The Insane Regressor: Throne of Pride

Ravian was trapped now, caught in a cursed stretch of time in which he had just transported himself into the middle of an orc camp.

And the worst part?

It had happened just after midnight.

’But how? This area is supposed to be within human territory, so how can there be an orc camp here, even a small one?’

Something must have happened at the border to bring about a situation like this, and Ravian now had to get himself together and find some way out without fleeing in disgrace and provoking resistance from his pride.

Bam!

A club struck his back while he was taking in the situation, so Ravian turned with a bored expression, seized its wielder’s arm, and smashed the orc into the ground beside the pot.

’System, are you sending me back to the beginning of the day or the beginning of a disaster?’

[The beginning of the current day, Host.]

Ravian clenched his jaw and let it go this time; he had no time to argue with the System, and his gaze left the hordes of orcs approaching from every direction to settle on the tent the Eighth-Rank orc had emerged from.

’Now, what am I supposed to do about this disaster?’

...

Inside the Eighth-Rank orc’s tent.

”Any instructions on the timing of the attack arranged with the Desire Sect?”

The Eighth-Rank orc addressed the Ninth-Rank subordinate standing at the entrance, holding a papyrus message in its hands, with a sinister black bird resembling a crow perched on its shoulder.

”Yes, sir,” the orc replied, respect evident in both its eyes and its posture. ”Tonight has been designated as the time for our attack.”

The Eighth-Rank orc nodded in understanding, but its subordinate had not finished reading the message.

”It also states that we are to carry out this attack on our own, Commander. No other forces will be launching an offensive, though we will receive some support from a few squads of Tenth-Rank Awakened orcs that will meet us at the edge of the forest.”

The Eighth-Rank orc scowled at these suicidal orders.

”How exactly do they expect us to attack the Dmitri front with just these troops? Have they lost their minds?!” the commander roared at its Ninth-Rank subordinate.

The blast of sound washed over the subordinate, accompanied by flying spittle and the foul stench of its commander’s breath.

The Ninth-Rank orc endured it all before answering.

”Don’t worry, sir. They have only asked us to spread panic through their ranks; there are no orders for a direct engagement,” it explained in detail. ”They want us to send a few soldiers at a time to kill some Awakened and unawakened humans, wearing them down and keeping them on constant alert while the soldiers of our Twilight Empire quietly prepare for the great battle.”

It was simply a war of attrition intended to demoralize the Viera Empire’s forces before the full-scale offensive.

Much of the Eighth-Rank orc’s anger subsided once it understood that it would not have to assault the entire human front on its own, but something still gnawed at it.

”What about Karius Dmitri and the human platoon commanders?” the Eighth-Rank orc finally asked, fear plainly visible in its eyes. ”What if they intervene directly to stop us from wearing them down and decide to wipe us out completely?”

The Ninth-Rank orc was startled by the fear in its commander’s voice, a tone it had never heard before, yet one that had surfaced so readily at the mention of Karius Dmitri and his Seventh-Rank platoon commanders.

”Don’t worry, Commander,” the subordinate quickly reassured it. ”The Seventh-Rank platoon commanders would never intervene in battles between the Tenth and Ninth Ranks, much less their company commander, Sir Karius Dmitri, whose pride would prevent him from even attending a battle like that, let alone taking part.”

The reasoning made sense. Although honor was rarely found on a battlefield, commanders were a different matter; a commander was expected to set an example for his soldiers, so regardless of race, he would try to appear honorable to earn their support and willingness to sacrifice themselves for him, and the human platoon commanders and their company commander were expected to follow the same approach.

”Good. That’s reassuring, then.” The Eighth-Rank orc nodded in relief before giving its order. ”Get the soldiers ready.”

”Understood, sir!” The Ninth-Rank orc immediately bowed in acknowledgment.

”What about the human prisoners we’re holding, Commander? What should we do with them?” the subordinate asked before leaving to carry out its orders.

”Just slaughter them all—”

The Eighth-Rank orc was giving the order when it suddenly heard a noise outside the tent.

Strangely, that noise kept growing louder and more chaotic.

Craaack!

Kyugh!

”Help!”

Bam!

