CH449 Arrest and Three offences

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In all honesty, Alex didn't care about the escapees from the Desert Razor gang.

After Brieger's death, most—if not all—of the people who once served under his banner would no longer dare raise their heads in front of Alex and his party.

Truthfully, if Rolfe and Bram hadn't arrived when they did, Alex would most likely have ordered his people not to bother chasing them at all. The arrival of the two powerhouses, and his subsequent request regarding the escapees, had been more about gauging their reactions than anything else.

And from those reactions, Alex could clearly deduce that the two men were at least open to cooperating with him.

As for why they were willing, he didn't know.

Still, that wouldn't stop him from taking advantage of it.

Alex rubbed between his eyebrows briefly.

'Being a commander and a leader isn't easy. There's a lot to consider… and a lot to plan,' he sighed inwardly.

He turned his gaze back toward the courtyard.

His party members had already moved on to the most important activity after any battle—

Looting.

Although Alex's stacked [Fireball] spell had caused extensive destruction, he had deliberately ensured it didn't burn for too long. As a result, his party only needed to clear away rubble to recover items of value.

Udara was overseeing the actual loot recovery operation, while Eleanor was in charge of appraising the goods obtained. Even though she knew Alex had a convenient storage method, that didn't mean she would allow any trash to be collected and sold indiscriminately.

Their brand—even if it didn't truly exist yet—would be diluted by such actions.

Still, many of these discarded items had their uses.

At least, in Alex's eyes.

He walked over and picked up several weapons Eleanor had tossed aside with obvious disdain.

Indeed, by DragonHold Enclave standards, these weapons were little more than trash—things that even an Enclave Tier I Apprentice Forgesmith could probably craft better versions of.

"Don't throw them away," Alex said calmly. "We'll use them as bones to throw to certain people. One man's trash is another man's gold—especially in barren lands like these."

"That's true," Zora commented knowingly. "Those underbosses would love to get their hands on equipment like this."

Alex smiled and winked.

"Exchanging trash for goodwill is a worthwhile investment, no?"

Eleanor thus begrudgingly created a new pile for somewhat useful trash items.

At that moment, another ruckus approached their location.

This time, it was a squad of about a dozen Copper-skinned Orcs from the Camp Guard militia. Each one was imposing—at least by ordinary people's standards—standing firmly at around One-Star Silver rank.

"What are you all doing? Cease all actions immediately!" the squad leader shouted.

The expedition party paused and turned to face them.

Alex looked at the leading Orc and began walking toward him. However, just as he closed the distance, he noticed another Orc leaning in and whispering something into the leader's ear.

"Squad leader, that's the sorcerer who set fire to the arena," the Orc murmured.

The leader's eyes immediately turned hostile.

Alex caught this change at once and refrained from getting any closer. Instead, he turned slightly and signalled to Mordor.

Mordor nodded and stepped forward to meet them.

"Brothers, we are jus—"

"Don't call me brother, you traitor." The leading Orc cut him off sharply, sneering. "You, who have become a slave to a sorcerer, have no right to call yourself an Orc!"

He then turned his gaze toward Alex.

"Oy, sorcerer. Surrender immediately and await interrogation when we have time. Or else—"

Mordor froze.

He hadn't expected such naked hostility from a fellow Orc.

Even Alex frowned.

Some Orc subspecies—more specifically, certain tribes—could be xenophobic or deeply untrusting of other races. However, Orcs were almost always welcoming toward other Orcs.

Even in the worst cases, they would at least remain neutral.

It was almost unheard of for an Orc to be openly antagonistic toward another Orc they had just met… unless there was a clear conflict of interest.

Spirit Sight Lv2!

'Disgust… hatred… fear…'

Alex suddenly perceived the complex blend of emotional energy directed toward him by the Orcs.

'This doesn't make sense,' he thought. 'I only arrived in Camp Red Rock yesterday. I haven't done anything to earn this level of hostility. Even the Shaman—who was present when I attacked the arena—wasn't this antagonistic.'

