History of the Kingdom of the Orcsen: How the Barbarian Orcish Nation Came to Burn Down the Peaceful Elfland
Description
"A peaceful Elven village, under attack by the Orcs."
"Orcs setting fire to a peaceful Elven forest."
Phrases like these are all too common.
But why exactly are they attacking the Elven lands?
How did they amass such a force to threaten entire nations?
This is a tale that dares to question such mysteries in a modern fantasy setting.
With the advance of science and the rise of the Industrial Revolution,
the age has shifted from "swords and sorcery" to an era of "guns and magic."
The Allied Nation of Orcs, Kobolds, Dwarves, Great Eagles, and Great Wolves, known as Orcsen; and the Elven Kingdom of Elfynd, an ancient, pure land even revered by Humans,
have long-standing historical animosity.
At the border between these two rival nations, Orc King and the ruler of Orcsen, Gustav Falkenhayn, and Dineluth Andariel, the chieftain of the dark elves who have been exiled from their homeland by brutal ethnic cleansing, had a fateful encounter.
As these two nations wage a total war for their very survival, and as fate brings these two leaders together under dire circumstances, the question remains: What will become of their destinies?
Military, domestic affairs, diplomacy.
Land, sea, air.
An overwhelming tale of countless people, countless stories, and countless lives.
Thus begins a grand modern historical fantasy epic from another world.
A Peaceful Land of the Orcs (1.1)
O' Sun, O' Sun,
Make tomorrow bright, O' Sun.
O' Sun, O' Sun,
Make it rain tomorrow, O' Sun.
O' Sun, O' Sun,
Bring a rich harvest, O' Sun.
May it be bountiful.
---
For Gustav Falkenhayn, the Orc King of the Pig-Headed Clan, hunting was both a pastime and a practical endeavor.
Especially so when it took place in the forests of the northern border region along the Sylvan River.
Across this great river lay a neighboring nation; this land might one day become a battlefield.
For the Orcs, who were said to devour everything voraciously, such a place held meaning, and the hunt became all the more intense.
Officially, he was visiting incognito for a retreat, but with his retinue in tow, he ran through these remote mountains for such reasons.
Once, this land was home to a proud dwarven kingdom.
Now, it was destroyed—a distant memory, and few lived here.
Diplomatic relations and even personal exchanges with the neighboring country had ceased, leaving the roads dilapidated.
Only a few from Gustav's nation of Orcsen came to graze, farm, or conduct limited agriculture on land as small as a Kobold’s brow.
Along the riverbank, it was uncertain whether it could be called his territory or not; it was best considered an unconfirmed border region.
Though the lower south bank of the eastern Sylvan River was technically part of Gustav’s realm, the middle and western areas included settlements from the opposite country, centered around the old dwarven lands. Thus, the river could not simply mark the border, with boundaries complicatedly interwoven.
As a result, maps of this area were, in some places, horrendously outdated.
There was a need for new maps, surveying of the terrain, recording of vegetation, and understanding of the weather.
The world had seen both an industrial and a civic revolution.
In today’s age of "guns and magic" rather than "swords and magic," war had become intricate.
One had to always be prepared.
Those playing the role of beaters, those lying in wait to fire, were all Gustav’s close attendants.
To study a future battlefield, the best way was to run through it yourself.
But—
Setting aside such tedious matters, hunting was a delight.
Tightening the encirclement, releasing the Great Wolves, lying in wait, firing a gun, and taking down the prey.
Reading the wind to avoid detection, using the land's rise and fall, or intentionally revealing himself to intimidate. Should they drive the prey to the mountain peak or that ravine?
Hunting itself was similar to military action.
It required both mind and body.
It was intensely enjoyable.
And they were indeed capturing prey.
In a single hunt, they took down seven grand moose, magnificently large, in one sweep. They also caught ten plump pheasants. Tonight's feast would indeed be grand—
The disturbance occurred after the hunt ended.
One of the Great Wolves howled.
There was no prey left, yet it howled—a long call, summoning its master.
Listening carefully, using magic to trace the direction, he found it was near the foothills. Not too far.
"Your Majesty."
“Stay here, I’ll be back.”
Leaving one of his aides behind, Gustav turned his massive, over-two-meter frame in hunting garb, moving towards the foothills with agility that would have astounded any human who witnessed it.
The forest here was thick, ancient trees gathering, dim even in the daytime.
If the Great Wolf hadn’t howled again, he would have had to rely solely on his sense of smell.
