The Abused is The Abuser in Another World

Chapter 22: The Crimson Pact

The journey to the Thundertusk Warrens was quiet, with only the sound of their footsteps echoing through the caverns. The orcs marched in cautious silence, their eyes flickering uneasily between Noir and their shaman, Shargoth, who led the way with slow, deliberate steps.

Grid glanced back, his yellow eyes gleaming mischievously. "Orcs, bowing to a human," he snickered. "What's next? Dragons asking for manners?"

Lyralei, walking beside him, frowned. "It's strange," she said, her voice soft but focused. "They're proud, stubborn. Why submit so easily?"

Thalor, always pragmatic, adjusted his cloak, keeping his voice low. "They fear something. Whether it's Noir or the prophecy... it's enough to make them desperate."

Julian, still pale from the recent battle, fidgeted nervously. "So, do we trust them?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

Lyralei gave him a quick, reassuring glance. "We don't have much of a choice right now. But we stay alert."

Grid let out a short, sarcastic laugh. "Or we could just fight our way out and save us all the trouble." His grin was wide and toothy.

Thalor shot him a stern look. "This isn't a game, Grid. Don't make it one."

Noir walked ahead, his crimson eyes fixed on the path before them, but inside his mind, the familiar voices taunted him.

"Orcs," Asmodeus purred mockingly. "Your first followers are orcs? How noble."

Takir's voice, more measured, rumbled in response. "Orcs are strong, Asmodeus. A small start, but strength comes in numbers, doesn't it, Noir?"

Noir's jaw clenched, but he stayed silent. His companions couldn't see the battle in his mind, and he wasn't about to let them know just how deeply these voices unsettled him.

As they reached the entrance to the Warrens, Shargoth stopped and turned, his deep green eyes resting on Noir. "Welcome, Crimson-Eyed One," he intoned gravely. "Our home is now yours."

The five companions exchanged uneasy glances but followed him into the tunnels. The air was thick with the scent of earth and smoke, the walls etched with crude carvings of orcish legends.

Grid leaned closer to Lyralei, his voice barely above a whisper. "Something's off. You feel it, don't you?"

Lyralei nodded, her sharp green eyes scanning the surroundings. "Stay sharp. If anything feels wrong, we move."

Julian, nervously glancing around, asked, "Do you think Noir knows what's going on?"

Thalor shook his head slightly. "He's been silent since the orcs surrendered. Best to let him decide when to speak."

Noir continued forward, aware of their whispers, but inside, the voices were relentless.

"They don't trust you, you know," Asmodeus whispered, amusement threading through his voice. "You lead them, but their loyalty is thin. Fear or respect, Noir? Which will you choose?"

Takir followed, his tone more deliberate. "The orcs serve you out of fear of prophecy. But fear alone doesn't last."

Noir's eyes flickered with an almost imperceptible flash of anger, but he said nothing. He would speak to his companions soon, once he had made his decision.