Dawn of the Empire

Chapter 23: The Orc Caravan

December 1, Year 30 of the Republic December 23, 1071 of the Light Calendar About 30 li west of the 9th Jia Village in Anxi Garrison—which the Han people had reserved—a caravan was camped for the night. They had arranged their large sleds in a circular formation and lit a bonfire in the open space at the center, illuminating dozens of armed male figures. This arrangement made it clear that the caravan was not to be trifled with, effectively deterring wild beasts and ill-intentioned indigenous inhabitants of the Great Forest from attempting any mischief. Guli, the cat-beastman, was curled up on a sled, dozing off. With his long fur and thick layer of fat—which naturally made him resistant to the cold—and now clad in two deerskin coats, he looked like a giant ball of fur, warm and cozy. This was their final rest stop before reaching their destination. According to the original plan, by tomorrow evening he would arrive at the tribe of the goat-horned humanoids and sleep in a warm log cabin. Guli was the treasurer for His Highness Oks “Gale” “Claw,” specifically responsible for the prince’s personal finances. Therefore, although he wasn’t a strong fighter, he served as the steward of this caravan. All the powerful warriors in the caravan had to obey his orders. Including that self-important, yet utterly foolish, big dog. Ever since a moment ago, the jackal-man Yegu had been letting out low, “woo-woo” howls in the direction of a small hill in the distance, prompting the war wolves used for pulling the carts and keeping watch to join him in howling toward that direction. Guli knew there must be a person (or a beast) there observing his caravan; the jackal-man’s (and the war wolves’) sense of smell and eyesight were sharp enough to be trusted. But Guli had absolutely no interest in that person. His caravan included dozens of skilled men and a large pack of war wolves; a single enemy—whatever it might be—posed no threat whatsoever to the caravan, unless it was a top-tier magical beast like a griffin or a dragon. “I’m going to catch him!” Yegu, the jackal-man—whom Guli usually called “Big Dumb Dog”—roared into the cat-beastman’s ear. He was the caravan’s captain of the guard, and eliminating threats was his job, but Guli knew that the only reason he wanted to catch that lurker was purely because he was craving fresh meat. The cat-beastman had absolutely no interest in the jackal-man’s bloodlust; what he hated even more was how the other’s unchecked bloodthirsty instincts were undermining his authority within the caravan. “No way,” Guli replied flatly, not even bothering to open his eyes. “Maybe he’s an enemy spy. I have to eliminate this threat! I’ll go myself, take two war wolves—I’ll have him in no time!” Yegu wasn’t giving up. The obese cat-beastman shot Yegu a surprised glance—this big dog wasn’t hopelessly stupid after all; he’d actually managed to come up with a seemingly plausible excuse. But the caravan steward refused again: “Enemies? Which enemies? Those savages in the Great Forest who don’t even have a pound of iron? Our mission is to deliver the goods to the prince as quickly as possible! You want to deploy War Wolves for a mere prey? Are you going to pull the cart tomorrow?” Yegu glared fiercely at the cat-shifter: “It’s not like you’ve never hunted along the way!” The fat cat slapped the jackal-man across the face with considerable force, his claws extending to leave several bloody gashes on the jackal-man’s dark, shaggy face. Guli leaned in close to the other’s face and roared, “That’s because I have to feed you and that pack of insatiable dogs under your command! We’re not far from our destination now, and we have plenty of food. If you dare to delay our journey for a moment’s indulgence, just wait and see if the Prince tears you to pieces when he sees you tomorrow!” The very target of the cat-shifter and the jackal-shifter’s discussion—Hamuh—was perched on a hilltop just one li away, looking down on the caravan. It was now night, and the great forest was filled with towering trees; from this distance, he shouldn’t have been able to see them at all. But the caravan seemed completely unconcerned about potential observers; they’d chosen the widest, flattest clearing to set up camp and even lit a bonfire in the middle of it, exposing themselves clearly. “At least thirty people. One jackal-man, a dozen or so pig-headed barbarians, a dozen or so green-skinned barbarians, and a few Di and Qiang. Why are there so many big dogs?” Hamuha muttered to himself, doing so to reinforce his memory. After returning last time, Ou Yang had tried to train him to be a scout. To that end, he not only had Tong Zhongjian, Wukeshan, and others teach him combat skills, but also personally taught him how to write and repeatedly explained what a qualified scout should pay attention to. However, he still couldn’t write, so he had to rely on his memory to recall what he observed. “A total of thirteen large sleds, all piled high with cargo.” Hamaha continued to mutter to himself, “Why don’t I see any draft animals pulling the sleds? Are they using dogs to pull them? No, that can’t be right…” The Quanrong scout’s keen ears picked up the occasional low howls coming from the pack of large “dogs”: “Those aren’t dogs—they’re a pack of wolves. Over a hundred of them. With so many, they’ll likely be even tougher to deal with than this group of Shengdi warriors.” Just then, the young Quanrong boy saw the tall, burly jackal-man return from beside one of the sleds to the campfire, his eerie green eyes fixed on his position the entire time. Hamuha couldn’t help but feel a wave of tension wash over him; judging by that look, the jackal-man’s sense of smell must be exceptionally keen—not to mention all those wolves. The other party had definitely spotted him. However, the jackal-man didn’t make any further threatening moves. Instead, he kicked the large dog—which was still howling softly at him—a few times, then turned and fished a bone out of the large pot hanging over the campfire. Without worrying about the heat, he began tearing into it with big bites. At the same time, Hamuha noticed that the jackal-man was still looking in his direction; clearly, the bone in his hand wasn’t what the jackal-man wanted most. “He’s spotted me, but it seems he hasn’t been given permission to attack,” Hamuha thought to himself. “The leader of this caravan must have been on that sled just now. I wonder who it is—it probably isn’t another lion, otherwise this jackal-man wouldn’t dare give me such a cold shoulder.” “It’s them. They’re the ones the masters are looking for.” The aroma of food wafted from the orc merchant caravan’s camp in the distance. With his keen sense of smell, the Dog Rong felt his stomach already growling in protest. He pulled a chunk of lard from a pouch at his waist and shoveled it into his mouth along with some stir-fried noodles. The scout slowly withdrew from the observation post where he’d been hiding for several hours and began making his way back. After walking a little over one li, Hamuha pulled his cotton jacket tighter around him. He cherished this new garment, which didn’t even have a single patch. But from lying on the ground for so long, the grayish-white cotton jacket had become damp and dirty. “Once I’ve killed them all, I’m definitely going to roast a wolf to see what it tastes like! Then I’ll skin it and make a coat out of it!” The teenager, with the ears and tail of a canid, boosted his spirits with visions of victory. Unlike the harmonious relationship between beastmen and the wild beasts of their own kind, beastmen actually harbored little affection for animals that resembled them. That’s why the Di-Qiang, with their sheep horns, regarded mutton as a vital source of meat, and the Dog-Rong teenager saw nothing wrong with roasting a wolf or a dog to eat. “Just you wait. Tomorrow, Grandpa will bring a group to slaughter you all!” Hamuha glared in the direction of the caravan’s camp and muttered a vicious curse under his breath.