Players’ NPC daddy

Chapter 2213 Orc Curse Chapter 75
The heavy footsteps of the Barbarian King Lothar immediately put the orc guards on alert, but only for a moment. Before they even saw Lothar, they sensed his presence and recognized him as the true and sole leader of the Sandrak clan.

"Barbarian King!"

The disappointment in the eyes of the two guards was completely burned away by their fervor. They looked at this deputy of the Great Beast God with great admiration, the strongest Beast King who had never been defeated in nearly a thousand years, who patrolled the raging winds of the Beastman region day after day, year after year.

"You're guarding the gate."

Unlike the burning desire in the eyes of the orc guards, King Lothar closed his eyes tightly as he looked at the two orcs who had broken through the level 100 limit.

He didn't ask why the two powerful orcs were guarding the gate; the answer was obvious: these two orcs were the lowest-ranking outsiders in the Sandrak clan.

Even if they earned the most prestigious name among the orcs, Sandrak, through their own strength, they would still not be recognized and would only be required to guard the gate, and would not even be allowed to enter.

"You can leave now. Go to these two regions; some herbivorous beastmen are waiting for you there."

King Lothar pressed his finger to his brow, pulled out two golden threads, wove them into two scrolls, and handed them to the two orcs.

Upon hearing Lothar's first words, the two orcs turned pale, thinking he was going to kick them out of the Sandrak clan. But his second sentence excited them.

This is someone who is to be entrusted with an important task.

"We will definitely fulfill Sandrak's mission!"

The orcs excitedly took the scroll and rushed out almost obliviously, without even saying hello to the barbarian king Lothar.

King Lothar chuckled softly, genuinely pleased.

They gathered together because of the same beliefs and goals, and then set off to various places in the Orcish region to help and guide, warming the lonely and indifferent dark forest like the heat and light of a campfire.

【Sandrak】is a trustworthy name. As long as this name is mentioned, orcs who have heard of Sandrak will lower their guard and believe it.

This is the true meaning of Sandrak: a final resting place, a monument, for those nameless, passionate individuals.

King Lothar entered the tribe, heading to the most remote and filthy corner, where he met with orcs and entrusted them with scrolls.

With each scroll sent out and each coordinate entrusted, the barbarian king Lothar's slightly hunched back straightened, and his steps became a little lighter.

He thought of Lottie Sandrak, the child whose birth was a huge turning point, triggering the Great Orc God's oracle that plunged the Orcish region into dire straits, yet she was also the one who persisted and always saved the Orcish region.

It turns out that those important things never disappeared or were forgotten; they always existed. It's just that Sandrak is no longer worthy of them.

That's why everything before my eyes seems so detestable.

King Lothar stepped into the most bustling and glamorous place in the Sandrak clan's territory, and looked at Sandrak as it was now.

The beastmen, whose faces were covered in keratin and who possessed various orc features, were holding what seemed like an ordinary banquet. Food was carelessly thrown on the ground and trampled into filth.

This is the noble bloodline that the Sandrak clan speaks of—a multi-horned hybrid, where an intangible belief in nobility has become a tangible and visible "noble bloodline."

This place is always a scene of revelry, where the stench of decay is always masked by the tantalizing aroma of roasted meat, and adorned by the etiquette of noble lineage.

Today's revelry was tinged with absurdity; they drank blood-like liquid, and their words of revelry were indulgent and decadent. He didn't deliberately conceal his presence, yet even though he was so close, not a single orc noticed him.

He stood there for a long time until the priests noticed him. Amidst the commotion, the elderly high priest came before him, lifted his hood to reveal a face with thickened keratin and noble lineage.

"Your Majesty, your return must have brought victory and the blood of rebels." The high priest bowed his head, maintaining only verbal and physical respect.

Because the Barbarian King Lothar does not possess the noble bloodline recognized by the Sandrak clan, even if the High Priest knew this and understood Lothar's power and status, he could not genuinely respect him; merely putting on a show of respect was already extremely difficult.

King Lothar was deeply disappointed. He had lived for a long time and had seen priests who, even if weak, possessed strong beliefs. However, the priests had short lifespans and had long since decayed with each generation.

Compared to the beliefs that were once admired and longed for, bloodline is now upheld because it is something that is innate, something that can be obtained and maintained without effort.

"Where is Machiri?" King Lothar asked coldly, without answering the high priest's question.

"Your Excellency Machiri..." The High Priest paused, shook his head from side to side as if searching, and after finding nothing, spoke with a hint of natural disdain.

"She doesn't seem to be here. Could it be that she has given up on the test of possessing the name of Sandrak? The Barbarian King seems to value her highly."

The so-called test was, of course, making things difficult for people with different surnames.

For those who subscribe to the theory of bloodline, it must be unbearable for someone of lowly blood, whom they despise, to reach the same level as them through hard work, talent, and faith.

He also bears responsibility for how things turned out this way, as he once endorsed this heinous behavior.

It was originally a sense of pride and honor, meant to deal with those who used Sandrak's name to swindle and deceive. But it changed silently, and by the time they realized something was wrong, it was too late.

He had always accepted it, perhaps because the multi-horned hybrids of the Sandrak clan had never crossed the line he could accept, but now…

King Lothar strode forward and stood before the multi-horned beastmen who were enjoying their feast, his face grim.

"What are you eating?"

"Ah, Barbarian King, of course he's criticizing what those rebels call 'food'." The multi-horned beastman raised his eyes slightly, then nonchalantly drank the bright red liquid.

"What are you eating?!"

The barbarian king Lothar slapped the table, sending the burnt food flying and a hand landing on it.

Although it has five fingers, it is not a human hand.

Large and thick, with sharp claws, it is the hand of an orc.

Finally, the Sandrak clan had fallen to this state. The barbarian king Lothar grabbed the head of the multi-horned orc and smashed it to the ground, then threw his head back and roared angrily to vent his rage.

He recalled the dying taunts of his former enemies, those he had defeated, who had said that the Sandrak clan was doomed to a tragic end.

That was undoubtedly just stubbornness, but ironically it came true, so tragically that even his former enemies couldn't utter such a vicious curse.

(End of this chapter)