Published: December 5th 2024, 8:23:40 am
A Peaceful Land of the Orcs (3.6)
―――There are many things you won’t know until you try.
Recently, Dineluth had been struggling with this reality.
"Today, some of our younger ones will take flight. I believe you, who can use magic, can understand this, but the effectiveness of magic communication and detection depends greatly on individual abilities and experience. If you're not careful, you might completely miss a target, or worse, send waves in the wrong direction."
This, too, was no exception.
Dineluth considered magic not as the omnipotent force that Humans imagined in their picture books, but rather akin to an enhancement of their so-called "five senses": seeing, hearing, touching, tasting, and smelling. To this, a sixth sense, "feeling," was added.
The demon races could use these senses with greater intensity due to their innate mana. However, just as among Humans, there were individual differences within the same species.
Some excelled in seeing things up close, while others were adept at seeing from afar. That’s the nature of it.
In other words, magic was only as capable as that.
Most magic abilities were passive and had limited direct influence over others. Healing magic was one of the rare exceptions, and even that was more of a “sharing vitality” sensation.
Overdoing it could cause the caster to collapse, so elixirs or conventional medical treatment were typically prioritized.
As for the "fire magic" or "ice magic" that humans dreamed of, Dineluth had never seen such things, not even once. It was said that individuals capable of such feats existed during mythic times, but the remnants of those powers could only faintly be found in inscription-based magic.
In addition to innate abilities, experience made a significant difference.
With accumulated experience, one might find strengths in what they previously believed to be weaknesses or enhance areas where they already excelled. That said, there were, of course, cases where improvement seemed impossible no matter the effort.
Dineluth believed that the Dark Elves’s strong magic abilities had largely been honed through their ancestral hunting lifestyles. Young ones might make mistakes on their first hunts, but eventually, seasoned, skillful hunters would emerge from their ranks.
Rainders’s unit had progressed to a stage where they actively devised ways to provide such experiential learning to their young members.
Enviable.
They still didn’t have the resources for such initiatives. But eventually, it would become a necessity.
Hunting might no longer be their livelihood, but they would engage in something far more perilous, merciless, and coldhearted: military action.
"Forgive me for saying so, but―――"
Rainders hesitated slightly before continuing.
"I sympathize with your position, sincerely. The reasons you ended up in this country, and what you are striving to achieve now... they are much like our own."
"........"
"It might not be my place to say this, but Dwarves, Kobolds, and even Great Wolves, despite appearances, are understanding species. Yet all living beings, no matter how much their minds comprehend, struggle for their hearts to follow. I see that now, after my own conduct toward you—toward the one who saved my life."
He spoke with cautious care, ensuring no room for misunderstanding.
His demeanor, his nobility.
He resembled a knight from legend.
Such refinement, even with intent, was not easily emulated.
Enviable.
Truly enviable.
Rainders then turned his beak, drawing it to his left wing, and plucked a single feather from near the base.
"Please accept this as my apology. If you were to adorn the edge of that beautiful military cap with it, nothing would bring me greater joy. While it may be unnecessary for one as proud as you, I believe this feather might soften their attitudes when they see it."
"......... Thank you."
Dineluth, grateful from the bottom of her heart, attached the feather as suggested, securing it to the silver-leaf metal emblem on the left side of her bear-fur cap—a symbol of the Dark Elf unit.
When she returned to the tent―――
Gustav was the first to notice. After a brief look of surprise, he nodded at her, then winked with his characteristic mischievous expression.
More visitors continued to arrive at "General's Hill."
The last group for the inspection arrived around seven in the morning.
With clattering hooves and the rumble of the earth, several Percherons galloped to a halt at the base of the hill. After entrusting their horses to the field stables, the Orc and his lively entourage—jovial voices mingled with laughter—climbed the hill.
"My King! My King!"
"Oho, oho! He has arrived!"
To everyone's surprise, Gustav rose to his feet, beaming with joy, and rushed outside the tent to greet the visitor. He extended a firm handshake, embraced him tightly, and welcomed him warmly.
When the king stood, the entire tent naturally followed suit.
"Schwerin, Schwerin, Schwerin! You rascal! My tusk! I recognized it was you by the sound of your horse’s hooves!"
"Hahaha! Who are you calling a rascal? You’ll trip over yourself again! My King, it’s good to see you in such fine health!"
"And you, Schwerin! It’s good to see you well!"
Orcs were a species of large voices and even larger builds.
His voice boomed like a gong.
Dineluth swiftly read the rank insignia: High General.
In this country, the rank of Marshal was reserved for those who had captured a fortress in battle, a rank currently held by no one. Thus, the rank of High General—of which there were only three—was the highest active military rank. This was one of them.
A scar ran from the tail of his right eyebrow to the corner of his lips, with a broken tusk on that side, clearly marking him as a veteran warrior.
―――Could it be?
She couldn’t help but wonder.
Surely not… that him?
"Commander of the Northern Army, Aloysius Schwerin, reporting for duty."
The name confirmed her suspicions as he saluted sharply.
Joining the others in saluting, Dineluth couldn’t help but marvel at the twists of fate.
Oh my.
Oh, my, my.
Today felt like a reunion of the past, she mused.
Even she recognized his name and appearance.
A warrior among warriors.
Dineluth recalled being told to flee at all costs if ever faced with this Orc commander one-on-one, a general who had commanded armies since the Battle of Rosalind Valley—a battle 120 years ago. Back then, Gustav himself had only been a soldier.
To think he was still alive…
What history lay between these two over the past 120 years? They seemed as close as father and son, and now this warrior appeared to hold Gustav in the highest regard, genuinely respecting him as king.
"Zebek! Still alive, you old dog?"
"Regrettably. Dying before you would haunt me eternally."
"Hahaha! Hand over all your secret wine already! Surely you’ve willed it to me?"
"Who would make such a will...!"
Come to think of it―――
Yes, the Chief of Staff is like that too.