Praise the Orc

Chapter 194: The Swamp (3)

"We're just passing travelers. What is this place?"

"You barge in without notice and then ask what place this is, you don't seem very polite," Abaddon said with a twinkle in his eye, smiling wryly.

Crockta didn't miss the scorpion-like tail swaying at Abaddon's feet. Despite the attempt to look like a gentleman in a suit, it was clear that was not someone to be taken lightly. Just the fact that he was in such a suspicious pyramid alone was enough for Crockta to know that.

"What do you mean we barged in?" Zankus said as he stepped forward.

"That’s nonsense. Crockta here is a warrior accepted by this pyramid. It wouldn’t be right to call him an unwelcomed guest."

Crockta almost choked at that moment. He had simply pushed on the door that the others were unproductively pulling, and it opened. Despite his ignoring the excessive praise out of embarrassment, his companions still believed in the 'Crockta qualification theory'.

Abaddon seemed taken aback for a moment.

"What do you mean by accepted by the pyramid?"

Now it was Tiyo's turn to speak.

"It’s exactly what it sounds like. The entrance to the pyramid was securely locked, but when Crockta here grabbed the handle, it suddenly slid open, acknowledging his qualification! The door opened all by itself! You seem to be the guardian of this pyramid, so you better treat Crockta well! He's not an intruder but a warrior recognized by this ruin!"

Abaddon rolled his eyes and caught Crockta's gaze. Crockta looked away.

"Well... I guess if you say so."

Abaddon gave a noncommittal smile and winked at Crockta.

"I guess we can leave it at that, hoho..."

Crockta used the split second to scan the surroundings.

Despite being momentarily carried away by the situation, it was clear this was not a place to let down one's guard. Especially since they had entered by pushing the door, which meant they would have to pull it to exit.

It was similar to the design of a bank. To prevent a smooth escape for anyone in a rush, it forces one to hesitate at least once.

This pyramid was a structure not intended to kindly send off its intruders. There was definitely something here.

"I can't just let my rare guests leave without...," Abaddon's eyes gleamed menacingly.

"...providing some hospitality, right?"

He flung his cloak, and a sudden whirlwind stirred, making his cloak flutter.

"Feel my heat, you unwelcomed intruders!"

* * *

"It's hot... spicy and hot, but irresistibly delicious! I can’t stop" Tiyo exclaimed as he slurped the noodles.

They were enjoying the specialty dish prepared by Abaddon in the hollowed-out dining area.

At Abaddon's shout for them to experience the heat, a table and chairs miraculously appeared in the previously empty space. Abaddon then excused himself to prepare the meal and returned with a dish.

It was a dish that lived up to his promise of fiery flavor.

A spicy, hot noodle dish was the last thing they expected in the humid swamp, but its addictive quality was undeniable. Despite the heat and tongue-numbing spice, Tiyo emptied his bowl, and after some thought, asked Abaddon for another.

Zankus and Anor also silently sipped the broth. They, too, were captivated by the spicy yet delicious flavor of Abaddon’s cooking.

"This is pretty good," Crockta murmured, wiping sweat from his brow.

As the Korean Jung Yi-An, he was accustomed to spicy food. However, he was feeling a swelling pain in Crockta's body as if it hadn’t adapted to these flavors yet. Regardless, he quickly came to enjoy Abaddon's cooking.

"My cooking skills were honed by years of solitude," Abaddon explained.

"You came up with this dish all by yourself?"

"Yes. Repeatedly cooking and eating the dish alone made me realize that the ultimate flavor is spice. Immaculate spiciness can erase even loneliness and bring pleasure from deep within."

"Hmm..."

His solitude seemed to have affected him slightly.

"How did you end up living alone here?"

"Are you curious?"

"Yes. You don’t seem like an ordinary being..."

Crockta glanced at Abaddon's tail which stuck out behind the backrest of the chair and was swaying side to side.

The scorpion-like tail was more chilling the more he looked at it. It seemed like venom could drop at any moment from the sharp stinger at the end.

"You live in a pyramid in the middle of a swamp. We were drawn here by a strange energy, so we came here feeling that energy. Then we ran into you."

"Strange energy, you say?"

Crockta’s group had ventured there because of Anor’s detection. He was sensing an unknown force through his necromancer abilities.

"Are you a being who deals with death?"

Abaddon turned to Anor, already knowing who had sensed his presence.

"Yes, I am a necromancer,” Anor answered.

