Chapter 446: Retaliation II

CH446 Retaliation II

***

"You have broken the rules of Camp Red Rock," the Shaman said in an oddly neutral, impassive voice. "You not only attacked and killed a resident of Camp Red Rock, but you also destroyed arena property, killing more inn—"

Before the Shaman could finish speaking—in a manner reminiscent of a bad actor merely reciting his lines—Alex took out the pouch containing the eleven mid-grade Berserk stones he had wagered against Brieger and tossed it over.

The Shaman’s dried, weathered face suddenly came alive, blooming into something that could generously be called a smile.

"I believe that should be enough to cover the damages," Alex said calmly.

"Enough—more than enough, Young Master Alex," the Shaman replied smoothly.

All talk of rule-breaking and consequences vanished like melting snow beneath the spring sun.

Alex nodded, as if everything had unfolded exactly as he expected.

After all, the Shaman’s eyes had flashed with a glint Alex was far too familiar with—the same glint that frequently shined in the eyes of Baldrich Pinchcoin, the gnomish Chief Financial Officer of the DragonHold Enclave.

Thanks to that, Alex quickly deduced that—like Pinchcoin—the Orc Shaman was a lover of coin, one who used his so-called ’eyes of gold’ to keep Camp Red Rock afloat.

It explained why a respectable Shaman would also act as the overseer of a casino.

After all, the casino was a place where money flowed endlessly—and where the house was almost guaranteed to take its share.

After all, the House always wins.

Alex was satisfied knowing that the Shaman brought the same money-grubbing pragmatism to his official duties as both overseer and chief referee of the arena.

As for why an Orc Shaman overseeing the arena was considered perfectly normal, that had everything to do with the nature of Orc culture itself.

To most Orcs—save for a handful of subspecies and unique tribes like Mordor’s Brown-skinned Agrut Orc Tribe—battle, combat, and warfare were not merely ways of life.

They were akin to a religion.

The battlefield was hallowed ground, and a beautiful death in combat was the ultimate act of faith.

And in times of peace, the arena became that sacred ground where their beliefs could still be expressed.

Who else, then, but a Shaman would be worthy to oversee such a place?

Understanding the importance of the arena was also part of the reason Alex hadn’t argued with the Shaman and had simply paid for the damages.

Because now that the matter of compensation was settled, he had more options.

"Now that we have addressed the damage to the arena," Alex said calmly, "let us address the matter of my man, who was attacked within your arena."

Alex’s stern gaze locked onto the Shaman.

"What is your Copper-skinned Orc clan going to do about the individual who dared to order a sneaky attack on the victor of a sacred duel?" Alex asked.

The Shaman’s expression shifted instantly, becoming solemn.

Alex could already guess the Orc’s intended response, so he spoke first.

"Surely, you are not about to say that the stability of the Camp’s faux order is more important than your tribe’s sacred traditions... right?"

He paused, then added softly—yet with heavy implication—

"Surely, you won’t overlook someone who so clearly shows no respect for your ways and dares to trample all over them."

The Shaman’s expression slowly hardened into a deep frown as he studied Alex carefully.

"It seems you are more learned than I initially expected, Young Master Alex," the Shaman said.

"Understanding one’s audience is the basis of obtaining a favourable result," Alex replied with a faint smile.

Clearly, both men had reached a veiled understanding.

The Shaman stared at Alex for a moment longer, then spoke—this time confirming it outright.

"Very well," he said. "I will ensure that you are given a satisfactory response."

"Excellent." Alex nodded.

He turned and began to walk away.

As he did, he gave Bram and Rolfe a brief nod—an unspoken acknowledgement for confirming the faction to which the huntress belonged.

Then, without further fuss, Alex led his expedition party out of the arena.

Most assumed they would return directly to the inn.

They were wrong.

"Head back to the inn and let him get some rest," Alex ordered the knights escorting Sergeant Lopota. Then he turned to the rest of the party. "As for the rest of us... I don’t need to tell you what needs to be done, do I?"

In an instant, the disgruntled expressions on many of their faces twisted into wide smiles...

Smiles filled with bloodlust.

"Mount up," Alex ordered.

Immediately, the group mounted their horses and charged out of the arena district. They first feinted as if heading back toward their inn—only to suddenly turn at an intersection.

One that led to their true destination.

The Desert Razor’s district.

Alex slowed his pace slightly, allowing Udara and her scouting team to take the lead. With uncanny familiarity, they guided the group through the streets and narrow alleyways of Camp Red Rock toward their target.

Certainly not the kind of familiarity one would expect from outsiders who had only arrived the previous day.

Camp Red Rock wasn’t large, and within a dozen minutes, the group reached the section controlled by Brieger the Desert Razor and his gang of thugs and ruffians.

Unlike the Warhammer’s district—which possessed at least a semblance of order and rudimentary planning—this part of the camp was the very definition of chaos. Structures of every imaginable sort were erected haphazardly, some even encroaching onto what should have been open roads.

Tents, shacks, huts, and even crude stone buildings were crammed together like a festering shanty town.

The disorder was so extreme that the area could easily become a maze for outsiders, making it nearly impossible to locate anything without a guide.

However, that was no problem for Alex and his expedition party.

High above the camp, the familiar silhouette of Senu circled, hovering over a specific cluster of buildings.

At first glance, the structures appeared unremarkable—until one realised they were not a single building, but a carefully arranged cluster. It was a clever tactic Brieger used to conceal his residence from outsiders, unlike the other bosses whose homes were always the largest and most ostentatious structures in their districts.

However, no matter how carefully Brieger tried to hide, there was one thing he couldn’t conceal.

Access to the distributaries he controlled.

Like the other bosses, Brieger had positioned his residence along the banks of his two distributaries, ensuring direct access to water—the lifeblood of power in the Wildlands.

With Senu’s aerial tracking and the distributary acting as an unmistakable guide, Alex began casting.

Mogal surged forward and smashed through the compound’s gate with a single punch, sending splintered wood flying as he burst into what appeared to be a large courtyard littered with smaller buildings.

"[Spell Stacking: Triple Fireball]!"

Three blazing fireballs formed in rapid succession, then collapsed inward, merging into a single, vastly more potent sphere of destruction.

The massive fireball streaked past Mogal and slammed directly into the main building—the structure housing Brieger’s quarters.

BOOM!!!

A thunderous explosion erupted, its roar echoing across the entirety of Camp Red Rock.

***