I Refused To Be Reincarnated-Chapter 910: The Copper Dawn

Ulgarath dropped his axe and returned a trembling hug as Grum'Thal's warm breath tickled his ear. "We lost consciousness, only to wake up looking like that. The shamans can't use their arts, our guardian totems aren't responding, and I feel weaker. W-we're scared, great shaman. I'm scared. What will happen to us?"

"Don't be." Grum'Thal pulled back, gazing at everyone's coppery skin with pride. "You all inherited my corrupted blood. A cure had to exist, but I couldn't bear to be the only one purified. Therefore, for fifteen thousand years, I've linked every single orc's blood to mine. As long as I was cured, everyone would be."

He spread his arms wide open, the elements dancing around them. "I swore to rebuild our culture from the ashes of the demonic war. Only now have I succeeded. You feel weaker without the impious demonic blood, but can't you hear mana sing as it caresses your skin and fills your cores? Can't you feel the blessings and care of nature with each breath you take? We are not weaker. We are walking the path of the ancestors. We are what we were meant to be: the true orcs of Sryl'vara! Come, children. We have everything to reorganise and true shamanic arts to learn."

In muted concern, they considered his words and followed. With Adam cradled against his broad chest, Grum'Thal led them from the War Council toward the second-floor staircase.

At its base, he turned toward Grakka. "Thank you for holding the door, Grakka. Could you please bring me my weapon?"

Like the others, she glanced through the War Council's shattered door, at the demonic skull fragments strewn on the blackened ground.

"Not this hideous relic." Grum'Thal chuckled. "The one displayed on the ceremonial grounds."

"You mean—"

"Go." He interrupted her, and she scrambled with a firm nod.

Before he could continue to the second floor, however, two sets of footsteps drummed down the stairs.

"Catch!" A sweet voice and refreshing laughter, followed by the sound of flapping robes, echoed across the walls. "I can't believe you passed out after just a few rounds. I can't recognise you anymore."

"Ah! You passed as well. But if you doubt my hip swinging skills, wait until we find out what happened to us. I'll make you reach the heavens!" A manly voice answered impatiently.

Every single shaman of the older generation massaged their twitching brows. That sounded too familiar. No, something was wrong. The only irreverent culprits they could think of couldn't possibly...

And when they emerged, even Grum'Thal gasped. Two orcs, both with coppery skin glinting with youth yet wearing shamanic robes, returned his surprised glance.

"Great shaman? Great! We wanted to ask you what happened." The male adjusted his robes hastily over his lean muscles and ruffled his unkempt dark hair over his handsome face. Behind him, the female threw her long braid over her shoulder while tracing the spine of the male playfully with a slender finger.

"Impossible!" Zul'Morak tore his hood down behind Grum'Thal, roaring. "You old bastard looked like a withered root this morning. What is this? Great shaman, why them?"

"Jealous, aren't we?" The female smirked, not a wrinkle spoiling her smooth face. "You should try to make friends instead of cursing them to death next time. Oh, sorry. You'd probably die of old age before it happens. Hahaha!"

"Enough." Grum'Thal pinched the bridge of his nose, the realisation settling. It could only be these two. "Mind explaining what you mean?"

The male shrugged, while the female puffed out her generous chest. "Adomash told us he left a gift in our room, so when you went to speak with him, we retrieved it. It was a potion that we had never seen before. That old rooster didn't trust it, but I did. I drank half, and he almost begged for the rest—"

"Hey! I didn't. Why are you even explaining things?" The male rolled his eyes, then continued. "After drinking half the potion, she grew young again and forced the other half down my throat. We... You know what we did until we both passed out. Spare me your hypocritical glares. All of you would have. And here we are, trying to understand why our powers are gone and why our skin reverted to that of the ancestors."

"Wait!" the female blurted out, her eyes locked on Adam in Grum'Thal's embrace. She rushed to him, and the male followed. "What happened to Adomash? Is he fine?"

"He needs to rest, but he's fine. You two..." Grum'Thal sighed. "Congratulations, Rakhan, Gora. However, your friend's running out of time, and so are we. Rakhan, you are to find the human teacher named Diane Nyx Virelda. Tell her we found Adam and will guide him to her before sunset. Then, tell her I request a gathering of Brineheart's council in two days. Rokhan, protect him on the way, but let him do the talking. And wear your hoods. The humans don't need to know about Thaur'Gorath's happenings yet."

"I swear on Grash'Thul's name that I won't disappoint you." Zul'Rakhan lowered his hood over his face, while Rokhan draped his powerful muscles in robes that made him sneer.

"Don't use his name. Grash'Thul's not our guardian anymore." He passed Adam and Bao to Zul'Gora with a nod of shared understanding. "Monitor his condition in your room. Find me the second he wakes up."

He watched Zul'Gora rush up the stairs with Adam. Behind him, Zul'Rakhan tentatively asked. "I'm sorry, great shaman, but is Adam still a friend of the orcs?"

Grum'Thal's eyes narrowed into slits. "No."

Everyone exchanged wide-eyed glances as a heavy silence engulfed the staircase.

Zul'Rakhan bit his lip, but Grum'Thal cut him off before he started.

"Adam is the hero of the orcs, a model of honor, integrity, and skill. Build a statue of him in front of the War Council. Don't forget his companion, Bao, and his fairy partner." He waved his hand. "We'll discuss that later. Go now. The rest follow me."

While Zul'Rakhan and Rokhan left the city on the back of their fastest wargs, Grum'Thal led the leaders of the orcs to a room adjacent to the one where Adam recovered.

It wasn't grand and even felt a little cramped with so many people gathered. It felt homely, far from the solemnity of the War Council. That's what they needed—familial unity rather than political courtesy.

For half an hour, he recounted how he had been forced to seal an unfair deal with Grash'Thul. Some cried when they heard the tragic story. Others clenched their jaws until veins protruded on their cheeks, cursing themselves for thinking this gangrenous power was a gift, an evolution of their species.

He answered their questions before shifting the subject to their future, to the forgotten roots they had to reconnect with for another half an hour.

Many shamans, mostly the older ones, vented their dissatisfaction. He understood them. Everything they had worked for had vanished with their demonic blood. Even worse, he was now asking these elders to study real shamanic arts from scratch like students. But once he convinced them that even though it was hard, they would pave the path for countless generations of orcs, they slowly began to agree. After all, one day, far into the future, they too would become ancestors revered by their people for bringing about a major shift in the restoration of the orc civilisation.