Even where the Holy Light shone, darkness still lingered.
In a small border city of Ryan, an emaciated orc clad in rags was bound inside a dungeon.
Under normal circumstances, the people of Ryan were forbidden from extracting confessions through torture, but this was an orc. Within the Ryan Empire, orcs were not considered human; all laws were predicated on the supremacy of mankind.
Furthermore, Ryan had fought several wars against the orcs, making the sudden appearance of this orc in the desert deeply suspicious.
Even though he was reduced to skin and bones and had been nearly baked into a dried husk by the sun when discovered, he was still tossed into the dungeon.
They had to ascertain where this orc came from and what he was doing in the desert.
If they could squeeze any valuable intelligence out of him, it would be a major achievement.
At present, the people in the desert who had recently submitted to Ryan were all eager to claim merits.
Most residents of these newly annexed cities were local desert folk. Under Ryan's past conventions, they should have strengthened indoctrination and education to turn these desert people into Ryan citizens as quickly as possible.
However, too many crises had recently plagued Ryan, and the Supreme Arbiter responsible for educating the populace had just been replaced.
The newly appointed Supreme Arbiter abandoned his predecessor's balanced approach and began employing extreme measures to promote the teachings of the Lord of the Dawn. As a result, while these desert folk grew well-versed in the prayers, they merely recited them from memory, holding little genuine conviction in their hearts.
Yet superiors demanded results, and rote recitation alone was not enough. Thus, a small-scale campaign of mutual surveillance was initiated. If anyone suspected another of lacking piety, they could report them to the Tribunal, and clerics of light would naturally arrive to inspect whether the accused was a heretic or harbored rebellious intentions.
More often than not, the suspicions proved true. Too little time had passed, and many had merely paid lip service; how could they transform into zealots overnight?
After a few rounds of this, pandemonium erupted across these cities, showing faint signs of brewing unrest.
Compounded by Ryan's recent crushing defeat, many desert folk even entertained thoughts of restoring dwarven rule.
A wave of riots broke out, but Ryan quickly suppressed it.
The paladin legions might fail against the Githyanki, but could they not handle a bunch of rebels?
The result was a bloody purge of the rebels, putting down the uprising entirely. What followed was a period where everyone felt imperiled. Now, all were desperate to earn merits, if only to clear away their own suspicion first.
An orc made an excellent target. Rough him up a bit, force him to confess to being an infiltrating spy, and deliver him up the chain to claim credit.
From lowly grunts like them to the lords above, everyone could take a share of the glory. While they dared not dream of lavish rewards, at least they could enjoy a few nights of peaceful sleep without fearing someone might report them to the Tribunal.
They had dragged the orc back and lashed him a few times, but did not dare continue. The orc looked far too feeble; if they accidentally whipped him to death, their credit would be cut in half.
One of the jailers said to his companion, "This orc is barely breathing. How about we give him some water first?"
"Fine. I'll give him a drink. Search his belongings and see if there's any other intel."
A jailer walked over and poured two mouthfuls of water down the shriveled orc's throat. The orc, who had seemed at death's door, finally caught his breath and rasped feebly, "Meat... I want meat."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a slap landed across his face. The jailer barked, "You still want meat?! Even I don't dare eat meat every day! A prisoner like you wants meat? You won't even get moldy bread!"
Slap after slap rained down until half the orc's face swelled up, yet he never cried out in pain. He merely kept his eyes cast downward, as though afraid to meet the jailer's gaze.
His palm stinging from the blows, the jailer walked back to his companion and asked, "How is it? Find anything good?"
"Nothing. Just an empty waterskin. Not a single copper coin. Only this."
A book tightly wrapped in oiled paper was pulled out—a thick volume, resembling an ancient tome of considerable age.
"The title is... *Introduction to Divination Wizards*? I think I've heard of divination wizards before. Is it a magic book?"
The two jailers opened the ancient tome, only to find that while they could recognize half the words individually, they couldn't make sense of them when strung together—to say nothing of the dizzyingly complex diagrams, which made their heads spin after just a glance or two.
The orc, who had remained silent all this time, suddenly spoke upon seeing the book. "Put that book down. That is an heirloom of my family."
"An heirloom? Can you orcs even understand what's written in this book? Your brains are as stupid as pigs'."
"I know. It's definitely stolen. He stole it and tried to make a run for it, only to faint in the desert from dehydration. That's got to be it."
The two jailers bantered back and forth to pin the crime on the orc. In their eyes, this orc was a guaranteed pile of merit. And precisely because of their carelessness, they failed to notice that the ropes binding the orc had loosened.
The orc's body seemed to have suddenly shrunk a size, allowing the loops around his hands and feet to slip off with ease; he was merely pretending to still be tied up.
Ignoring the warning, the two jailers kept flipping through the ancient book.
*Rippp.* A faint sound echoed. A yellowed page tore, the rip running across nearly half the paper.
The two jailers felt a twinge of awkwardness. This was seized contraband; if they damaged it, they would be reprimanded. Still, they could always blame it on the orc... While this thought was still brewing, darkness suddenly fell over their eyes.
