Chapter 50: The Convert’s Tale
The captured orc scout had been silent during the march back to camp, but Arthur noticed how his yellow eyes kept tracking the enhanced soldiers’ movements. The way they moved, the casual display of superhuman strength—it clearly unsettled and fascinated him in equal measure.
"Your Majesty," Hawklight approached as they secured the prisoner. "Want me to handle the interrogation?"
"No," Arthur said, studying the orc. Despite being bound, the scout held himself with dignity—scarred green skin marked by countless battles, tusks unbroken despite his capture. "Bring him to my tent. Alone."
Hawklight frowned. "That’s not—"
"He won’t harm me." Arthur let a fraction of his presence leak out, just enough to make his point. The orc’s eyes widened, and he dropped to his knees despite no one forcing him down.
"*Mak’thar nei*," the orc whispered in his guttural language.
Arthur’s system translated instantly, thanks to Beatrice’s research: "The strong one comes."
Ten minutes later, they sat across from each other in Arthur’s command tent. The orc—who’d identified himself as Grashk—hadn’t stopped staring. Arthur had dismissed the guards, confident in his ability to handle any threat.
"You speak Common," Arthur noted, pouring two cups of wine. He pushed one toward the orc.
Grashk looked at the cup suspiciously. "Poison?"
"If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t need poison." Arthur took a sip from his own cup. "Your people have legends, don’t they? About a figure who would come to unite the clans?"