Chapter 106: The Past Of The Last Bloodfang Warrior
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The words that Fiery Hair had said about Mursha were still constantly resonating within the orc warrior's heart and mind.
The lack of resolve, the lack of self-confidence, how she hesitated, how she could even be afraid deep down, doubting herself.
And therefore, becoming weaker as a result.
Her fight against Bing Xue and Fiery Hair showed her that she wasn’t truly as strong as she believed and that, deep down, she was filled with many insecurities.
It also filled her with the sense that she hadn’t been herself for a long while, even as she polished her skills and continuously leveled up with each War Game and Hunt Game.
Even as she tried to find a way to break out of her terrible prison, the curse of being confined in this camp was to see her tribe die one after another.
Yes, she could still remember it; the Blood Fang Tribe was one of the strongest tribes in the entire world of Elios.
Strong orcs with the most refined swordsmanship techniques possess the power of their Blood Fang Stigma, the ability to become stronger the more they bleed and are hurt.
This made their tribe incredibly tenacious, becoming almost invincible, and a great headache to the ever-growing Cult of the Barbarian God.
The War Games were never as widespread as they are now; the entire population wasn’t completely forced to do them like before.
No, back then, when she was much younger.
When the wind was calm and soothing, and when she ran barefoot around the grasslands with an innocent, childish smile.
Those moments when the world hadn’t become an endless blood fest to please a mad god...
She still could remember them—these memories that wouldn’t go away no matter how much she tried to forget them.
No matter how much she tried to move on and accept her reality,.
Thirty years ago, when she was a young orc warrior girl in her early teens, she was still too inexperienced and still looking forward to the future and the beautiful world she was born in.
Back then, she would spend the whole morning practicing her sword techniques, swinging her blade vertically and horizontally, imitating her parents and the other warriors’ abilities.
“Phew… And one hundred!”
After doing a hundred swings, she sighed in relief, sitting over the soft and cold grass. The morning sun was already rising, and its warmth washed over her body.
“Murshaaa! Come back home! Breakfast is ready, honey!”
And then a voice, her mother calling her, like every day, like every morning.
“Oh! Breakfast!”
Little Mursha ran across the grasslands, sprinting rapidly as she greeted the other members of the tribe that she saw.
“Hello everyone! It’s a good day today too!”
“Ah, little Mursha!”
“Aren’t you energetic today too?”
“I wish my son would be half as disciplined as you are! Hahah!”
“There she goes again, that girl…”
As she reached her family’s large tent, she greeted a pack of enormous fluffy creatures, resembling a combination of sheep and cows; these were the normal cattle of the orc tribes, named Waltrogs.
They were resilient, strong, and capable of sustaining themselves with just grass. And they fed the orcs with delicious meat and milk, and they were also capable of producing soft wool and a strong pelt; they were strong beasts too, so most predators would not get close to their offspring.
“Hello everyone! How are you doing?”
Mursha petted them as she went to her tent. A little Waltrog ran towards her, hitting her with a playful headbutt.
“Ouch! Haha! How are you today, little one?”
“Meehee!”
“Wanna play later? I gotta go eat breakfast!”
She petted the creature’s head.
She could still remember, to this day, how soft and warm its little head was.
“Mursha! Come eat already!”
Her father called her; he seemed a bit upset that she was taking a while to come to eat with the family. She quickly ran without saying another word.
“I’m here, haahh... Sorry, I took a while!” giggled Mursha, sitting over the grass and seeing a huge wooden table covered with delicious food.
Milk, cheese, bread, some dried meat, wild berries, and boiled potatoes—most Orc tribes used to be nomadic hunter-gatherers, only having one type of cattle, the Waltrogs, the only creatures capable of keeping up with them and benefiting from their protection and care.
“Well, finally back, my girl. Did you do your daily hundred swings?” wondered her father.
A huge orc man, almost as tall as three meters, with huge muscles and a manly, slightly ugly face, which was decorated with a gentle, fatherly smile, his sharp tusks were longer and larger than the rest of the orcs, showcasing his title as the Chief.
His muscular body was covered with several blood-colored tattoos; the more warriors in the tribe, the stronger they were, as their Blood Fang Stigma expanded over the years. The only thing he wore were some pants made of animal pelt and sandals, exposing his big upper half to the world.
"Yeah, I did my best!” said Mursha. “I did a hundred before breakfast!”
“You’re not lying, right?” wondered his mother.
She was much smaller than her husband, but still clearly strong. Tall, muscular, and around two meters and a half in height. Her mother had long red hair, while her father was completely bald. Decorating her silky red hair, there were several bony ornaments, all gifts from her husband.
“Woah, mom, you got red berries today?!”
Mursha looked at the pile of huge, avocado-sized berries.
“Yeah! I was able to exchange some for meat with a passing merchant,” said her mother. “They’re fresh and ripe, so make sure to eat a lot! Anything leftover will be made into jelly.”
“Yaaay! I want jelly too!” Mursha said. “I won’t eat too many then!”
The girl still took one of the wild berries and gave it a big bite. The sweetness and juiciness it had were otherworldly for such youth, who loved sweet things but found them so rarely in these lands.
“Hmmm! So good!”
“Hahah, they’re quite good, ain’t they?" Her father laughed, grabbing one of the berries and eating it whole. “Hm! Reminds me of my childhood, haha!”
“What?! Dad, you had childhood?” wondered Mursha. “I thought you were born old!”
