172 Promise

The Orc Royal Court was more than just the seat of the Orc Alliance's supreme leadership; it encompassed an entire city—wielding influence and symbolism akin to that of the human empire's capital.

This was an ancient city steeped in history, predominantly composed of white and cyan architecture in pure hues. The city rose in three distinct tiered terraces. The lowest tier mainly featured cyan structures, occasionally interspersed with black and white buildings; the middle tier blended cyan-grey and white architecture; while the structures on the highest terrace were entirely white. When the first rays of morning sunlight struck, they cast a dazzling, brilliant white glow across the city!

The architectural layout of the Orc Royal Court had been fixed nearly a millennium ago. Over the centuries, aside from the reconstruction of damaged structures, no major alterations had been made. The root of this lay in the historical origins of the Orc Royal Court—

This was the Orc Royal Court of the Titan Era!

It bore witness to the most dazzling glory the Orc Alliance had ever known!

At the same time, it entombed the greatest heroes in the history of the Orc Alliance—they were the most revered ancestors of all orcs!

The highest building in the Orc Royal Court served as the residence and office of successive Orc Kings. Because the entire structure was built from gleaming white stone, it was the first building in the entire city to catch the sunrise and radiate brilliant prismatic colors at dawn. Thus, it was known as the "Rainbow Hall."

The gates of the Rainbow Hall remained tightly shut year-round, opening only once every decade for the grand pan-alliance sacrificial ceremonies. Consequently, its highest-spec daily operational entrance was the primary side gate adjacent to the main portal—and even this primary side gate was opened only for major events such as the Alliance Assembly...

...

A low, mournful blast of horns echoed through the air. A group of brightly and impeccably dressed humans emerged from the primary side gate, which had been open since dawn. Framed at the center was a middle-aged human male with regular, handsome features and an approachable, amiable demeanor. Accompanying him closely at his side was none other than the second-ranking foreign minister of the Orc Royal Court!

The two men smiled and exchanged pleasantries, walking out of the primary side gate amidst an atmosphere of harmonious conversation. Upon reaching the threshold, the Orc Royal Court's second-ranking foreign minister finally halted. The two sides exchanged formal bows and farewells outside the side gate. The entire procedure appeared entirely natural and amicable, strictly adhering to diplomatic etiquette. However, once the two parties parted ways and headed off in opposite directions, the private complaints that had been suppressed could naturally no longer be concealed behind polite facades—

Maintaining a flawless, magnanimous smile the entire way, Fethi Gardez murmured words that were far from warm and genial...

"This is our third audience request, and we've been rejected yet again. Is the Orc King truly half-dead, or are they just playing dumb? Have all those people in the military intelligence department gone on vacation? How is it already the seventh day, yet not a single piece of useful information has turned up? Pedia, you are the chief liaison for this delegation. If there's still no news, I will formally petition to have the liaison replaced!"

Following closely behind, lagging behind Fethi Gardez by a mere half-step, was Pedia. Accompanying him was another familiar face and old friend, Elvis Laklison.

Faced with Fethi Gardez's veiled threat, Pedia merely offered a deadpan, routine response. However, when faced with the silent, knowing mockery of his friend Elvis, a trace of bitter resignation leaked into Pedia's eyes—this current predicament of his was truly a mess of his own making...

Smiling Fethi's endless stream of murmurs accompanied them all the way, lingering in Pedia's ears like some sort of incantation until they finally reached the delegation's quarters. Before parting ways, Fethi did not forget to deliver one last lecturing earful to Pedia before finally granting him his freedom.

The moment Fethi walked away, Pedia instinctively reached up to rub his ears—he almost felt as though calluses had been "ground" into them...

"If he possessed this kind of 'persevering' spirit when dealing with the Stans, we might have already met the Orc King by now," Elvis's low chuckle sounded beside Pedia, dripping with playful teasing.

Hearing this, Pedia could not help but shrug, replying with faint helplessness: "Meeting the Orc King wouldn't necessarily bring him any greater benefits, but bringing me down would make his political career much smoother. Between the two, that old fox certainly knows which matters more."

"Heh, who told you to stand in someone else's way?" Elvis patted his shoulder with a smile as the two walked side by side toward the lounge, continuing to banter with his friend. "I heard that this position was originally supposed to be little Hark's, but Grand Duke Thirstan personally intervened and recommended you instead. Old Hark is Grand Duke Gardez's man; it'd be a miracle if they didn't hate you."

Pedia was well aware of the intricate maneuvering behind this affair. In fact, he even knew why Grand Duke Thirstan had suddenly recommended him. Yet precisely because he understood it all too well, he found himself speechless with frustration—this whole ordeal was purely self-inflicted... If he hadn't written that policy paper concerning the Northwestern Military Territory, if he hadn't steadfastly refused to reveal his intelligence source, if his father, Amos Oblivion, weren't holding a key post, and if he hadn't rejected Sir Ins's "suggestion"...

...

Well, there was no regret medicine to be bought in this world, and members of the Oblivion family had never possessed the habit of backing down. Therefore, after a brief sigh, Pedia had no choice but to continue facing the immediate crisis head-on...

