Seducing the Guideverse With My System — Raising an Anomaly [BL]

Mordak Tribe

Once the black iron gates leading into the Mordak tribe opened, Ambrose almost stopped on his tracks.

Stone buildings stretched across the valley beyond the walls, their slanted roofs carved from dark slate while enormous timber beams reinforced structures clearly built to withstand creatures far larger than humans.

Broad streets wound between homes, smithies and workshops where towering furnaces still glowed, their chimneys breathing slow columns of black smoke into the sky.

It wasn’t a military encampment.

It was a city.

Orc children peeked cautiously from behind doorways, then anxious mothers hurried them back inside. Elderly orcs leaned heavily upon walking staffs, their weathered eyes widening as Beherath passed.

Somewhere deeper within the settlement, the rhythmic clang of hammer against steel continued without pause, while massive beasts Ambrose didn’t recognise lazily pulled wagons loaded with ore through the streets.

The entire settlement felt... subdued.

Like people who had spent years waiting for something that never came. Or someone.

Conversations died one after another as more villagers noticed Beherath.

A basket slipped from an elderly woman’s hands, crimson fruits scattering across the stone road. One warrior fell to a knee. Then another.

Murmurs spread through the streets like wildfire.

"King Beherath?"

"It can’t be..."

"He looks so different."

"What is that little thing walking in front of him?"

Thanks to being versed in the orc tongue, Ambrose was able to catch the talk directed at him.

Little thing.

What was he? A deformed pet?

[You’ve got to keep reminding yourself that for most of them, this is their first interaction with a human.]

’Yeah.’ Ambrose kept eye contact with an orc who gawked at him for an annoyingly extended period. ’Doesn’t mean I can’t be embarrassed though.’

Keylath glanced back at Ambrose and Beherath just then, those eyes still glistening with pure mistrust when they lingered on the human.

"He seems to understand the orc tongue," She finally murmured, gaze moving to her mate. "You taught him?"

Ambrose pretended like he couldn’t hear them, keeping his fingers busy by rolling around a small tongue of blue flames between them.

A child standing at the edge of the road they walked through gasped—not out of fear.

That was excitement and awe.

Seeing this, Ambrose got tempted enough to send the flame at the young orc boy. It shifted, taking the shape of a butterfly. Then it fluttered around him, sending harmless specks of light onto him.

Beherath noticed this and grunted in response to Keylath. "He learned it himself. After our first encounter."

"You mean after he murdered you."

"Keylath—"

"I’m only bringing him in here because of you." The woman ignored him, eyes fixing back on the road ahead. "However, I doubt the Elders will be so... welcoming."

Ambrose’s neck snapped to her.

Elders.

’What is she talking about?’ He immediately got across to the undead king. ’I thought the reins of succession would shift to her or one of your children? Or... did you have children?’

’Two.’ Beherath’s eyes sparkled with the smallest hint of reminiscence. ’My daughters. But the Mordak tribe has never accepted women as Kings.’

’Now that’s just bull.’

’It’s... our way.’ Even Beherath sounded like he was questioning it too. ’In the case of a king being dead or out of commission, the wisest, most powerful Elders in the tribe come together to rule the tribe. Until a new King can be picked.’

Ambrose’s eyes settled on the translucent screen hovering beside him.

[The host has officially walked into the lands of an orc tribe as a guest.]

[ObjectiveProgress: 15%.]

He swallowed.

’I do hope your Elders are more reasonable...’

★★★★★

"K-King Beherath?!"

Miles away from the Mordak tribe lands, the leader of another tribe of orcs who’d also chosen to stay on the orc home world was informed of an interesting development.

He stood in his throne room, clad in a domineering armour made with bones and an obsidian metal that drank the light from the crystal lamps on his walls.

For a few years now, he’s had his eyes on the Mordak tribe. Ever since rumours of Beherath’s death began spreading.

He’s been biding time. Plotting. Sending scouts to watch the tribe and report any new developments that could be to his advantage.

Standing before him was one of those scouts, whose head was lowered in both reverence and fear.

"Y-Yes, my lord." He nodded. "Although he looks different, I could tell it was him."

The orc leader’s head tilted. "Different?"

"Yes. I heard whispers that he’s now undead. Before I came here, he was escorted into the tribe lands. Alongside a... pale-skinned ape."

Silence stretched through the throne room for several seconds.

Slowly, the orc king strolled to his throne—a large golden seat that exuded more brilliance than the crystal lights, its armrests embedded with skulls of slain enemies.

"Well," His lips curved as he settled onto the throne, "we can’t keep our dear friend waiting now, can we?"

The scout’s eyes widened as he straightened to meet his king’s cold eyes.

"Are you saying—?"

"Yes." The king waved dismissively. "It’s about time we began..." He twirled the fingers of one hand around, nails rubbing together. "We’re paying the Mordak tribe a visit."

★★★★★

The council hall stood at the heart of the settlement, carved almost entirely from a single mountain of black stone. Massive pillars lined either side of the entrance, each etched with scenes of ancient battles, towering beasts and long-forgotten kings.

The moment Ambrose stepped through the towering doors, every conversation inside ceased.

Seven elderly orcs sat upon equally imposing stone seats arranged in a wide semicircle. Although age had bent some of their backs and silvered much of their hair, there was nothing frail about them.

Every pair of eyes carried the weight of countless battles, countless losses... and years spent leading the Mordak tribe after Beherath’s disappearance.

The undead king placed a fist over his chest.

"Honoured Elders."

None of them returned the greeting.

Instead, seven pairs of eyes shifted in eerie unison, settling squarely upon Ambrose.

An uncomfortable silence stretched across the chamber.

One of the elders, whose scarred face was almost hidden beneath an impossibly long grey beard, slowly rose from his seat. His walking staff struck the stone floor once, the sharp crack echoing throughout the hall.

"So," his gravelly voice rumbled, "the rumours were true."

His gaze lingered upon Beherath’s crimson eyes before hardening.

"Our king returns to us as one of the dead... led into our own homeland by a human."

The elder’s expression darkened with unmistakable contempt, his grip tightening around the staff.

Then his attention locked on Ambrose. "Tell me, foreigner. Why should this Council not order your execution before a word leaves your mouth?"

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!