Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage

Chapter 909: Legacy of Ancient Civilisation I

CH909 Legacy of Ancient Civilisation I

***

Mordor returned to a warm welcome amongst his fellow black-skinned Orcs at their estate within the Enclave City.

The Brownskins were a unique Orc species of Pangea, known for their intelligence and magical talent compared to other species of the Orc race.

The difference between the Brownskins, especially the Enclave branch, and other Orcs was so significant that it was difficult to imagine that they were the same race.

After Mordor greeted the younger members of his Agrut Brownskin Clan, Mordor went to the ancestral hall, where he met the senior members of the Clan.

“You are back, Mordor.” Grand Shaman Agrut’s face folded into a smile.

“Yes, I am, Shaman Chief.” Mordor dropped to his knees before the council of seated older Brownskin Orcs. “Under your advice, I travelled to another Plane, experienced life for myself, and now I have returned with the enlightenment I have gained.”

“In that case, have you come to your senses and put away your foolishness with the sword to focus on your true calling as the next Shaman Chief of our Clan?” one of the older Brownskins to Agrut’s left side on the council asked.

Mordor removed his sword from his waist belt, then placed it on the ground before the council as he prostrated himself.

The eyes of the older Orcs on the council lit up with gratified smiles. However, their smiles froze immediately as Mordor spoke.

“I apologise before the council, but I still insist on walking the path of the sword,” Mordor said.

“You…” Some of the elders pointed at him in anger.

Mordor raised his head from his prostration.

“I will also walk the path of Shamanism that our Clan requires,” he added.

“We have been through this, Mordor. The paths of Swordsmanship and Shamanism diverge. You cannot walk the two together and reach the limit of either path,” Agrut said with a sigh.

Still remaining on his knees, Mordor expressed himself with a bowed head.

“Shaman Chief, I walked across a large Plane at young master Alex’s side, and I met many people in many different situations. Amongst them, I met different shamans—both of our Orc race as well as those of other races. However, I could not find the answer I sought from them. They were either too traditional or too radical,” he said.

He raised his head to look at Agrut.

“Instead, I found an answer in young master Alex,” Mordor said.

He looked through the council of eleven elderly Brownskin Orcs, five on either side of Agrut, each releasing impressive momentum. They were each at least late Class 4—Veteran warriors or Great Mages—particularly the two on Agrut’s immediate right and left, who were both Class 5s alongside the Shaman Chief.

“A Shaman is a magical class. It is primarily a warlock path tied to our ancestry that draws from each of us the power hidden within.

“However, more than a path, a Shaman represents a—no, the leader within our Clan.

“I have come to learn that, like any leader, it is a Shaman’s duty to lead our people along the right path—to glory, to ascension, or even simply to survival.

“Since I am a leader, why should I stand at the back of the Clan? Why should those I should lead die first? Why can’t I take the lead and stand before them?” Mordor expressed.

His determination was very evident in his tone.

For a moment, Mordor thought back to a silver-grey-haired noble youth who, despite his noble upbringing, charged at the enemy first and only then asked his followers to follow him.

The same youth who toiled in seclusion—many times forgetting food and hunger—to deliver products that would bring advancements to his followers.

Mordor thought back to the youth who, at a time of his greatest weakness, stood before his followers in his group’s time of greatest peril and inspired them not to give up or falter against the seemingly insurmountable odds.

The youth who rallied a mere tens of supporters—at best—and led them through the dangers of a massive unknown Plane, and before anyone realised it, now had thousands—tens of thousands—of followers and retainers standing behind him.

This youth might not be a Shaman in the truest sense of the word; however, he embodied a spirit and a chosen path that Mordor sought to walk down.

“Shaman Chief, elders…” Mordor looked at the council before him. “I now have a student of my own—one I wish to guide along what I believe to be the right path. So, believe me when I say, I understand your well wishes for me, and standing before you as a rebellious youth is the furthest thing from my intentions.

“However, I do wish to walk the path you have paved for me. I wish to walk my own path—right or wrong, I wish to follow the path I comprehend.

“I have no intention of becoming a Shaman that leads from the back, nor do I condemn such a path. I merely seek to be one who stands before our people and leads them from the front.”

Mordor looked at his sword.

“I do not seek to replace Shamanism with Swordsmanship. But since I have chosen to lead from the front, Swordsmanship gives me the means to better protect myself—after all, how can I lead if my decisions cost me my life at the first turn?”

Agrut looked at his younger clansman and proposed successor for a good moment. Then he turned to the other council members.

The elders either sighed or shrugged; none said anything. Mordor had made his determination clear—but more importantly, his clear-headedness as well.

He had shown clearly that he wasn’t acting on youthful impulse, but after careful consideration.

Which one of them hadn’t comprehended and committed fully to the path they had chosen to reach the path they now stood upon?

While they didn’t agree with Mordor’s chosen path, it was the young Orc’s choice to make, for he was the one who would walk the path, not them.

Agrut stamped his staff on the ground, bringing all attention back to himself.

“Very well, since the young one has decided his path, victory or ruin is now his to bear—just as each of us made our decisions back when we were at his level,” the Shaman Chief said.

“The council is dismissed,” he added.

The ten elderly Orcs around him bowed to him, then retired from the hall.

“It seems young master Alex didn’t have the desired effect we wanted, but his effect on you was strong nonetheless,” Agrut commented.

Mordor simply stood still, not verbally responding.

Agrut smiled.

“Follow me, child. I have something to show you,” he said.

Agrut led Mordor out the side exit of the ancestral hall into a small, twelve-metre-tall Mage Tower at the rear of the estate.

This was Agrut’s personal seclusion tower—one reserved for the Shaman Chief of the Brownskin branch.

Agrut continued to lead the young Orc until they reached a study on the tower’s third floor. There, Agrut led him to a group of bookcases closer to the centre of the study.

Immediately upon arriving there, Mordor got the sense that something was wrong—or rather, off.

“You can sense it? Good. Looks like I was right and you are ready for what is to come.”

Agrut suddenly began chanting in a strange mumble. The old Orc danced around for a short moment, then—

Click!

Mordor suddenly heard a clicking sound, as if something was moving out of the way.

Unexpectedly, a hole appeared in the ground before them. And within the hole was a staircase that led downwards.

“Come, follow me,” Agrut instructed.

***