【 ORC MINERS 】

S-Spit on these statues?

A statue of a True God?

The prisoners stood frozen, vacant gazes upon their faces after hearing petite elven girl’s order.

In the realm of Seigües or pretty much in any realm within their whole universe, it is a universally followed practice that a True God’s dignity cannot be tarnished and if someone actually did such a thing, they would surely be damned!

Even though these dirt statues were hastily crafted imitations and not the ones sanctified and enshrined in temples, they still represented the majesty of a True God.

Unlike Earth, the existence of gods here are real and widely proven. So even without the power of faith directly connecting these statues to their divine counterparts, just the mere fact that someone acknowledges these replicas as representations of a god creates a mysterious subtle link between them.

This connection, however little it may be, makes any act of blasphemy far more than mere symbolism—it is a transgression that carries real, tangible consequences.

Therefore, even if it didn’t attract the attention of the slighted deity, the blasphemer’s faith would still immediately shatter beyond repair upon committing such a deed, and forgiveness would be all but impossible.

Once that line was crossed, there would be no turning back for the blasphemer, as the very churches they once belonged to would never accept them ever again.

Terror flickered across the faces of each prisoners.

Ruthless.

How utterly vicious!

Although their faith was shallow, the notion of committing such a sacrilege still struck at the very core of their beliefs, challenging the foundations of their understanding of the world.

In fact, even the mere suggestion of such sacrilege would have been unthinkable, and if any among them held a much stronger faith, then death would have been a far more preferable fate than committing such an unforgivable act.

Any conflict concerning the divine had to be handled with certain amount of delicacy, especially when it involved a god’s dignity and public image.

So for an elf, revered as the kindest and most noble among the races, to issue such an unthinkable order…

T-This…

This was the kind of atrocity only the most deranged heretics of evil gods would dare commit!

“How dreadful…The terrifying existence within the Elven Forest that these evil elves worship must truly be an evil god!”

Shalu, still trembling after hearing the petite elven girl’s order, muttered under his breath.

The prisoners grew restless, unease spreading among them like ripples in a pond.

Yet despite their fear, not a single one stepped forward, their hesitation weighing heavier than their terror.

༺⟐༻

Meanwhile, the players guarding them exchanged glances, their impatience mounting as the tense silence dragged on.

They had already spent too much time here, and the sheer volume of loot they had amassed from this raid was staggering.

Transporting everything back would be no small task, especially with their limited manpower.

To make matters worse, a few orcs had managed to escape earlier, raising the very real possibility that reinforcements could arrive at any moment if they lingered for too long. 𝘙𝔞NȎᛒƐꞩ

Noticing the impatience among her fellow players, Little Salty Cat pondered for a moment before repeating herself, her tone sharper this time:

“Hurry up and choose—Abandon your faith…or face death.”

As she spoke, she discreetly signaled to Meryer and casually pulled a glittering gemstone from her pocket, tossing it over with a practiced ease.

The black dragon’s eyes gleamed with greedy delight.

Catching the gemstone effortlessly, Meryer examined it for the briefest moment before stashing it away with a satisfied grunt. Then, without hesitation, he unleashed his dragon aura.

A suffocating pressure crashed down upon the prisoners like an invisible tidal wave. Their bodies stiffened, their hair stood on end, and their hearts pounded with sheer terror.

Some of the weaker captives buckled instantly, their legs giving out as they collapsed onto their knees with a dull thud, gasping for breath.

A wave of dread rippled through the group, their instincts screaming at them to submit.

Yet even then… not a single one dared to step forward.

Little Salty Cat frowned slightly at the sight.

She had assumed that, with these captives possessing only a minuscule trace of faith, they would quickly yield, but surprisingly, they were much harder to break than she had anticipated.

At that moment, she finally understood why the native elves reacted so severely whenever players made casual jokes about the goddess, with even a single offhand remark causing a drastic drop in favorability.

For the native inhabitants of Elven Kingdom, whether they be a friend or foe, this intangible parameter called ‘faith’ truly held immense value.

She was starting to feel apprehensive as her gaze swept across the prisoners, before finally settling on one particular individual, the cowardly orc priest.

An idea suddenly sparked in her mind, and a mischievous smile formed on her lips.

If she remembered correctly, this priest had been the first to surrender, triggering a chain reaction that led to the swift collapse of the tribe’s resistance.

Perhaps…he was the key to breaking the apprehension of these captives to follow her order.

With that in mind, her smile widened as she set her sights on the Orc Priest.

“You there. You go first.”

Immediately, every captive’s gaze locked onto the guy.

The Orc Priest: “…M-Me?”

Little Salty Cat’s eyes narrowed as the Orc Priest visibly paled.

༺⟐༻

And at the same time, Shalu felt it—cold, unblinking stares pressing down on him from all sides.

These merciless elves surrounding him…they definitely wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he refused. He would be cut down on the spot, his soul sent to his god’s divine kingdom.

No…

While he was a Silver-rank priest, Shalu himself knew he was a flawed one. His soul would not be sent to their God’s divine kingdom if he died due to having low faith.

