Praise the Orc

Chapter 50: And Then After That

The war had ended. Chesswood had won after making huge sacrifices. However, the villagers were unable to properly mourn the dead due to a food shortage.

“This is serious.”

The villagers were in disarray because their homes were in ruins. Everything they had built until now had been reduced to ashes. Although Edelweiss Village gave provisions to people from other villages, there was a limit to the meals and compassion they could share.

Then merchants appeared out of nowhere. As if they had been waiting for the war to end, they suddenly arrived in Chesswood and began selling daily supplies, food, and construction materials. Those who were unable to pay signed up for collateral loan agreements. In fact, everyone signed the agreements. They had nothing to lose after all. The villagers didn’t hesitate to bet their futures because they were focused on surviving the present.

Crockta furrowed his eyebrows. “Is it Derek?”

“Yeah, the usual,” replied Jeremy.

Derek spread his influence by participating in the reconstruction of Chesswood. Now, most of the Chesswood villagers were in his debt.

Crockta did not ask further questions. He disapproved of Derek’s actions, but there wasn’t much he could do for Chesswood at this point in time.

‘If we were to exclude good intentions from the world, only profits and losses would remain. And if one had to choose between the two, the former was, of course, preferable,’ Crockta thought.

Derek at least purchased equipment from the dead at above-market prices.

“I will be keeping an eye on Derek,” warned Crockta.

“Do whatever you want,” replied Jeremy in his usual carefree manner.

As Chesswood’s situation came to a resolution, the players who had provided support to the villagers during the war sought out Crockta. They assumed Crockta was an NPC, so they didn’t mention there was a video trending online featuring him. They just said in a roundabout way that they had come to help after hearing about an honorable orc. Crockta smiled bitterly inside.

“Thank you for your help, Iron,” said Crockta.

“No, I just did what I had to do,” Iron replied.

Iron and Crockta shook hands. Although Iron had seemed like a crazy necromancer on the battlefield, he was actually a gentleman. His movements were precise and controlled when they shook hands, as if he did not allow even the slightest error. Even the angle of his gaze was so exact that it seemed he had measured it with a ruler.

Crockta felt like he could trust Iron after seeing his meticulous attitude. This was the attitude of a powerful man who had eliminated a whole clan by himself. Crockta was in awe.

Iron wore his usual mysterious and trustworthy smile on his face as he said, “Here, this is my business card—”

“Huh?”

“Ah, a silly mistake,” Iron explained. He had reached for his business card out of habit but caught himself. “Haha, please don’t mind me.”

“Ah, okay...”

“Crockta, men like us age like wine and only grow more flavorful as time passes.”

“Huh...?”

“It was nice meeting you. You are a man who is like the grapes under the Burgundy sun. May we meet again as we become more fragrant like a bottle of Romanée-Conti saved for the best moment.”

“...Th-Thank you.”

Iron placed his fingers on his eyebrow and soared to the skies. “Adios, amigo!”

“Ah, yes... Please return home safely.”

Iron grinned widely and then turned around. He left with his hand high in the air and did not look back at all. It seemed that he had gained some sort of inspiration from this incident. Crockta wondered whether it was fine to let him be. Nonetheless, Crockta was grateful to Iron, so he sent Iron off with a warm farewell.

“That ahjussi is quite impressive...”

“With his level of dedication to his character, he would be able to join our team seamlessly.”

“He’s a cool dude.”

The F4, who had helped Chesswood during its time of need, watched Iron leave and fawned over him.

At this moment, Crockta approached and greeted them.

“It’s thanks to all of you that the village was protected,” said Crockta.

Bob, who represented the F4, came forward to speak to Crockta. “Honorable orc Crockta, can you see this?”

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“Huh?”

Bob extended his sword—the holy sword Exgeiger—for Crockta to see. It was vibrating. As Crockta took a closer look, he could see Bob shaking the sword by snapping his wrist.

“The holy sword Exgeiger is responding to your fiery soul and crying.”

“...?”