“W-What?! How dare my daughter say such a thing about her respected father? Come here, you rascal!”
Her father grabbed her and started tickling her belly, making the little girl giggle.
“Hahaha! No, daddy, stop! Hahaha! W-Wait!”
“There’s no mercy for those who disrespect the chief!”
Her father then kissed her forehead and let her go.
“I hope you learned your lesson, little brat!”
“Hmph! One day I’ll grab you and tickle you once you become an old gramps!”
“Haha! I want to see you try!”
Mursha’s mother giggled as she ate a giant sandwich and drank some milk with honey.
“Fufu, come on, you two; the food is getting cold. Let’s eat already! We have to get moving in an hour from now.”
“Ah, right, honey!”
Her husband immediately started digging out, grabbing a big piece of meat—the whole leg of a giant bird monster—and taking giant bites out of it.
“Nom, nom, nom!”
Mursha continued eating berries, sometimes with milk and honey, bread with cheese, and then taking bites out of small nuts.
Once they finished their meal, the entire tribe set everything up, made a huge caravan, and started moving out across the grasslands.
The orcs followed summer and left behind winter, moving to warmer lands across the sole continent of Elios.
While they moved out, Mursha played with her pets and admired the beautiful view. Her mother brought her company when her father was talking with the rest of the tribe or leading them.
“Mommy… Why aren’t there any kids my age? Where are they?”
“Oh…”
And sometimes Mursha would wonder this many times: Where were the other kids her age? No matter how much she looked around, there were only adults, and the youngest of them was already past their twenties.
“Well, that’s…”
Her mother hesitated to answer that question, but she thought it would be good to tell her.
“It’s because of the curse of the mad god,” she said. “A god made by the barbarians... He cursed our people to not be able to give birth anymore.”
“The mad god? That evil god that the evil people follow?” wondered Mursha. “He’s awful!”
“He truly is...” her mother sighed, looking at the distant mountains. “Our tribe once used to be the largest and strongest of Elios. We followed the doctrines of the Keutzalfrir, the Divine Beast Spirit of Blood Fangs. But when those mad barbarians conceived their god, he slayed and sealed our Divine Beast Guardians, becoming the sole god of the world.”
“Our guardian…” Mursha looked at the red tattoos on her skin. “So I’m the last...”
“I… No, of course not,” smiled her mother. “You’re special, dear. You somehow have been spared from his curse. Perhaps, in the future, you could continue our tribe and legacy.”
“Uh…” Mursha still felt sad; such responsibility felt too heavy on her shoulders, especially at her age. “Um, is there a way... to defeat that god?”
“To defeat a god?” wondered her mother, smiling slightly. “There’s no such thing, dear. Nobody can kill a god. They’re gods for a reason.”
“But if we grow strong enough, we could try slaying him for good!” Mursha protested.
“No matter how strong we can grow, it will always be impossible; gods don’t even manifest here; they live inside their own realms, far away from our grasp,” her mother sighed. “Their orders are absolute, and their authority must be obeyed. We are being punished because our ancestors fought back against his cult; we didn’t want to participate in their wicked war games.”
“The War Games the people from other worlds do?” Mursha asked.
“Yes, that wicked game to entertain that insane god...”
Her mother held tremendous hatred against the Barbarian God, but even with all her hatred, she was a realistic woman. She knew that it would always be impossible to fight, and even less defeat, a god.
The only thing they could do was work hard and continue living and surviving. She hoped that one day her daughter would have more children with another orc, one from another tribe, and pass on their legacy to another generation.
Perhaps the Blood Fang Tribe would have already died off by then, but she hoped... She hoped that at least her daughter would live a happy life.
Away from the curses of her ancestors, as she had no blame for any of this.
“Divine Beast Spirits... Please, please protect my daughter.”
Every night, Mursha would see her mother praying in her room, crying as she prayed and as she implored their ancient guardians to protect the only child in their tribe.
“Mom…”
Mursha could still remember that night, when she looked at her own roughed-up hands, finding her own strength lacking.
At this point, she wasn’t going to ever accomplish a single thing.
She needed to become stronger, stronger than everyone else.
Every day since then, she has continued training even harder than before, growing slightly serious and often times colder.
Learning the truth impacted her more than her mother would have hoped.
“Mursha, dear…? Can we talk?”
“…”
One late evening, her mother came to see her as she swung her blade for the fifth hundredth time that day.
“Hahh… Hahh… I’m busy, Mom! I’m trying to... get stronger!”
“But…”
“But what?! What do you want?”
“Mursha, how can you talk to me in such a tone?!”
“I-I just… I just want to become stronger, so... So I… So I can help... more.”
Her mother looked into her daughter’s eyes, full of conviction.
blazing determination to change her fate, and perhaps the fate of her entire tribe.
Yet, in the end, the ending of this story was already well known to Mursha.
Fate is something nobody can escape from; once it is set in stone, it will happen, no matter what.
The dark influence of the mad god slowly sought and chased the last remnants of the Blood Fang Tribe.
“We’ve finally found them.”
A tall man wearing a black cloak and hood, covered with ornaments made of the bones of other orcs, especially their skulls, and carrying a staff decorated similarly, looked into the distance.
Behind him were hundreds of other orcs like him, wearing these same clothes, although of lesser ranks, emanating a much weaker aura of magical power.
“The last remnants of the Blood Fang Tribe...” he smiled. “At long last, we can finally offer you all to our god!”
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