Chapter 5: Conflict 2
I stared wide-eyed at the very same orc that had helped me before. The thick, jagged scars on his jaw and neck were identical to the ones I'd seen in the trenches. He was staring down at his own bleeding palm, looking completely shocked that he had actually managed to catch a flying steel blade with his bare hand.
ROOAAAAGGRRRKKAAAR!!!
Seeing his desperate sneak attack fail so spectacularly, Olog suddenly let out a piercing, guttural roar. The sound carried a concussive force that made the air vibrate, leaving my ears ringing and my vision briefly dizzy. Before the echoes even died down, the former chieftain spun on his heel and bolted in the opposite direction.
Everything happened so quickly, it felt like a rehearsed comedy routine.
'That's definitely a skill, I analyzed instantly. Must be his second ability besides the charge.' With that tactical thought locking into place, I immediately willed my skill to activate .
My massive legs compressed like steel springs and exploded, launching my two-meter frame high into the air. I closed the distance in a single, soaring arc, swinging the pitch-black battle axe high above my head as I descended toward his retreating form. Hearing the violent rush of wind from behind, Olog made the fatal mistake of turning his head to look back. His eyes snapped wide with pure terror a fraction of a second before my blade met his collarbone.
SLICHT!
The sheer kinetic force of the landing, paired with the eerie blade of the axe, cleanly chopped the chubby chieftain in half.
'I guess you're the only orc in history who would use a literal 'Charge' skill just to run away from someone', I thought dismissively, flicking the dark blood off my blade.
I turned my back on the remains to observe the rest of the tribe. From the look of things, the remaining dozen orcs were only just now recovering from the disorienting effects of Olog's sonic roar skill. 'I might as well add sonic resistance to the mental list of perks that come with being a Great Orc among the first initial evolution paths, I noted internally.'
Stepping over the scorched earth, I approached the bleeding orc who had just saved my life. I focused my vision, pulling up his data.
Name: Urim (Wounded)
Race: Orc
Level: 9 (-)
Power Rating: 1200
Relationship: Brother
'I was indeed correct. It's the same one from the skirmish... wait, there's some new information... huh?!'
My eyes locked onto the very last line of the status screen. A deeply strange expression crossed my face as I stared down at him. What surprised me wasn't the sudden revelation that this orc was my biological brother—honestly, in a primitive tribe like this, I wouldn't be shocked if eighty percent of the males here shared the same bloodline. What made me feel entirely uncomfortable was the uncanny, human-like expressions playing across his brutal features. I could clearly read pain, profound relief, and absolute awe in his eyes.
It was incredibly odd. In fact, my first knee-jerk thought was that he might be a transmigrator just like me. But studying his raw, primal aura, that clearly wasn't the case.
'Interesting. Okay, I'll keep him around for m—'
"Hail, Chieftain!!!"
Urim's sudden, booming shout cut my internal monologue short. He dropped heavily onto one knee in the mud, bowing his head toward my boots.
"""Hail, Chieftain!!!"""
The rest of the standing orcs immediately copied his movement, dropping to the earth in a frantic hurry, terrified that I would turn my black axe on them next. Amidst the kneeling crowd, a strange, calculating gleam passed through the eyes of the elderly orc I'd noticed earlier. He chanted the praise along with the others, a hideous, knowing smile stretching across his wrinkled green face.
[Ding!]
[Due to being formally acknowledged as a leader, Host's 'Sigil' racial skill is now unlocked... Please proceed with selecting the tattoo style and the specific location where it shall be permanently placed.]
Tattoo?
The moment the notification processed in my mind, an old, buried memory from my past life on Earth surfaced with violent clarity, leaving me temporarily dazed.
--------Flashback:
"Yo, Black. I heard you were bringing the new recruits in to get their ink today," Phillip said, casually wiping down his tattoo equipment. He glanced up at a man draped in a heavy black fur coat who was leading a quiet, tense group into the back of the shop.
Black responded dryly, his voice flat, "It's not like you're blind, Phil..."
Phillip didn't look the least bit offended. He kicked a dust-covered leather chair forward for the boss, leaning in closer. "I heard a rumor through the grapevine. There's an outstanding young recruit who's supposed to be taking over the Enforcer's mantle... Tiger's corpse isn't even cold yet, hah."
"..."
Phillip didn't let up, pressing his face closer. "Well? Which one is he?"
"He's the new 'Tiger'." Black lit a cigarette, using the glowing tip to point toward a black-haired youth standing at the very back of the group with a thoroughly bored, detached expression.
I raised my eyes, locking gaze with the tattoo artist, and let a perfectly amiable, polite smile touch my lips.
-------
"Haaa..." I let out a long, heavy sigh in the dark ruins of the settlement.
I chose to use the exact same design I had carried during my criminal peak in my last life—a symbol that gave me deeply mixed feelings, but one that had ultimately defined exactly who I was.