‘What was going on?’ Crockta wondered inwardly.

“The Exgeiger detected your passionate wish to protect this peaceful village from the invaders and led us here!”

“...!”

“My holy sword Exgeiger is always thirsty, Crockta. It is not quenched by water, liquor, or the blood of my enemies... but by—!” His voice was suddenly muffled when Elia covered his mouth with her hands.

Bob and Elia engaged in a scuffle for a while as one tried to stop the other. Meanwhile, the gray-haired magician, Joseph, came forward to speak in Bob’s place.

He stated, “I am the great sage. Honorable orc Crockta, I have something to say to you.”

“Yes, the great sage?” said Crockta.

“Please protect the peace of Middle Earth.”

“Middle Earth...?”

“You must destroy the ring...!”

Crockta gave up on trying to make sense of what was going on.

Gary’s turn was next. He had thick eyebrows and an intense gaze.

He tapped on Crockta’s shoulder and said, “Crockta.”

“Yes.”

“Take care. The next time we meet, we will be enemies.”

Then Gary swiftly turned around.

“...”

‘Why enemies...?’

Crockta couldn’t understand the F4, but they seemed to enjoy the world of Elder Lord passionately. Crockta bowed to express his gratitude toward them.

“Wow, they are crazy over there...”

“Yeah...”

The orcs, the Oslam Brotherhood, who had been watching the F4 and Crockta shook their heads. They were surprised there were people who were so consumed by their characters. The world was a mess.

After Crockta finished talking to the F4, he stood in front of the orcs.

“...”

“...”

Their eyes met. They exchanged fiery gazes without a word, but it was more than enough to get the message across.

The orcs and Crockta began pounding their broad chests with their fists and greeting one another.

“Bul’taaaaarrrrrr! Are you alive, brother?!”

“Bul’taaaaaarrrrrrr! Are you alive, brothers?!”

Crockta bumped fists and shoulders with each of the Oslam brothers in succession with the intensity of close combat.

“It was an honorable fight!”

“No one shall block the paths of orcs!”

“Victory and honor! Choose death over losing honor!”

“Bul’tar! Honorable death over a servile life!”

The orcs gathered together and roared.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhh!”

“Bul’taaaaaaaar!”

“Aaaaaaaaahhhh!”

Then they wrapped their arms around each other’s shoulders.

Crockta even began to sing, “We are orcs! Strong orcs!”

All of the orcs followed along and sang together.

“It’s dangerous to provoke us! A great warrior is here. Make way!”

“Get the hell out, humans! Get out, elves! Get out, dwarves! You too, gnomes!”

“Pretty woman? A warrior doesn’t need women. Get out of the way! We are cool orcs, great warriors!”

“We are orcs! Strong orcs!”

“It’s dangerous to provoke us!”

It was a rough harmony that rang throughout the earth.

F4, the party of soldiers, had been observing the Oslam Brotherhood’s merry festival, and they shook their heads in unison.

“We weren’t that bad after all.”

“They have sold their souls to their characters.”

“They are truly on another level...”

***

After Crockta said farewell to the players, he headed to the hill on top of Edelweiss Village with Jeremy. It had a nice aerial view where one could see all of the Chesswood villages scattered like pieces on a chessboard. This hill was also where Blackmore had been buried.

It had been a short friendship. They had merely accompanied each other for a short while, but it had been enough time for Crockta to experience Blackmore’s kind heart. A man like him had met his end much too early.

Crockta placed the mandolin that Blackmore had always carried at his grave.

Then Crockta said, “Jeremy.”

“Yeah?” Jeremy replied.

“Where do people go when they die?”

Jeremy shrugged his shoulders. “Hmm... not sure. Since he died for others, shouldn’t he at least go to heaven?”

“Heaven...”

Was Blackmore in heaven? Instead of being scattered digital fragments within Elder Lord’s server, had he gone to heaven?

Crockta looked at Jeremy, whose face was saturated with the glow of the sunset. This talkative man who liked to complain all the time and did as he pleased was tearing up. Was it because of the sunset?