—This.
There was a smell of blood.
Not of an animal.
Through the gaps between trees, a gray, sleek, shining coat became visible in abundance.
If it were a human, they’d probably be driven to wet themselves by the sight of that massive figure. It had noticed him too, turning its fierce face and ice-cold eyes toward him.
It was one of the Great Wolves he owned.
Named Advin.
“My King.”
Advin raised his voice confidently.
Though Great Wolves were now the loyal pets of the Orcs, they were originally a proud and noble magical race, intelligent and capable of speech.
“What is it?”
“This.”
Following the sharp line of the Great Wolf’s nose—
In a hollow lay a figure.
Too tall to be human.
Yet not an Orc.
Shiny chestnut hair.
Dark brown skin.
Long, pointed ears.
She wore a thick, woolen hooded cloak, a cowl-collared bulky net, leather bodice, and high-waisted pants. Hunting boots suited for the wilderness. At her waist was a large, uniquely shaped hunting sword in a leather sheath.
Her hair, apparently as long as to reach below her shoulders, was tied high, her face proud and beautiful.
She seemed unconscious, her eyes revealing nothing, but her noble brows, long lashes—all were elegant.
On both cheeks, lines of white war paint extended from beside her high nose bridge to near the bottoms of her pointed ears.
How surprising.
How incredible.
“Isn’t that a eark elf?”
Their eyes met.
A Dark Elf, commonly known as a Black Elf.
They were a race from beyond the river, rarely seen in Gustav’s country.
A subspecies of elves, who appeared in countless myths and legends as forest and lake spirits, adored by Humans and others.
Yet even such beings couldn’t escape worldly conflicts, it seemed.
Kneeling beside her, he noticed the blood smell growing stronger.
She had gunshot wounds on her left shoulder and right side.
Both seemed to have gone through, but the side wound was deep.
Judging by the power, it wasn’t a hunting rifle but a military gun.
A pool of blood had gathered on the fallen leaves beneath her.
Her dark skin looked ashen, not just because of her heritage.
Gently, he touched her cheek.
It was growing cold.
Now was autumn, nearing winter. Even by day, the air was chilly, and at night the temperature would drop significantly.
Leaving her here would mean certain death, even for a long-lived, Elven race.
“……”
Gustav took a metal vial from a pouch on his leather belt.
A universal elixir. A water-soluble potion for internal use.
It was a magical concoction made with angelica grass, fir female flowers, sugar, nutmeg, and various herbs—used as an elixir for the wounded.
Carrying high purity to help with major injuries, it restored stamina, energy, magic, and could even close some minor wounds.
Luckily, her full, well-formed lips took in the elixir and swallowed it.
He also took out a flat, large canteen, opened the lid, and gave her a drink. A strong apple brandy from Gloire, which he kept for the chill.
It was not only delicious but fragrant and invigorating.
“… M…mm…”
The woman moaned.
Though she didn’t regain full consciousness, her wounds seemed to have stopped bleeding and closed.
“Advin, lend me your back.”
“Yes, My King.”
He lifted the Dark Elf woman and placed her on the Great Wolf’s back, then quietly descended the mountain to the foothills, where he sensed his aides searching for him.
Gustav himself gathered her scattered belongings.
A well-maintained, single-shot lever-action rifle.
A pouch and canteen.
Inspecting, he found the rifle empty but with no spent cartridge. The woman wore a leather cartridge belt over her full chest, but it was also empty.
Her pouch contained only a few hardened grains for food. A few necessities. A small horn resembling a shepherd’s. Upon finding a pouch with a seal, he raised an eyebrow.
The canteen was empty. He sniffed it—smelling the scent of potato-made firewater. He was momentarily surprised at the thought of a fairy drinking such a strong spirit.
At the foothills, his men had already started lighting bonfires. The lodge where they were staying—a timber structure with white plaster walls and a sharp roof—came into view.
“… My King, that’s quite the rare catch.”
“Gramps. Bring a doctor and a healer for her. I’ve given her some light treatment.”
He gave orders briskly to an aide who welcomed him with relief.
“Also, gather the mountain rangers for immediate security. If things are as they seem, the rumors are true.”
“Rumors of the elves, you mean?”
“Yes, about that infighting.”
“… Good grief. This could become quite a situation. Things may start moving.”
“Indeed, but it can’t be helped. Search for the others. Send Kobold scouts if necessary, but keep their output low. There may still be others of her kind.”
What do you think about this chapter?