"I see."

Abaddon got up from his seat. He patted down his cloak and straightened his suit.

Then, he gestured for Anor to come over to him.

“Please, come here.”

“Sorry?”

"Come close."

Standing beside the table, Abaddon called Anor over. Anor approached as he scratched his head out of curiosity.

"A mix of dark elf and human, I see," Abaddon examined.

"That's right."

While Crockta, Zankus, and Tiyo watched the two interact as they enjoyed their meal. Abaddon examined Anor from head to toe, pausing at the scar on his ear from the cut with a sorrowful touch. The touch made Anor flinch for a moment, but he managed to stay still.

"Blood, when mixed, holds greater potential," Abaddon said.

"Your blood may not be strong, but it carries much within. You are a being who could be anything. You carry the scent of chamomile, teasing and tormenting the soul. Perhaps you are a part of our..."

His words trailed off into an incomprehensible murmur.

"... bloodline."

“Huh? Pardon?”

Abaddon simply smiled.

"It seems like you were right after all. You are more than worthy to be my guests. One is our friend and the other..."

His gaze shifted to Crockta.

"...is the Apostle of the Fallen God."

A white star shimmered on Abaddon's forehead as he spoke.

Crockta realized this meeting with Abaddon might also be fated.

Abaddon was one of the few who knew the secrets of the world of Elder Lord, akin to Phymon from the Temple of the Fallen God.

Referring to Crockta as an Apostle of the Fallen God, Abaddon identified himself as an Apostle of the Ashen God.

* * *

“Come again?” Anor's eyes widened in surprise.

"Are you saying that necromancers are descendants of your race?" he asked.

"That’s right. Necromancy, the art of manipulating death, is our inherent ability."

After they had finished their meal, they were enjoying a teatime. Abaddon was kindly explaining what he knew to them, and Anor had been inquisitive, asking various questions.

"So, the fact that my mom was also a necromancer means..."

"It's likely that a distant ancestor of your mother belonged to our race," Abaddon replied.

"What do you call your race?"

"It might be hard for you to understand. Our name sounds quite different from the common tongue of the continent," Abaddon said, uttering their name in an unrepeatable pronunciation.

"I don’t think I got that."

"That is quite alright. Our race has long been forgotten and fallen into decline. If you still wish to call us by name...” Abaddon showed a bittersweet smile.

“... you may call us 'demons', as the gods have branded us."

Demons. They were demons.

Crockta understood. History belonged to the victors. The losers were buried in history with all their criticisms. The fallen god, the Ashen God, probably fell from grace due to some event, and her followers, these people, must have been branded as demons and faded into obscurity.

The bigger picture was starting to become clear.

"Have you heard of the Demogorgan?" Crockta inquired.

"Demogorgon? Is he still alive? He was always so fond of praise and loved to boast about his power," Abaddon reminisced.

"He's doing quite well. He's found a suitable contractor."

"That's good to hear. He used to sulk at the slightest hint of displeasure. You had to compliment him at least once a day."

"Hehe, he’s probably receiving compliments every second of the day now," Crockta said, thinking of Iron, the man who was like wine, and his partner Demogorgon.

Iron's summoned entity, Demogorgon, belonged to the same race as these beings. That also explained why Iron could raise the dead.

Crockta looked down at his belt. The entity sleeping there, the Demon of Despair, might also be a friend of theirs.

"Could you take a look at this belt?"

Crockta showed his belt to Abaddon, who tilted his head curiously.

"I sense something familiar. May I touch it?"

"Um..."

As Crockta stood to walk over to Abaddon, Abaddon shook his head. At that moment, Crockta felt something tap his stomach lightly.

It was Abaddon's scorpion tail, reaching under the table to tap Crockta's steel belt.

Startled, Crockta flinched.

"Hehe, do not worry. There is no poison. Not right now, anyway," Abaddon reassured as his tail caressed the belt.

Crunch.

Suddenly, the belt reacted violently.

"Ahhhh!"

Abaddon recoiled in shock, and Crockta also stepped back as the steel belt's teeth clamped down on Abaddon's tail, crunching it.

The group who were enjoying the teatime quickly distanced themselves from Crockta.

Chomp, chomp.

The belt continued to chomp away at Abaddon's tail.

"Abaddon! Are you alright?" Tiyo asked with concern.

"Ah... looks like I’m going to die now... It was nice knowing you all..."

Abaddon lay on the ground, curled up into a ball.