Jeremy began to whistle. It was Blackmore’s melody. The tune of the musician who had longed for his hometown rang throughout the hill. Was Jeremy, the man who was whistling without a word, a human? Or was he, the man who was trying to hide his tears as he stood beside Crockta, just electronic signals generated from a computer? Was Crockta’s own sadness perhaps just converted to data inside a game?

“If you are truly saddened by all of the deaths here, head to the temple of the fallen god.” The mysterious man’s voice from when the war ended popped up in Crockta’s mind.

Crockta walked toward the huge rock stuck in an isolated area on the hill. He split and crushed the rock in an instant with his Ogre Slayer, giving the rock that used to be a big mass a flat surface. Crockta then picked up the rock and planted it above Blackmore’s grave. With the tip of his blade, Crockta inscribed an epitaph for Blackmore on the rock. This was all he could do for the dead.

“Crockta,” uttered Jeremy behind Crockta.

Jeremy had always referred to Crockta as ‘orc dude’ or ‘brother.’ The voice calling Crockta’s name now felt unfamiliar. Crockta looked at Jeremy.

“Derek sent additional information on our targets,” stated Jeremy.

“Is that so?”

“I will join you in your pursuit.” Jeremy’s eyes were serious.

Crockta grinned without saying a word.

“What? Why are you smiling? I’m just pissed off at them, so don’t misunderstand.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“The way you are looking at me is annoying,” grumbled Jeremy.

Then Crockta completed the tombstone.

Jeremy drew nearer and caressed the writing on it while saying, “I’m going to hell anyways, so we probably won’t see each other again.”

Musician Blackmore suited heaven.

“Take care, musician brother,” said Jeremy.

Crockta and Jeremy departed from Blackmore’s grave. It was another farewell.

Suddenly, the wind flew over the hill and struck a chord on Blackmore’s mandolin. It played a clear sound. As if in response, Crockta and Jeremy waved back.

***

Derek signed the contract and said, “Good work.”

“Not at all, sir,” replied the man who had replaced Jeremy during his absence.

Derek rested his elbows on his desk and held his jaw and chin between his hands. “What did Jeremy say?”

“He said he will be keeping an eye on him for the time being.”

“Haha,” laughed Derek.

He didn’t believe what Jeremy had said. Jeremy probably felt inspired by Crockta and wanted to spend more time with him. This was what Jeremy was like. He always pretended to be cold and tough, but he grew attached to people easily.

“...I didn’t expect you to profit from the situation like this,” said Derek’s subordinate.

“There’s always a way if you keep an open mind.”

“You said just watching over him would be an investment. Did you know that things would turn out this way?”

“If you are talking about the reconstruction business, I didn’t expect that. I only thought of it afterward,” Derek said.

He brought out a piece of paper and began writing a letter. The addressee was Jeremy.

Derek added, “Investment is not always about financial gain.”

“...?”

“Bear in mind, if you look at things from a wider perspective, preparing for a future danger can be an investment.”

Derek continued to wield his pen, and the letter grew in length.

“Identifying high-risk factors is enough of a profit in itself,” continued Derek.

“High-risk factors...?”

Instead of replying, Derek finished his letter and sealed it by placing it in an envelope and pouring wax on it. He then sealed it shut with his signature stamp.

Derek extended the letter to his subordinate. “Do you understand when I say I have come to learn who will betray me in the future?”

“...”

“Get rid of him.”

“Understood,” replied his subordinate with a nod.

He knew not to ask more questions when Derek was wearing such an expression on his face. Derek’s subordinate immediately retreated and left the office.

After the door closed, Derek sank into his chair. He thought of Jeremy’s face. Jeremy used to be a boy who roamed the back alleys as if he had nothing to lose, but he had grown up into a fine young man. He had grown up so well that he was now trying to free himself from the leash that Derek had placed on him.

“It was bound to happen.” Derek smiled.

The banquet always came to an end. Once the feast was over, it was time to clear the table.