Chapter 4.2: Knight Commander Houston

Last edited: 21/04/2021

The prison was located deep below the knight’s quarters.

Up until three years ago, it was a dreary, somber place, where prisoners of war were held and tortured.

By the end of the war, it was so dirty, so filled with disease and sickness that Houston had refused to even take a step inside of it, even when asked.

Nowadays, the place had been cleaned up and functioned as a detention center for petty criminals.

You could smell a faint scent of fresh citrus drifting through the air.

“That’s enough! Tell me why you’re here! What’s you purpose? Why were you going through those woods? Why’d you come to Krassel? What’s up with the Faerie?!”

As he went down the stairs to the prison, he could hear Judith’s voice echo through the stone-lined walls.

The way she expressed herself, nobody could have guessed that she was just rookie knight.

No Orc would respond to threats.

They were extremely averse to being looked down upon – even more so by a woman.

Either way, this wasn’t exclusive to Orcs either. Many men with nothing to hide would refuse to answer out of pride – they wouldn’t admit they were intimidated by a woman.

Thought Houston as he laughed bitterly.

Soon, the Orc would explode in anger, and say something along the lines of, “If you want me to talk, then let’s talk with our fists!”

And given that that was very likely to happen, what’s the point of even talking in the first place?

Low-level intel was the most you could ever get out of an Orc.

“The purpose of my journey is private. To keep it brief, I’m looking for something. I walked through the forest because it was faster. I’ve come here, to Krassel, because I think what I’m looking for might be here. The Faerie is an old friend. She knows why I’m travelling and she’s helping me out.”

What he heard, however, was a firm, resolute, yet polite response.

“Hoo…” Houston breathed out,

Young, hotheaded Orcs were the ones who got easily riled up – it also happens that most Orcs that found themselves on the wrong side of the law were young and hotheaded.

True Orcish veterans, however, wouldn’t care much for intimidation.

To them, compared to the hellish cacophony of the battlefield, threats made during peacetime might as well be just regular conversation.

Which begs the question…

Why would such a battle-hardened Orc be out here, out of his homeland, looking for something…?

“What are you looking for? Why are you looking for it?!”

“I… can’t tell you that.”

“Why not? That’s strange, isn’t it? What the fuck are you hiding?!”

Was it something that might be coveted – and even stolen if people knew it existed?

Or maybe was it something that would spell trouble if people knew that it had been lost?

Houston thought of two possibilities.

As he reached for the jail door’s handle, he suddenly had a bad, bad feeling about all this. His guts churned, and the acidic stench of bile hit the back of his throat.

[This voice… it’s… familiar…]

Houston’s premonitions were always right.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that he had survived the war because of his gut instincts,

[Maybe… maybe I just won’t go…]

His heart felt heavy as he debated whether to open the door, but finally, his loyalty towards his duty won over his intuition.

Even if he was conflicted over this whole thing, they were at peace now.

It wasn’t likely he’d lose his life.

And if he left Judith alone, she’d only keep up a time-wasting charade of unanswered questions and useless answers.

Houston hated waste.

Making up his mind, he opened the door to the interrogation room.

“Judith, calm down. Don’t overdo it, if this becomes a diplomatic issue, you’ll be in troub…b…ble… HYAAAAAAH!!”

Houston unintentionally let out a silly, high-pitched screech.

A shudder ran down his spine, his heart raced, and his legs screamed at him, telling him, no begging him to run away.

His mind drifted back to a battle he had fought during the war, shortly after he had been promoted to Commander of the Anti-Orc Army.

They were supposed to have won that fight.

They outnumbered the enemy, and their strategy was flawless.

However, the Alliance spearhead was unable to break through the enemy lines, and their troops were split up by subsequent flanking attacks.

When they sent the reserves to the front, their headquarters were struck.

Back then, he had wondered if the enemy had seen through their tactics, or if it was all just a coincidence.

The group that attacked the headquarters was small in numbers, but they were well-trained elites.

Houston could never forget one Orc in particular – the Orc that had led the charge against them that day, who wielded a sword as wide as Houston’s head was tall.

That same Orc had easily snuffed the life out of his second-in-command – a skilled swordsman himself.

While is second-in-command was being ripped to shreds, Houston ran off as fast as his legs could carry him.

When he finally made it back to base, in mostly one piece, he thought that maybe, just maybe this whole thing was just a nightmare.

It was such a terrifying experience.

But it wasn’t a dream.

Because dreams have an end.

This hell did not.

After that, he encountered the Orc many times on the field of battle.

From Houston’s point of view, the Orc always seemed to be aiming at him, trying to kill him.

In fact, this was probably exactly what he was doing.

If Houston, the Commander, could be taken out, it would be a huge hit to the Alliance army’s morale.

Houston had never even crossed swords with that Orc before.

Every time he showed up, Houston just fled with all his might.

After so many close calls, it was nothing short of a miracle that he was still alive.

That Orc appeared no matter how unfavorable the battle was for his side.

No matter how large the army, no matter how many powerful allies they fielded, he always showed up and fought like a madman, as if he didn’t know the meaning of “retreat”.

Even when the Human Sage came to the battlefield, bringing along his dragons and turning even Daemons and Ogres in charcoal, that Orc stood his ground, gripped his sword tight and charged the scaled creatures without a second thought.

Houston even grew to admire him.

At some point, he even began to think that among the Orcs, who were supposed to be hideous, this particular individual was… beautiful.

Which is why Houston remembers it all so clearly.

His conventionally green skin.

His frame, which was on the smaller side for an Orc yet covered with dense, firm muscles.

His hawkish, sharp eyes.

His deep purple-blue hair.

At first glance, he looked like any other Orc – but there was no mistaking it.

The only time Houston had come this close to him was during the signing of the peace treaty with the Orcs.

No, back then, he wasn’t even this close – no, back then, he was about 20 meters away.

Right now, he was at most five meters away.

Houston was within his reach. Inside of his range.

The Orc didn’t seem to have his sword at the ready, but Houston knew…

He knew that this Orc could move as fast as the quickest Beast. That he could tear apart Dwarven blacksteel armor with his bare hands.

He had seen all of it with his very own eyes – there was no mistaking it.

Back then, nobody believed him.

But Houston… Houston knew.

That was how the former Commander of the Anti-Orc Army had met his end – torn apart in a flurry of fists and steel.

This Orc had earned himself many nicknames over the years:

The Mad Warrior.

The Destroyer.

Slayer of Men.

Raging Bull.

Strong Arm

The Nightmare of Siwanasi Forest.

The Green Calamity.

The Dragon Decapitator.

There were many more… but all these terms – all these names described a single man.

And in Orc Country, his homeland, he was called:

Bash, the Orc Hero.

Sitting right there was the most dangerousYABE of all Orcs.