A huge thank you to Keith Lighthill and Piers for joining as members on my Patreon! Your support means the world to me and truly motivates me to keep Translate. As a token of my appreciation, I will provide 2 extra chapters . I hope these chapters add even more value to your experience!
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Day Two.
Inside the chief's tent at the center of the Wolf Tribe's territory, the atmosphere was heavy and grim.
Listening to one scout's report after another, the aging chief and several elders remained silent throughout.
Once all the returning scouts had finished giving their individual accounts, the elderly chief slowly raised his hand, signaling them to withdraw.
The scouts departed, leaving the once-crowded tent feeling much more spacious.
Yet the tension remained thick in the air.
"Sixteen seasoned scouts, and not one managed to find any trace of the missing hunting party."
After a long silence, the chief finally spoke. His voice was weary—so weary that one could hear the exhaustion embedded within.
"As painful as it is, we must face the truth. More than thirty of the Wolf Tribe's finest warriors… are most likely dead."
Orcs were a nomadic race—hunting was their only means of acquiring food.
That's why hunting parties from every tribe always consisted of the strongest warriors available. Only then could they bring down powerful prey and return with the maximum haul.
But this came with a serious risk.
If a single hunting party was wiped out, the tribe would suffer a crippling blow, as if its backbone had been shattered.
"Over thirty elite warriors... how could they all vanish without a trace?"
A burly wolf orc gritted his teeth, eyes red with rage.
"Even if they encountered a powerful race, unless it was one of the high-tier races, our warriors' formidable physiques should have allowed at least a few of them to escape!"
The orcs had only two racial enemies: the Vampires and the Demons.
The former saw them as walking blood banks, and the latter were enemies of all races.
If encountered, the only viable option was to run.
Fortunately, vampires often preferred keeping blood slaves rather than wasting food through pointless slaughter. So usually, even if a few orcs were sacrificed, the rest would escape.
Demons were far more troublesome—but even then, for an entire elite hunting party to vanish… was still highly unlikely.
As for the Ex-Machina race they held no hostility toward orcs. The Forest Elves would never venture into this barren land. The Dwarf race were obsessed with smithing and war—they had no interest in orcs.
As for the Woodland Elves
They did occasionally capture orcs for slaves or breeders, but this region was under Dwarf control. It was unlikely the Woodland Elves would travel this far just for that.
There were also no signs of battle that might indicate the involvement of a high-tier race. And it was impossible for the hunting party to be caught in the crossfire of a large-scale war.
The chief and the elders debated for a long time but couldn't reach any logical conclusion.
"In any case, they've been missing for a month. The odds are… grim."
The chief struck his wooden staff against the ground, ending the discussion.
"Our elite warriors are gone, our food supplies are almost depleted, and prey is growing scarcer by the day. We must find a way to save the tribe."
"In my opinion, we should consider merging with a larger tribe."
An elder orc with a gaunt face made the suggestion.
"Rather than barely surviving in this narrow crack between powerhouses, we should find a strong protector and live in peace."
The other elders exchanged glances, unsure of how to respond.
Had this been said decades ago, it would've been met with fury.
Merging with another tribe meant discarding their totems and pride—living under someone else's command.
But now, if that was what it took to save their people… maybe it wasn't such a disgraceful option.
"Damn it! Why is this happening?!"
The burly elder finally couldn't hold back anymore. He slammed his fist into his palm, releasing a powerful gust of wind.
"If only we had a few more years for the heir to grow up, the Wolf Tribe could've risen as the next great tribe! Why must fate be so cruel?!"
On the Lucia Continent, the dominant forces were the Forest Elves and Dwarfs, but orcs still had their place.
Some great orc tribes were even powerful enough to sign non-aggression pacts with those two races—earning a measure of respect.
Why? One reason: strength.
Orcs possessed exceptional physiques, but that alone wasn't enough to stand against magic.
However, every now and then, an extraordinary orc was born. From birth, they carried a rare ability called Blood Burst (血坏)—a power that allowed them to break through physical limits, ignoring the laws of nature for brief periods.
One such individual could easily defeat thousands of ordinary orcs.
Even elite elf mages or Dwarf war machines would rather avoid conflict with them.
With a single Blood Burst wielder, a tribe had a chance to rise to greatness.
And the Wolf Tribe just so happened to have one.
But they kept it secret. The heir had never appeared before any other race.
Because if that secret got out, other tribes would do everything they could to seize him.
And if they failed...
In orc society, cannibalism wasn't uncommon. If they couldn't have it—they'd destroy it.
"Chief!"
While the tribe's leaders were deep in troubled thought, a warrior orc burst into the tent, panting heavily.
Seeing the look on his face, no one had the heart to reprimand him.
But deep down, they all hoped—could it be that the missing hunting party had finally been found?
Before they could ask, the orc cried out in a near-shouting voice:
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack! A force of around two hundred has been spotted five kilometers southwest—they're heading straight for us!"
The expressions of everyone present instantly changed.
This was the tribe's weakest moment.
Over thirty elite warriors had vanished. Their food reserves were nearly exhausted. Both their strength and morale were at an all-time low.
But they had no time to hesitate.
"How many are still able to fight?"
"We have 113 combat-capable warriors. If we include everyone who can pick up a weapon, the total rises to 153."
"No. No matter what happens, the Wolf Tribe must not be completely wiped out."
The chief let out a deep sigh.
"Select the ten strongest warriors. Gather food and water immediately. Escort the women, children, and the heir—get them out of here."
"But, Chief, the heir will not agree."
"Whether he agrees or not, he must go. He is the future of the Wolf Tribe. He cannot die here. No matter what it takes, he must survive."
Orders were quickly dispatched.
The chief grabbed a long bone spear from his side. His once-weary body now pulsed with fighting spirit—like a rusted sword freshly sharpened, exuding a deadly edge.
"The rest of you—come with me to face the enemy!"