A Peaceful Land of the Orcs (1.2)
The dark elf woman, Dineluth Andariel, experienced what is commonly called an "unfamiliar ceiling." And it was in a breathtaking environment.
A high ceiling, assembled with thick wood in a mountain-style fashion.
Bright lighting.
A clean and serene interior.
Dressed in a white herringbone-patterned hospital gown, she lay on an extraordinarily large bed.
Half-conscious, she waved her left hand in front of her eyes.
There was no pain from what should have been severe gunshot wounds.
Her side felt the same.
Instinctively, she reached for her chest, realizing something unconsciously.
She sighed in relief.
Her protective amulet still hung around her neck on a leather cord.
Both White Elves and Dark Elves, when they are born, have an amulet created by their clan from the branches of the nearby silver tree, carved to fit in their palm. They wear it around their neck and keep it close until death, so that, upon rebirth, they may return to their original place.
It is their most precious possession.
They touch and grip it repeatedly, especially when making a vow or performing strong magic. Over time, it naturally gains a polish, acquiring a luster like a gemstone.
—Where… is this...
She finally started to wonder.
"You have woken up."
Someone spoke from a corner of the room, near her feet.
A nurse's hat.
A blue-striped shirt, clean and neat, with a white apron and skirt.
A nurse.
Dineluth was quite surprised.
She looked like a nurse in every way.
But she was enormous.
Though her height matched that of an Elf, her body was massive enough to be called a lump of flesh.
Her neck was thick, her arms and legs like logs.
She must weigh an unimaginable amount.
And, above all, her pig-like face.
An Orc.
"Why..."
Why is there an Orc?
Orcs are violent, savage, insatiable monsters said to devour even their own kind, let alone Elves.
Why? Why? Why?
"I'll call the doctor right away."
The nurse seemed to completely misunderstand Dineluth's confusion, bowing politely before going to fetch someone.
The doctor arrived shortly, wearing glasses and a white coat, appearing dignified.
But he, too, was an Orc.
Most Orcs have black eyes, hairless bodies, and pale, slightly pinkish skin. She couldn’t tell them apart, but this one was a man—or rather, a male Orc. Compared to the earlier nurse, his face was more defined, and his fangs, extending from his lower jaw to the sides of his cheeks, were sharper and larger.
When he took her arm, her entire body tensed up in terror, honestly thinking she might be eaten.
Feeling his thick fingers at her wrist, she finally realized he was checking her pulse.
"A bit fast... But forgive me; I don’t have much experience treating your kind. In any case, rest a bit longer."
Of course, my heart rate would be fast, Dineluth thought.
She was filled with confusion and fear.
Why?
Why indeed?
Orcs should be far more savage, uncivilized beings.
How could they have developed such advanced medicine?
How could they possess the scientific knowledge humans talk about?
Why did they save me?
They are supposed to be creatures constantly starving due to their sheer numbers, consuming even the neighboring races.
Having been found by them, she should have been eaten already.
Dineluth fought against Orcs roughly 120 years ago, at the Rosalind Valley, a bit northwest from here. She thought she knew them well.
—The noisy ones.
That was the derisive term her clan used for them.
They would speak, shout, and invade with shrill, grating voices. Insatiable, consuming everything, like filthy beasts. At least compared to the vulgar, lewd-eyed, foul-mouthed Dwarves, who have a certain unpleasant cleverness, Orcs were somewhat simpler to deal with.
Yet here they are, in this way.
"Excuse me."
While she was still confused, a male Orc arrived.
His attire resembled that of a mountain hunter, with fine clothing reminiscent of humans.
Being a head taller than Dineluth, he was large even for an Orc male.
Above all, his voice puzzled her. It wasn’t shrill but deep, almost fatherly.
His level as a demon species was likely quite high, radiating mana from his massive body. This, too, was rare for an Orc, who generally only possess brute strength and lack magical abilities.