Orc screams rose outside, accompanied by the loud cracking of bones, the bursting of entrails, and the clang of weapons scraping against one another.

The commander and its subordinate knew those sounds too well to mistake them; a battle was undoubtedly taking place.

”Damn it!”

Both orcs shouted in unison as they rushed for the tent’s exit to see what was happening, their first thought upon hearing those sounds being that a human patrol had caught them by surprise.

...

Outside the tent, in the middle of the small orc camp, a human with white hair and red eyes darted from one orc to the next, each meeting its end at his hands in no more than two seconds.

Bam!

Ravian clamped both hands around the Ninth-Rank shield bearer’s head and squeezed until its skull burst between them.

He flicked his hands, shaking off the white matter and blood that coated them, then looked down at the shield bearer’s corpse with contempt as he remembered how he had tried to escape it and its companions last time instead of confronting them, wasting more energy and effort than fighting them had required.

He glanced around and found the other two Ninth-Rank orcs lying dead on the ground as well; whether through the same method or a different one, they had met the same end as the shield bearer.

”A bunch of disgusting monsters,” Ravian said, his gaze growing even more contemptuous as he regarded the creatures.

Sovereign Pride was amplifying his contempt, not creating it; those feelings had already been Ravian’s to begin with, and all Sovereign Pride had done was intensify them.

He lifted his gaze from the corpses to the remaining orcs keeping their distance around him, having finally stopped their reckless charges as fear began to take hold.

Ravian spread his arms wide and smiled mockingly at the terrified orcs watching from afar.

”What’s wrong?” he called out to the crowd.

”Why have you stopped attacking, you green idiots?”

”Are you really that scared of a mere human?”

Ravian noticed that his throat moved slightly differently from usual when he addressed the orcs rather than the humans of this world.

’System, what’s happening to my voice? Did I just switch languages automatically?’ Ravian realized what was happening almost instinctively.

[Yes, Host. The language you just spoke is Orcish.]

[And before you ask, yes, you can speak the languages of all beings because you know Prohibian.]

[This means you will not need to learn other languages as others do. You already possess the languages of all beings, since you know the language from which they all originate.]

Ravian’s smile widened further as he read the System windows, only making him look more terrifying to the orcs around him.

He glanced down in delight, genuinely wanting to celebrate now, and spotted an iron axe on the ground—the same axe belonging to the Ninth-Rank orc he had killed only moments earlier.

He picked it up and looked around for a victim to target, then noticed a Ninth-Rank female orc standing at a distance, with the Eighth-Rank orc’s tent behind her. She seemed to have decided to hide at the rear rather than charge in and lose her life at the hands of this insane, utterly abnormal human.

Ravian swung the iron axe once, then a second time, then a third, until his grip grew accustomed to its enormous size, finding it surprisingly light; he had expected it to be heavy after watching how much effort the Ninth-Rank orc had put into delivering a powerful swing.

He then took hold of the end of the haft and found a leather cord attached there, which he used to whirl the axe and build up enough momentum.

Then—

Whoosh!

Ravian hurled the axe with all his strength at the Ninth-Rank female orc.

Her eyes widened in horror as she saw the weapon, roughly a meter and a half long, hurtling toward her face at an incredible speed.

Fortunately for her, she had kept her eyes fixed on Ravian from the beginning, afraid he might make a sudden move, and that gave her enough time to throw herself to the ground. The axe missed her head by a hair’s breadth and continued past her with all its force, flying toward the tent behind her.

At that same moment, both flaps at the tent’s entrance lifted, revealing two orcs, one larger than the other.

Bam!

The axe struck the smaller orc emerging from the tent, splitting its head apart and passing straight through before tearing through the tent fabric and slamming into a massive, towering tree behind it.

The Eighth-Rank orc stared at where its Ninth-Rank subordinate’s head had been, before the lifeless body collapsed to the ground.

A moment of silence fell over the camp as everyone stared at the Ninth-Rank orc that had just died like a dog before them, without even getting a chance to react.

Then every gaze shifted to Ravian, one of them especially furious.

Ravian finally snapped out of his elation when he felt the pressure of the Eighth Rank descend on him, and he raised the hand that had thrown the iron axe, scratched the back of his head in embarrassment, and said:

”Ah... My bad.”