The candle illuminating the dungeon went out abruptly. By the time one of the jailers managed to relight it, he could not hold back a terrified shriek.
In the flickering firelight, his companion was already decapitated. The half-dead orc was crouching over his companion's neck, gnawing and biting in ravenous mouthfuls.
This orc was eating a human.
The surviving jailer's legs turned to jelly. Scrambling to turn and flee, he found himself sinking downward as if trapped in quicksand.
Looking closer, he realized he was sinking continuously into his own shadow, until only his head remained above the surface.
Helpless, he watched the orc devour most of his companion, leaving behind only a bloody skeleton.
The orc let out a burp. His previously withered frame swelled back to fullness, rippling with perfect, streamlined muscles. If he had looked like this from the start, they never would have used mere ropes—they would have slapped iron shackles on him immediately.
Yet it was too late for regrets. The orc, his mouth dripping with blood, walked up to the jailer and asked, "Earlier you said you've heard of that name?"
"Name? What name? Please, don't kill me! I can take you out of here!" The jailer's instinct for survival surged; he was willing to do whatever was asked of him.
The orc shook his head. "I don't need to get out. I'm looking for the author of this book, the Lord of Elden. You know that name, don't you? Earlier you said you'd heard the title 'divination wizard.'"
"If I tell you, will you spare my life?" the jailer pleaded.
The orc sneered, reached out, tore off the man's ear, and popped it into his mouth to chew.
The jailer screamed in agony, desperate to attract the attention of guards outside. Yet strangely, the sound seemed trapped within the cell, unable to carry outward in the slightest.
"Speak, or I will eat you. I promise you'll stay alive long enough to see your own heart!" the orc threatened.
The jailer finally broke and hurried to explain, "The divination wizard I mentioned—he banished the entire Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn! He isn't the one in the book!"
The orc reached out, pinched his other ear, and asked, "Then what is his name?"
The jailer blurted out, "I think he's called Ultraman or something! He's a lich, the number one wanted undead in our Ryan Empire!"
"That's it? Do you know where he is?"
"I don't know, but he definitely isn't here! Right, out to sea! He must have gone out to sea! After he banished the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn, that place turned into an ocean. He definitely had a purpose—he must be at sea right now! If you go too late, you won't find him! I can help you leave as quickly as possible without causing any trouble, I swear..."
Before the jailer could finish, the orc snapped his neck, then casually ripped off his other ear and stuffed it into his mouth.
After chewing up the ear, the orc carefully wiped his hands clean and tucked the ancient book away.
He had not lied; this ancient book had indeed been handed down by his ancestors. However, it was not some treasure, but a reminder to subsequent generations never to forget that blood feud.
Many years ago, his family had held prominent status as renowned nobles in the Orc Empire.
Later on, however, they crossed paths with the author of this book, a man who claimed to be a divination wizard. Not only was the family swindled out of their entire fortune, but this man also framed them, entangling them in a clash with the royal family.
The outcome was that every adult male of the family was beheaded, the women were forced into military brothels, and the underage children were reduced to slaves.
Many years later, their family bloodline was virtually severed. Nearly ten generations had passed, until now only this young orc remained.
Originally, he had been a slave. It was only when Ryan invaded and he was thrown to the front lines as cannon fodder that he managed to decapitate several Ryan paladins. On the merit of that feat, he was restored to commoner status and regained his ancestral name—Kargor Kluman.
The name signified a mighty and resilient warrior, and Kargor Kluman had never brought shame upon it.
The day his slave brand was removed, Kargor Kluman fled. Having grown up a slave, he harbored no affection for the Orc Kingdom, and once the brand was gone, his movements were unrestricted.
Taking this book—the sole remaining possession of his family—Kargor Kluman embarked on a directionless journey of vengeance.
After gaining his freedom, Kargor Kluman sought to find this "Lord of Elden." Even if he couldn't find the man himself, he would find his descendants and wash away the ancient humiliation with blood.
Not knowing where his quarry was, Kargor Kluman chose to investigate as he traveled.
Having secretly ascended to a legend, no one knew what abilities he possessed. Even Kargor Kluman himself couldn't clearly explain what his power was, knowing only that he could manipulate shadows.
He could turn shadows into his weapons or even parts of his body. This ability allowed him to traverse forests and leave the mountains with ease.
It also enabled him to roam through Ryan's territory undetected by ordinary folk.
Yet upon reaching the desert, Kargor Kluman was completely dumbfounded.
Having left his homeland and seen a desert for the first time in his life, he never imagined he would walk for days on end without finding a single source of water.
The golden expanse dazzled his eyes, and his body grew weaker and weaker. Had it not been for his past as a slave, where hunger and thirst were second nature, he would have perished in the desert long ago.
Those two Ryan men had suffered terrible luck. They had brought him back thinking they had stumbled upon an easy prize, only to have dragged back a demon.
Kargor Kluman stowed the ancient tome away and muttered to himself, "The sea, is it? I've never seen that either. Guess I'll go have a look."
Kargor Kluman's body slowly melted into the shadows and vanished without a trace.
Chapter 383