Then, his eyes flashed.

'Wait… their reaction toward Mordor was specific.'

'Slave of sorcerer... Sorcerer!'

Realisation struck him like a hammer.

'Yes. Their reaction makes sense if it's because they view me specifically as a sorcerer.'

With that understanding, it wasn't difficult for Alex to piece together why the Copper-skinned Orcs might harbour such strong… aversion toward sorcerers.

Back on Pangea, there was a time when Wildkins—orcs included—were hunted for their body parts, which were used as materials in alchemy.

Ogre blood was used in healing potions. Troll blood in regenerative potions. Orc blood in strengthening potions, and so on.

Since virtually all alchemists were spellcasters—mages or warlocks—Wildkins gradually came to harbour a deep hatred for all spellcasters, alchemist or not.

It was only after sapient Wildkin races were officially recognised and integrated into Pangea's cultivation and ascension society that such hunts gradually died down.

Of course, they never truly disappeared.

A black market for Wildkin parts still existed. And since the Fury family frequently dealt with Wildkins—often leaving behind large numbers of Wildkin corpses—the family was, by necessity, quite active in that black market. If not in direct trade, then at least in the use of those materials.

If similar practices were taking place here in Verdantis, then the Orcs' reaction—and the volatile cocktail of emotions Alex sensed—suddenly became understandable.

Still, understanding did not equate to indulgence.

Alex was not about to let pity for their plight become an excuse for someone to trample on him. Not in a land like the Wildlands, where reputation and infamy were currencies as valuable as berserk stones.

"You have guts, don't you, Orc?"

Alex's eyes turned cold. A baleful yet commanding presence radiated from his body, pressing down like an invisible weight.

"I sent one of your own as a courtesy," he continued evenly, "and you took that as permission to insult me and my people."

His gaze locked onto the squad leader in particular.

"Are you certain you can bear the consequences of angering a sorcerer?" Alex asked calmly. "One who has just killed one of your Camp's so-called powerhouses?"

He motioned casually toward Brieger's corpse.

The Orcs' eyes shrank as they followed his gesture.

Seeing the body of the man who once ruled an entire section of Camp Red Rock sent a ripple of unease through the squad.

Worse still, sensing Alex's momentum, the expedition party unconsciously released their killing intent. Their auras pressed outward as they stared at the Orcs in silence.

In that instant, the Orcs felt like prey being circled by a pack of wolves.

All that was left was the alpha's command.

"Sorcerer or not," the squad leader finally said, forcing himself to stand firm, "you still have to explain yourself. You can't just kill and destroy within Camp Red Rock. This is Chief Azgrug's territory..."

Although the Orc tried to hold his ground, his words—and his tone—had clearly softened.

That, however, did not mean Alex was about to ease his stance.

"If you had kept quiet and listened before throwing your weight around," Alex said coolly, "you would have already heard why we are here."

It was a subtle jab, but a sharp one.

The Orc squad leader grit his teeth, yet made no rash move.

"That's better," Alex nodded, acknowledging the restraint.

He raised three fingers.

"The idiot over there mistook my silence and mercy for weakness. Brieger sent thugs to block the road leading to the camp. Those thugs dared demanded a toll from me and my party. That was his first offence."

One finger dropped.

"When I approached him and sought to settle the matter amicably using the casino, he spat on my reputation by accusing me of cheating—without evidence. That was his second offence."

Another finger fell.

"Then, we agreed to resolve matters at the arena. My champion won fairly, yet this idiot attempted to have him assassinated immediately after. That was his third offence."

The final finger dropped and Alex's hand balled into a strong fist.

A soft—but chilling—smile tugged at his lips.

"So tell me, Squad Leader," Alex said calmly, his crimson gaze locking onto the Orc's eyes, "by the unspoken rules of the Wildlands, am I justified in seeking redress for not one, but three slights to my honour and reputation?"

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