with a voice that sounded less regal and more... human, with emotions. "For the umpteenth time, I am never releasing those survivors," she shook her head with finality. "I’m already doing enough by not killing them off simply because of your plea," Regina said, trying to get her point across to Alyra.

"But sister. They have done nothing wrong," Alyra clenched her fist. "They were simply caught in the crossfire of something greater—"

"Yes. They were," Regina deadpanned. "And it’s a shame. But they’ll have to die for it," she said with a cold voice, making Alyra look back up at her again.

Regina stood up from the throne, walking down the wide stone-cut steps. "Look at me!" She scolded when Alyra was about to avert her gaze again.

"I will kill them. And you will watch," she said with a silent intensity. "It is a must. As a native of our world, and more so as a Ryvelin." She stopped right in front of Alyra before cupping her face carefully. "You need to grow, sister. And stop all these petty things you do at times. Letting your emotions move you." She dropped her hand and walked to a large window at the side that opened to the large expanse outside.

"The natives of this world. You’ve seen them. They’re savages. Animals. They can smell your weakness, Alyra. They’re just waiting for me to move so they can devour you. My presence is the only thing holding them back." She rested a hand on the windowsill, staring out at the abyssal-looking world that stretched beyond her. The sky was a grim, dark red color, and the air shimmered with extreme heat. The ground was caked and dry, with large volcanoes littering the distance, and glowing hot lava that looked like little trails of light flowing out of them.

There was no night here. Only day. The planet was tidally locked to its host star. If it wasn’t for the perpetual overcast sky, the heat from the star would have burned off all life on this side of the planet.

"I thought you had grown when I saw you fight Smiling Devil back then... but yet..." she turned back sharply. "You know it’s the lesser evil," she persisted. "Because you know exactly what will happen to people of this world because of the survivors when we’re rescued eventually," she stared at Alyra pointedly.

"...Yes," Alyra conceded. "But there’s a chance that they can be let go. So I’m simply asking that you let them live until that point. At least give them a chance," Alyra pleaded.

Regina shook her head and stared up at the ceiling, sighing. "And if we’re never rescued...?" she asked.

"..." Alyra kept silent.

"If we’re never rescued, Alyra. What happens then?" Regina asked with a slight shake to her voice, as if she didn’t want to even consider the possibility. "Are we to accept our fate? Breed with commoners? Live here together in this world in perfect harmony?" she said sarcastically, and very slightly hysterically, before she composed herself, getting back to the topic at hand.

"I’ve heard your plea. I’ll let them live until we get rescued," Regina said, walking back to the massive throne with her usual regal air and poise. "You have want you really wanted, so you may leave, sister," she sat down, dismissing Alyra.

.

.

Somewhere In Tartarus...

A blond-haired boy— if his hair could still be called blond— was covered head to toe in a black, tar-like substance that masked his smell and colored his hair fully black. He sat up abruptly from a narrow crack that barely fit his body in a dark recess of a non-active volcano, gasping for breath, and taking large gulps like he’d almost died. His eyes looked panicked as he quickly surveyed the area for any sign of movement, and when he found none, he calmed down a bit, steadying his breath slowly.

It was Jet.