The moment I confirmed the selection, a phantom heat seared my skin. The ink-black silhouette of a crouching tiger materialized, stretching across my upper left chest and running all the way down my arm as a full sleeve.
[Ding!]
[Sigil Chosen... Sigil (Unique) Lv1 Activated.]
[Effects Unlocked:]
Personal: Adds a 5% bonus to all base stats at level one.
Horde: Adds a 2% bonus to the base stats of all formal followers.
Staring at the prompt, and then looking back down at the strange, reverent expression on the elderly orc's face, I couldn't help but find the humor in the situation. "Not exactly what I planned... but interesting all the same."
The system wouldn't have unlocked the racial sigil without the formal acknowledgement of the tribe. This proved that my specific evolution path as a Great Orc was fundamentally tied to clan building and leadership. As if to directly confirm my hypothesis, the transparent blue screen flickered once more.
[Ding!]
[Please name your Horde...]
I stared at the floating text for a moment before laughing out loud. The sound that tore from my throat was massive, guttural, and carried the unmistakable cadence of a classic story villain.
"HAHA HAHA HAHA..."
As the echoes of my laughter died down, I looked at the kneeling, terrified orcs around me. Suddenly, they didn't look like liabilities anymore—they looked like rare treasures. 'This new life is definitely going to be way more interesting than the office.'
"From this day forth, we shall be called the Black Moon Clan!!!" I declared, my voice echoing across the scorched valley.
The orcs immediately threw their heads back, roaring in thunderous support. Olog had never given them a formal clan name; providing one now was a direct statement of their new Chieftain's grand ambition.
[Ding!]
[Acknowledged... Black Moon Clan.]
[Do you wish to designate this location as your initial settlement?]
No, I declined mentally without a single second of hesitation. After the knight attack and the magical orbital strike, this entire valley would soon be crawling with high-level human adventurers, scout squads, and soldiers.
[Withdrawing prompt...]
When the system notifications finally went dark, I turned back to the remaining survivors, pitched my voice low, and commanded, "We rest tonight. We move tomorrow at dawn."
"Grreuk..."
I paused, looking at the elderly, grey-bearded orc meaningfully, before turning on my heel and heading off into the brush to gather my thoughts. First, I pulled up my interface to review the mechanical changes to my status.
Name: Torug Blackmoon (Alex Radwell)
Title: Chief, Savage
Affiliation: Black Moon (Leader)
Race: Great Orc
Level: 11 (Order of the First Circle)
Power Rating: 2580
Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Skills:
Leap (Uncommon) Lv1
Orc's Charge (Common) Lv1
Racial Skills:
Sigil (Unique) Lv1 (Passive)
Sigil Extra Bonus: +4% Charisma, +2% Strength, +2.5% Agility.
Intimidation (-): A natural suppressive aura against creatures of a lower evolution realm. (Passive)
"Not bad," I muttered, satisfied with the baseline increase. "If this territory matches the map geography from the book... there should be a lake directly up ahead."
I immediately picked up my pace, cutting through the dense foliage until a massive expanse of water broke through the treeline. Honestly, calling it a lake was a massive understatement, but it made perfect sense given the novel's lore. The author had noted that the world of Luegad was roughly five times larger than Earth, despite being physically shaped like a giant, flat rocky slate.
I hadn't just pulled the name 'Black Moon' out of thin air on a whim. I had chosen it after carefully considering this exact location. The body of water ahead was known in the lore as the Black Moon Lake due to its perfect crescent shape. But the truly bizarre feature was the water itself—it was pitch-black, thick, and completely opaque. It was so dark that you could stand on the shore and have absolutely no way of knowing if a predatory creature was staring right back at you from just beneath the surface.
I had named the clan after this lake because this was our point of origin. And even though we were abandoning the camp tomorrow, I fully planned to keep our future territory centered around this water for one specific, high-value reason.
There was a legendary secret hidden deep within the floor of this lake, guarded by the only monstrous creature capable of surviving in its ink-black waters.
With those endgame thoughts anchoring my mind, I stepped down to the shoreline. I cupped the dark water in my large hands, washing the dried human and orc blood from my face before looking down to study my new reflection.
Staring back at me from the smooth, black surface was a massive, heavily muscled, dark-green orc. A thick, black beard braided into three fierce knots hung from my jaw, and a pair of sharp, crimson eyes—the permanent mark of my high-tier evolution—burned beneath a short crop of black hair. A crude bone necklace rested against my collarbone, and a deep, jagged scar ran vertically across my right eye.
But it was the ink-black tattoo of the crouching tiger stretching across my left chest and rippling down my bicep that pulled the whole look together, drastically increasing my presence. As a slow, dangerous smirk split my tusks, I couldn't help but appreciate the irony.
Overall, I looked absolutely menacing.
"Not a bad look for an orc," I mused aloud, looking up as the crimson sun finally dipped below the horizon. "A gangster orc."