"It seems you’re bewildered. That’s understandable---"
The Orc took a seat in a large chair beside her bed, smiled with a pained look.
"But please rest assured. Our species abandoned the habit of consuming other demon species about seventy years ago. It's even a national taboo now. We do not intend to eat you after capturing you."
"......"
The story seemed unbelievable, but she recalled hearing a rumor.
—The tribes living south of the Sylvan River have built a very large nation.
Was he referring to that country?
"At any rate, you have my gratitude―――"
After some hesitation, Dineluth sat up and introduced herself.
Even when facing these so-called vile demons, it would be disgraceful to her clan to receive help without at least expressing her gratitude, or so she felt.
"I see; I suspected you were the clan leader from your presence and aura.”
The Orc then introduced himself as well.
"I am King Gustav Falkenhayn of the Kingdom of Orcsen. I would like to hear your story, but I won’t force you."
"......"
An Orc King.
A king, indeed.
This bearing, this mana.
It made perfect sense.
"Since then―――though you were unconscious, we found about ten more of your kind in this area after rescuing you. They were all injured, but their treatment is complete. They are resting in another room. You may see them later."
"I..."
Dineluth tried to rise, but the Orc King held up a hand, gesturing for her to stay still.
"Please, have a meal first. There’s no need to rush. Your companions are doing the same."
At his signal, the nurse returned, bringing a meal on a wooden tray.
A folding table was set up beside the bed, and the food was laid out.
A loaf of rye bread mixed with wheat, accompanied by lingonberry jam and butter.
A cream soup full of apricot mushrooms, with pheasant meatballs, and a light dash of black pepper.
Herb-braised moose meat, served with roasted potatoes and carrots, topped with a rich sauce.
There was also a warming red wine, heated just enough to avoid harming her recovering body, infused with cinnamon, cloves, and dried orange.
"Food is the root of all health. This may seem like a quick assortment, but I tried to have it prepared in a style close to your homeland's cuisine. I’ll take my leave for now."
"T-Thank you..."
A quick assortment? This?
Resembling our homeland’s cuisine...?
Hardly.
Our traditional dishes are nowhere near this lavish. Our bread usually contains no wheat.
Such fine care. It’s like a feast fit for the Spirit Festival.
The soup, in particular, stirred her appetite. The delicious aroma of apricot mushrooms, butter, and cream, a combination universally beloved by Elves.
How long had it been since she'd last had a warm meal?
They say hunger is the best spice, and indeed, that was true.
Though it felt almost shameful, Dineluth devoured everything.
It touched her deeply.
Strength seemed to seep to the farthest reaches of her limbs.
Her spirit too began to stir, and memories she wished to forget resurfaced.
―――The smell of blood. Screams. Gunfire. Flames. Slaughter.
Driven by the need to regain strength for her ultimate goal, she finished the meal, but as she drained the blood-colored wine, she could bear it no longer. Overwhelmed, she called to the nurse waiting outside, asking for assistance to change.
Her clothes had already been washed and neatly dried, for which she was also grateful.
This, too, suggested that she had likely been asleep for several days.
She was guided to a large hall on the ground floor.
"Master Dineluth!"
"It's Master Dineluth!"
"Oh… ohh. Lavasril! Aldis! Elenwe! And all of you! You’re safe… you’ve survived..."
Dineluth and her companions grasped each other's hands, embracing and weeping together.
There was joy in their reunion, but, though they were grateful to have been saved, some of the more timid among them had been anxious to wake up surrounded by Orcs. They too felt a deep relief.
There had been thirty in total, including Dineluth, survivors from her clan and nearby clans who tried to escape the horrific events by crossing the Sylvan River.
Now, only fourteen of them, including herself, had been confirmed alive.
The Orcs’ search had been thorough, so if their words were to be believed, the remaining ones likely hadn’t made it.
―――We must return. To our homeland.
To kill every last one of those White Elves.
They will not be forgiven.
I will never forgive them.
Not ever.
What do you think about this chapter?