Tiyo exclaimed, "You can't die!"

"I am..."

When Tiyo reached for Abaddon, something tapped the back of his head.

Tiyo looked back.

It was the scorpion tail again.

"Hehe, tada!"

Abaddon stood up. His tail had regenerated and returned to perfect condition.

"You had me worried!"

"I don't die that easily."

Though, he did seem tired from using his powers, as his pale face showed.

“Anyhow...”

Abaddon mused over the belt around Crockta’s waist, keeping his distance from it.

"That's quite an artifact you have there."

"Do you know of ‘Demon’s Mouth’? It’s also called the ‘Belt of Despair'."

"Is that what this thing goes by?"

As Abaddon stepped closer, the steel teeth of Crockta’s belt clashed menacingly, causing him to take a step back again.

"That’s enough," Crockta smacked the protruding skull part of the belt with his palm. The belt clashed its teeth a few more times out of retaliation but soon stopped.

"Hohoho, that is quite interesting, to see that you’ve become so close with him I mean," Abaddon remarked.

"What exactly is this thing?"

"I shouldn't say too much, as he seems displeased, but..."

Abaddon was speaking of the belt with respect. It seemed like the sleeping demon was a higher being than Crockta had imagined.

"The being in the belt was of high standing among us."

"From a glimpse, he looked like a child."

"He may appear childlike, but he has the power to swallow mountains and seas when he opens his mouth. 'Gluttony' of...”

The belt snapped aggressively at Abaddon as if it was threatening him. Abaddon stopped and laughed.

"... Let's leave it at that."

The belt seemed to glare at Abaddon, who shrugged it off as they all sat back down.

"Any more questions?"

The conversation between Crockta and Abaddon had captivated Zankus, Tiyo, and Anor.

"What is the identity of the Fallen God and the curse of the stars...”

Crockta didn’t hesitate to get to the point.

“... and what is she plotting now in this world?"

Abaddon looked at Crockta.

“Did you just say ‘now’?”

“I did.”

"You mean, she is active in this world right now?"

Crockta tilted his head.

"You didn’t know? She’s scheming something right now, right here in this world."

“Did you meet the Ashen God?”

"In a 'White World' of unknown origin, yes."

“Ahh...”

Abaddon’s head dropped.

"She is still..."

He sighed as if he were deep in thought. Then, he continued.

“The Ashen God, the one who looks over all deaths. The god that we once followed was...”

Abaddon sighed again without finishing his thought.

"... it's going to be a long story."

He then looked straight at Crockta.

"Have you ever looked at the night sky?"

“Of course.”

“How was it? Was it beautiful?”

It was a question that came out of nowhere. Crockta nodded, as he didn’t even have to jog his memory too far back to recall it.

Every night, when he looked up at the night sky, the festival of stars was before his eyes.

The night of Elder Lord wasn’t like that of earthly cities, where it was dotted with a single, lonely moon.

Elder Lord had countless stars embroidered the night, and the Milky Way casts a long river across the black curtain above. The entire night sky scatters bright light, enchanting those who behold it. When you stare at it, it feels as if the world has come to a standstill.

It was truly a spectacle that seemed orchestrated by the gods themselves.

Crockta smiled in response.

"Indeed. It was the most beautiful sight I've ever seen."

However, Abaddon's face seemed to carry a tinge of sadness.

"Crockta, after hearing what I have to say, you might not be able to look at the night sky and smile as you do now."

Abaddon's expression was grave.

"Crockta, did you know? The god of the stars is dead."

"It seems I've heard something of the sort," Crockta replied cautiously.

"What do you think that means?"

Crockta fell silent.

A sense of unease swept over him. Suddenly, he remembered another night sky he had seen, the 'White World' where he was invited by the Ashen God. That was a place endlessly cooling, filled with dim stars of white dwarfs.

Abaddon sighed and continued with words that carried a shocking revelation.

"The sky out there is fake. It's an illusion maintained by the gods. The stars had been extinguished long ago."

Not only Crockta, but everyone in the room widened their eyes.

What was that demon saying?

“Our Eternal Sun...”

As Abaddon was about to continue, suddenly, a flurry of white light enveloped him.

"This is..."

Abaddon was taken aback.

Crockta too, stood up abruptly. This scene was all too familiar.

"Ah, she calls me..."

In an instant, Abaddon vanished.

It was the same thing that happened when players logged out.

The Ashen God has intervened.