Parallel (A Virtual Gamer's Story) [Vol.1 - Vol.4 Complete]

Chapter 170: Clinging Souls

Rhatheth, Daggerfall,

3:35 pm, 14th Banem, 1092.

The cold air of death milled over the once-bustling village, subduing the atmosphere. Warrior orcs patrolled the streets, their gazes hardened in rage as they passed empty houses and charcoal sooted ruins. These buildings served as a stark reminder to the orcs, such that they would never forget the horrors committed at this place.

Several tents were erected outside the village where the orcs not on duty rested. None of the orcs were willing to enter the town if they did not have to. Even those whose houses survived the fires chose to set up camp outside. The memory of their loved ones and the gruesome scene they saw were still freshly haunted their minds.

It was toward this scene that a company of dwarven soldiers approached from the North. The company comprised roughly one-hundred soldiers. It was a number large enough to serve as a deterrent but not large enough to induce a significant threat. This number of soldiers already showcased the dwarfs' attitudes toward the upcoming negotiations without a single word spoken.

The dwarfs were willing to negotiate and did not look down on the orcs' authority.

Fifty orcs flanked the company at either side and escorted them to the village gates. The orcs glared at the dwarven soldiers, hoping for some sign of treachery. At that time, they would not hesitate to cut them down!

Unfortunately, (or was it?), the dwarfs so far, seemed to be on the up-and-up. They had not made any suspicious movements and allowed themselves to be escorted to the gates.

Grovitch awaited the company at the village's north gate. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the dwarf at the head of the company. His red, leather armor stood out against the stock armor the other soldiers wore. The dwarf's eyes were sharp and held a firm conviction. His gaze did not falter even when faced with the hundreds of orcs camped outside the city gate, glaring at him with unshielded hatred.

The lead dwarf raised his hand and stopped the company when they were roughly twenty meters from the gate. He then dismounted and walked toward Grovitch, accompanied by three warriors and two astoundingly fat dwarfs garbed in expensive civilian clothing that reeked of expensive perfume.

The fat dwarfs, whose opulence was displayed by several gold chains, squeezed out from within the company. Both dwarfs bore a striking semblance, varied only by the passage of time. The older of the two sported a dark grey beard while the younger of the two, seemingly in his early thirties, sported a neat, black beard.

Grovitch sneered as he saw the fear and hesitation in the civilians' eyes. 'Hmph! As expected of those cowardly dwarfs. We haven't even pulled out our weapons, and they're already pissing themselves in fright. To think these cowards killed our people!' The orc's face contorted in rage, but he eventually managed to control his emotions.

Grovitch looked at the dwarfs in civilian clothing. "Which one of you is Rudega Farvulia?"

"How rude!" The younger dwarf spat. "Who do you think you're speaking to with that attitude?"

Rage burned in Grovitch's eyes, and he reached for his ax.

"Wait! I apologize for my brethren's conduct," the lead dwarf stepped between Grovitch and the civilians and offered a bow in recompense. "I am Rudega Farvulia. You must be Grovitch Bone-Breaker. I wish we could have met under more favorable circumstances."

"Farvulia!" The younger dwarf shouted. "You dare bow to a low—"

"Shut up!" Rudega roared and glared at the dwarf. He glared at the older dwarf and warned, "Thonur, control your son, or I will discipline him myself!" Rudega began to regret bringing this wastrel father/son pair along.