☆☆☆

The bright moon had just ascended, its silvery light spilling across the undulating contours of the mountain forest, silent and soft. Holding a flowerpot roughly the size of two palms, Teresa emerged from the dense woods and stepped into a patch of moonlight. She released her spiritual perception, letting it ascend along the moonlight to search the sparse distribution of negative energy suspended beneath the night sky and above the nocturnal expanse—

A faint, milky-white wisp of light gradually formed on the horizon, sliding downward along a certain arc as if guided by an invisible thread. Drop by drop, like falling water, it slowly sank into the flowerpot cradled in Teresa's arms. The milky-white light droplets vanished into the black, gelatinous soil, kicking up a faint, shimmering glow. Once all the light had been absorbed by the dark earth, a gentle tremor rippled through the soil. A tiny green shoot broke through the surface, acting like a timid toddler as it cautiously stretched upward, quivering left and right to sense this brand-new world. Sensing safety, it then rapidly shot upward...

The greenery unfurled, lush and dripping with vitality. Beneath the moonlight, the edges of the green leaves were rimmed with a thin layer of white, as if brushed with a coat of milk...

"Phew, finally done~" Teresa let out a long sigh, collapsing onto the ground in exhaustion as she gazed down at the plant in her arms with eyes full of delighted surprise. The more she looked, the more she adored it—this was a Nightmare Flower plant! A plant crucial to healing her internal injuries, and vital to whether she could gain entry into the Anga Gate!

Just as she was admiring it happily, the sound of deliberate, heavy footsteps came from behind. Teresa turned her head to look back and saw a figure stepping out of the dense woods—

"Lambert? Why is it you?" Teresa asked in surprise.

Along the entire journey toward the Orc Royal Court, the orcs' wariness toward everyone had been glaringly obvious—not only were they deeply guarded against humans and elves alike, but even among themselves, the orcs harbored suspicion. Consequently, the delegation had been divided into several small groups, leaving almost no opportunity for anyone to act alone; group movements were mandatory. Yet Teresa and Lambert were not assigned to the same group.

"I sensed negative energy fluctuating in this direction, so I came to take a look," Lambert said as he walked over, squatting down beside Teresa. He reached out to gently flick a leaf of the Nightmare Flower and remarked, "I didn't expect it to sprout so quickly. It seems you're still quite desperate to heal your injuries."

"Well, of course. The sooner I'm healed, the better," Teresa retorted, lifting her chin. "Some people are waiting to watch me make a fool of myself, and I won't let them have their way—anyway, spit it out. What business do you have coming to find me? The excuse you used just now was simply terrible~"

"Such a little girl acting so big," Lambert chuckled, giving her head a light tap—an action that promptly drew Teresa's displeasure.

"I am not little!" Upon hearing those words, an inexplicable surge of fierce irritation welled up inside Teresa. Letting out a low growl, she instinctively lashed out and kicked him.

Lambert was slightly taken aback by the reaction. Though somewhat puzzled, he still raised his hands in a gesture of absolute surrender and apologized with utmost sincerity: "All right, all right, I misspoke. I apologize."

Only then did Teresa emit two humphs, deigning to accept his reasonably sincere apology. She then lifted her chin again, arrogantly signaling him to get on with business.

Faced with Teresa's thoroughly tsundere state, Lambert rubbed the bridge of his nose to mask the amusement in his eyes before speaking: "If you truly become an Anga Gate member and ever get the chance to enter the Mountain God Temple, I hope you can bring back a 'Purple Stem Black Grass' from within. Name your price for the compensation whenever you're ready. How does that sound?"

"The Mountain God Temple? What kind of place is that? How can you be so sure I'll even be able to get in? And what on earth is this 'Purple Stem Black Grass'? Can't you go get it yourself?" Teresa narrowed her eyes, firing off a string of questions.

"Once you enter the Anga Gate, someone will naturally fill you in on these details," Lambert hesitated slightly before revealing a sliver of information. "Since you have ties to the Blood Elves, you will definitely have a chance to enter the Mountain God Temple—it's a place accessible only to alchemists. As for the 'Purple Stem Black Grass'... let's just say, please try your absolute best... It is very important to me!"

Hearing this, Teresa turned her head slightly, studying Lambert's rare, profoundly serious expression before finally nodding. "Fine. As long as I really manage to get into that whatever-it-is Mountain God Temple, I'll do my best to help you get the 'Purple Stem Black Grass.' As for the compensation, forget it. Ever since I met you, you've helped me out more times than I can count; consider it a token of my gratitude—of course, provided I can actually manage to get the grass in question..."

The sincerity of her gratitude, initially earnest, was somewhat undermined by Teresa's final trailing sentence, making her sound rather lacking in conviction. However, this very lack of conviction was precisely what made it genuine. Instead of taking offense, Lambert was even more pleased. Out of habit, he reached out to ruffle Teresa's hair once more, only to be met with an indignant slap of her hand and an angry glare. (To be continued)