I don’t think I can adequately express just how ridiculously hot it was on this island. While I haven’t taken much time to talk about the weather of my journey up to this point beyond pointing out the endless rain in Plauros, the truth is I hadn’t really been forced to reckon with the weather up to this point. Everywhere near Brightdale was of what I would consider a comfortable climate: not too hot, not too cold, not too wet or dry. Even those places I’d traveled with my dad weren’t usually that unpleasant, even the snowy northern lands. However, because I hadn’t really traveled beyond the scope of his business partners, I guess I had no idea what it would be like elsewhere.

My traveling clothes ended up being just as much of a nuisance dry as they were wet, as within mere minutes of setting out after breakfast, I was already drenched with sweat. Probably should have seen that coming. Well, at any rate, I’d decided to keep wearing them anyway, if for no other reason than the extra protection from the sun provided by my shirt as well as the extra padding from my leather vest. And that protection from the sun was something I had already failed to consider. My stomach and shoulders in particular had seen far less sun than my arms or face, and as a result, they’d already started to burn a bit. Which made my shirt even less comfortable than it already was, but getting further sunburns would probably be worse in the long run for me.

Trade-offs. That’s a thing I remember my dad talking about. You decide what negatives you’re willing to put up with for a positive you want. I deal with the extra weight and warmth of my clothes under the hot, sweltering sun in exchange for a little extra protection against burns or injury.

Thankfully, eventually we made it into a more wooded area, out of direct sunlight. The shade was of shockingly little help against the heat, but at least heat stroke without the possibility of bad sunburns was some solace.

At least I’d soon be able to talk to more people than just Arzias. Hopefully someone who would have less trouble understanding me. Possibly.

“So…what sort of relations do your people have with the orcs?” I asked.

“...Relations…?” Arzias asked.

“Uh…like…are you friends?” I clarified.

“No, me understand what ‘relations’ mean. It…a little messy. We no longer enemies, but they still no like visitors.”

“Oh yeah, I’d kinda wondered about that. I mean, I’ve never really met any orcs, so all I know are the stories, but even then I know that a lot of those happened a long time ago,” I said, mostly to myself.

“Long time ago orkies kill many people, steal lots of land and things, but not so much now. Now they just want be left alone.”

“That makes sense,” I said. “How long have this particular tribe been on your island?”

“Hundred years? Maybe? Me forget,” Arzias answered with a note of uncertainty.

“That also makes sense,” I said, nodding. Up until very recently, as in the, orcs had been one of the races that happened to be most interested in colonization, taking advantage of the widespread rule of the Demon King and his minions. In fact, their colonization efforts were thought to be due to an alliance with the Demon King for the longest time, but no, they mostly had a policy of ignoring one-another. That is, they had, before one of the Heroes ended up being a half-orc.

I wondered how the orcs on this island would respond to the presence of others encroaching onto their lands.

As we walked I was beginning to notice signs that we were most certainly entering the territory of people I’d hadn’t met yet. There were different markings carved into the trees, which Arzias explained were orcish tribal markings denoting which land belonged to which family or clan of orcs, creating a surprisingly complicated web of alliances for a group of people who had only been in the area for about a century or so. From the sound of things, not long after they landed, there was a bit of a schism. And then another one. And another one. I guess some wanted to keep doing as they were doing, while others wanted to directly serve the Demon King, while even others wanted to just split off and do their own thing. For what sounded like a pretty united front coming out to this island, things got complicated once they were able to spread from their ships. Presumably plural.

The tribe that set up camp in front of the shrine? Well, even Arzias wasn’t sure which side they were supposed to be on. Which made me nervous. I mean, yeah, the Heroes probably had it handled. Maybe. I know at some point on this leg of the journey they saved the Fire Gem but heck if I know when that happened because it wasn’t as readily obvious as improved sailing conditions or fewer earthquakes.

Another clue that we were moving into uncharted territory? It smelled awful, which I just kind of wrote off as the normal scent of orcs. Which I will admit was extremely insensitive of me, but…I think my ignorance could be forgiven. It really smelled like death, and I wasn’t sure what else it could be, especially if the orcs were as territorial as Arzias said. I certainly wasn’t expecting to run into anything else there. You probably wouldn’t have either.

Following the path Arzias led me down, hoping she actually knew what she was doing, I noticed arrows sticking out of many of the trees, as if a battle had taken place in these woods recently. My heart sank, thinking that the Heroes had somehow wandered into an ambush, and I began looking around for any other signs of trouble. Sure enough, I saw a lot of orc corpses scattered across the ground, some stuck with arrows, some burned from magic, and some that had what appeared to be bite marks. I raised my eyebrow at this while covering my mouth and nose to avoid breathing in too much of the scent of blood and death. Bite marks?

I looked in Arzias’s direction. “Do orcs…try to eat each other?” I asked.

“No. This very weird. Follow quietly,” she said, grabbing an axe from a dead orc near her.

“What could it be?” I asked, afraid the answer was something I was already expecting. Not more freaking werewolves, I thought to myself, grimacing.

“Not sure. Maybe other animals. Maybe not.”

Good. That was reassuring. Thanks, Arzias.

We rounded another turn in the path, taking us alongside a river where even more fighting had occurred. Almost as if orcs on either side of the river were shooting at each other.

Arzias muttered something in her native tongue, before saying in common, “We follow this path by river. It lead deeper into orkie territory but should lead us to…umm…boat landing place.”

A river leading directly out to the ocean made sense, though I wasn’t sure why the boat would have been more likely to land there than where we ended up.

This was a line of thinking I’d have to abandon briefly as Arzias reached her hand out to stop me from walking further forward. “Look!” she hissed, pointing forward, where just barely in our sight, a handful of orcs slid into view, just…standing there, weapons hanging lazily by their sides, staring off into the distance, almost as if they were drunk or somehow asleep while standing. One slowly turned in our direction, opening its mouth, letting out a wordless gargling groan.

My eyes went wide as it slowly dawned on me that they were undead orcs. I slowly turned to look behind me, hoping, praying I would see nothing but the stretch of empty forest we’d just passed through. Nope. More orc corpses, standing and shambling towards us.

This was a predicament.