Which meant he would truly die if he was killed!

At that moment, a chill crept through his heart, seeping into his very bones.

D-Did he… even have a choice?

He had surrendered so easily because he wanted to live… because he clung to life with every fiber of his being.

He feared death—truly, deeply feared it.

A noble death? An honorable end?

No. None of that mattered.

In his opinion, it was still better to live, no matter how disgracefully, since there was still a chance to turn things around as long as he’s alive.

Shalu struggled internally, his face contorted with hesitation.

But in the end, he reluctantly stepped forward.

At that moment, his expression was ashen, his eyes vacant.

His fellow tribesmen widened their eyes in utter disbelief while the rest of the prisoners erupted into a restless commotion.

Feeling the weight of their piercing gazes, Shalu clenched his teeth, forcing himself forward with unsteady steps toward the statue that represented their Patron Deity…

With a heavy heart and trembling hands, he looked down at it, fear tightening around his chest like a vice.

Then, after a brief, agonizing hesitation, he finally spat on it.

“He… tui…”

The sound echoed through the silence, and in that moment, something within him shattered.

His once mighty silver-ranked strength deflated like a punctured balloon, vanishing in an instant.

Within mere seconds, he lost all his priestly powers, reduced to nothing more than an ordinary orc.

To abandon one’s faith and commit such sacrilege was to sever their connection with their deity.

Yet, as the last traces of divine power drained from his body, surprisingly Shalu felt no sorrow but only a strange, inexplicable sense of relief.

The hardest part of making a decision was taking the first step.

Once the deed was done, all he felt was numbness after committing such blasphemy.

With a heavy sigh, Shalu slumped to the ground, as if all his strength had left him. His vacant eyes stared ahead, filled with uncertainty about the future.

“Good. You may live.”

The petite elven girl declared, but he lacked the strength to reply.

༺⟐༻

With the highest-ranking orc among them committing such blasphemy, the players noticed how visibly shook the Orcs were as if something deep within them had collapsed.

Moreover, those with the skill [Eye of Faith] watched with delight as the red glow signifying their faith flickered before vanishing entirely from many of the orcs, leaving them as faithless individuals marked in grey.

Frightened by the looming presence of the black dragon and Little Salty Cat’s urging, more and more orcs and mercenaries hesitantly stepped forward to spit on the statues of their respective gods. Once the first few had succumbed, the rest followed in quick succession, as if their final resistance had crumbled.

Overall, out of the hundred-plus prisoners they had captured, only one—an elderly orc—chose to end his own life by repeatedly smashing his head against a jagged rock.

The rest became faithless after they abandoned their faith and severed their connection with their deity.

Little Salty Cat sighed, her face showing a myriad of emotions as she gazed down at the corpse of the elderly orc.

“Bury him.”

Although Elven Kingdom was a game and most of these NPCs were programmed through complex lines of code, encountering situations like this still reminded her that these characters were more than just data.

That each of them had their own thoughts, emotions, and life experiences, entirely unique to them. In moments like these, Little Salty Cat truly felt that they were really indistinguishable from real people.

—Even enemies.

Whether it was Jushan from the Rockcave Tribe, who had sacrificed himself for his people…

Or Lionheart King Imsh, who died fighting for his race…

Or even this elderly orc, who chose death over betraying his god…

Despite them being enemies from the opposing side, Little Salty Cat still couldn’t help but feel a tinge of respect for these individuals.

Of course, respect was one thing—the game still had to go on, after all.

This elderly orc who chose death deserved admiration.

But those who chose to surrender?

They were assets who also held value.

With that thought, Little Salty Cat glanced at these newly subdued prisoners and while feeling quite satisfied at how it turned out, finally issued the command to return.

They had gained plenty from this raid and it was now time for them to take these spoils home.

Of course, now that they had gotten a taste of it, the players were already eagerly anticipating the next raid.

༺⟐༻

Shalu wasn’t sure how he had ended up leaving the Desert of Death along with these evil elves.

Ever since he had spat on the statue of their god, he had been in a daze, wandering through an empty void in his mind.

Did he regret it?

Perhaps…

But more than regret, what truly gnawed at him was shame.

Because deep down, he felt relieved to be alive.

More than that, he also felt grateful—grateful that despite defiling their god’s public image, no divine punishment had struck him down.

Deep down, he knew there was no turning back from this point.

He would likely never set foot in his homeland, the Desert of Death, ever again. Even among his own kind, being branded a blasphemer was a crime far worse than that of a cultist.

Whilst drifting aimlessly with no sense of direction for the foreseeable future, he mindlessly followed the evil elves as they crossed the Dark Mountains, passed through numerous canyons, and eventually arrived at a grand elven ruin nestled within the valley.

No… it could no longer be called a ruin anymore.

Despite it being destroyed in the past, he could see traces of reconstruction were beginning to take place in this area once more.

Shalu had heard of this place before.

If he recalled correctly, this was once one of the fabled Seven Elven Cities, a grand mining metropolis known as Rivendell.

As soon they arrived, they were met with a crowd of elves.

Shalu swore he had never seen so many elves in his entire lifetime.

Their equipment looked shabbier than that of their captors, but they ran and leapt about with the same carefree manner just like those evil elves who attacked their tribe.

These elves circled them, pointing and whispering with their eyes glinting with curiosity.

The way they looked at him…

It was the same greedy gaze Shalu had seen in human merchants when they bought elven slaves.

But their group didn’t stay in Rivendell for long.

Soon, their captors led him and the others deep into the mines.

There, each of them was assigned a number, forced to sign a slave contract, and handed an iron pickaxe.

“Your job’s pretty simple—just mine. Dig up more ore and minerals above your daily quota, and you’ll get extra food. Slack off, and your rations will get cut in half. Work hard, and we won’t treat you unfairly.”

And just like that, they became miners.

Now that his fate was settled, Shalu felt a strange sense of relief.

“A slave miner, huh… Well, I guess it’s better than being dead.”

At the very least, these elves didn’t seem eager to kill them.

And, contrary to the gruesome rumors, they weren’t stringing them up and roasting them over a fire like skewered meat either…

With a weary sigh, torn between resignation and relief, Shalu tightened his grip on the pickaxe he was given and swung it down, the sharp clang of metal against stone marking the start of his new reality.

༺⟐༻

The first wave of players who ventured into the Desert of Death numbered around two thousand.

Most operated in raid groups, with the four major guilds leading the charge.

As time passed, more and more information about the Desert of Death trickled back.

Through the efforts of the first wave’s relentless exploration, the once-mysterious land was slowly mapped out, and the region’s unique creatures were cataloged in the game’s database.

Naturally, the native inhabitants of the Desert of Death—the orcs—became the primary focus of the players.

One by one, numerous orc tribes were marked on the map.

However, many of these locations were erased almost just as quickly as they were recorded.

Some never even made it onto the catalogue at all because by the time players marked them, they had already been wiped out.

Of course, the ones that fell quickly were those small tribes.

But as the first wave of players pushed deeper and deeper into the Desert of Death, they made a surprising discovery:

These orcs weren’t as poor as they had imagined them to be!

On the contrary, every orc settlement had stockpiled a surprising amount of wealth.

Especially recently, with their frequent dealings with the Sauron Group, many orc tribes had amassed large caches of supplies that looked to be preparations for war.

However, these war supplies that had yet to be used…ultimately fell into the hands of the players.

Raiding orc settlements quickly became the most profitable venture for the frontier exploration groups.

Of course, not every raid ended in success.

After all, not every orc tribe was as weak as Shalu’s.

But as battles continued, and as players kept pushing deeper into the orc territory, their understanding of the orcs’ movements and war plans became much clearer.

The orcs were indeed preparing for war.

And this time, they intended to mobilize their entire force.

Their target?

Of course it was the Elven Forest.

However, while the orc war effort was a looming concern, the players were far more interested in the profits they could make in the Desert of Death.

Strategic decisions of their faction?

That was a problem for the higher-ups.

In any case, even if the sky fell, the Goddess would hold it up.

All they had to do was go wherever she pointed and fight.

Furthermore, after Moe Moe Committee’s exploration team had returned, the frenzy over the matters concerning the Desert of Death reach to an all new heights.

This was mainly because, to the shock of many, Moe Moe’s raid group had brought back over a hundred orc and human prisoners!

Not only that, but they had also turned them into laborers.

And after some testing, the results were obviously clear—these orcs, stripped of their faith, were proving to be rather productive laborers.

This revelation sent a wave of excitement through the player base.

The Elven Forest had been grappling with a labor shortage for some time, especially in Rivendell, where skilled miners were desperately needed. The demand for mithril and magic stones had surged due to the rise of magical firearms, driving their prices up to four or even five times higher than in the third beta. As a result, securing a stable workforce had become more crucial than ever.

But now, it seemed the perfect solution had presented itself.

It was said that whoever controlled the mines controlled the flow of wealth within their faction.

And even if they had no use for the orcs themselves, they could always sell them to the dwarves in the underground, who were always willing to pay a good price for slaves.

For the players, this was a golden opportunity.

And this time, their sights weren’t just set on the orc tribes and their war supplies—they were now after the orcs themselves!

When Moe Moe’s Guildmaster, Little Salty Cat, eagerly shared her guide on capturing the orcs and turning them into laborers in the forums, the rest of the player erupted with excitement.

Of course, their actions did not go unnoticed.

From her omniscient vantage point within her divine kingdom, Evé had been silently observing them all along.

Watching the players’ latest antics, she could only shake her head in exasperation, torn between either laughing or crying.

“Well… as long as they don’t bring back any enemy believers with strong faith, keep them out of the Elven Forest, and refrain from desecrating any sanctified statues… then I suppose I’ll just let these rascals do as they please.”

With a quiet sigh, she leaned back and allowed events to run their course.

— 498 —

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep