The Record of Orc Civilization

Chapter 472: The Function of Each Race

Colosseum Plaza, Capital of Wilwatikta Kingdom

Monsters do not know the words "discussion" or "debate"; to them, strength is the sole arena where truth is found. Yet, history has proven that Wilwatikta was not forged on a foundation of violence, but through the patient fires of diplomacy and understanding.

In the days of old, Moku did not approach the tribes of other races to subjugate them under Orcish rule—despite orc tribe overwhelming power after mastering the Three Silat Forms. Instead, he brought a harsh prophecy: that without unity, they were mere vermin, as easily scattered as tufts of cotton by the winds of the Mana Species.

Thus, at the heart of the Colosseum—the very epicenter of their trials of strength—a specialized court was erected. It was a magnificent circular auditorium, reminiscent of an ancient Roman senate. Tiered stone benches rose in precise semicircles, ensuring that every participant could look their peers in the eye, with no one positioned as an inferior. The floor was crafted from polished stone designed to reflect sound flawlessly, ensuring that every argument, even a hushed whisper, would resonate throughout the chamber.

At the center of the room stood a silent monument chronicling the dawn of their union. It featured the statues of the four chieftains who led during that era. Moku stood at the center, depicted in his original Orcish form before his evolution into an Asura, his arms spread wide in a welcoming gesture.

In his right palm lay a single twig, snapped with ease. In his left, he held four twigs bound tightly together—a testament to the unbreakable strength found in unity. Surrounding Moku, gazing upward with profound reverence, were the figures of Hoddurt, Luna, and Nerphyl—who was then only a tiny sylph no larger than a palm.

Though designed for the heavy task of deliberation and major decision-making, this hall had functioned only as a quiet museum for years. It had never been used, except by monsters who brought their young to remember the history of their unification.

But today, that long silence was about to be shattered.

The atmosphere at the Colosseum plaza felt like a magnetic field on the verge of detonating. Swa stood like a statue, his jaw clamped so tight that the grinding of his teeth was audible. Before him, thousands of pairs of Hobgoblin eyes stared back with a mixture of fading fear and petrified rage.

Swa closed his eyes for a moment.

Despite agreeing to Mige’s suggestion to discuss matters with these dissidents, he still felt it was a monumental waste of time. While they bickered, Goku and the Elders might have already fallen on the battlefield. Or worse, the jagged claws of Furfur’s Legion might already be tearing through the soil of the outer borders.

He couldn’t fathom what was going through the heads of these Hobgoblins. What made them so dissatisfied? The strong rule while the weak are wasted—hadn’t that been the way of life for monster species since time immemorial? Why did the weak suddenly demand equality with the strong? Swa felt a primal urge to split open the skull of every striking Hobgoblin just to see what was actually happening inside. His Asuran ego screamed to crush the heads before him, but his cold logic managed to win that internal struggle.

Seeing the sun climbing higher and the number of gathering Hobgoblins growing more massive, Swa—without waiting for a signal from Mige—stepped forward.

"Bring your leader to the front," Swa’s voice came out low, yet vibrating with suppressed fury. "Now!"

The crowd of Hobgoblins parted slowly. An old Goblin with broad shoulders and a back hunched from years of forging iron and stone stepped forward. Seeing this figure, Swa and Mige’s eyes widened in disbelief.

"Volx! Are you the mastermind behind all this? Have you forgotten the oath Hoddurt and the other Goblins took in that cave?!" This time, Swa’s rage was uncontrollable. Disbelief and sorrow were also etched in Mige’s eyes as he stared at the elderly goblin.

Volx was no ordinary old Goblin. He was one of the Goblin warriors who had fought alongside them against Bon and Jon. Not only that, Volx was the right hand of Hoddurt—a legendary Goblin regarded as a hero by the first-generation Asuras. Moku often mentioned his name in the opening speeches of the church school’s new academic year, back before the leader became consumed by war and cultivation.

"Stay your anger, Swa... Mige. I did not come here as a representative of these young goblin and hobgoblins. My time has passed, and my only hope is to be buried right next to Hoddurt’s grave so I may fight beside him again in The One’s Heaven," Volx said, raising a hand to reveal withered, wrinkled skin.

He was a Goblin who had lived a generation before Ez. For monster races who lacked Dragon Prana flowing through their veins, age was the ultimate enemy. They could barely endure a hundred years; without evolving to the next form, their lifespans rarely even reached fifty.

Volx and several other veteran Goblins had chosen not to evolve, despite having the ability to easily clear the Mana Cream Cultivation. Most of them no longer harbored the ambition to continue wandering this world, choosing instead to retire while witnessing the growth of the kingdom they had built with their own hands. Because of this, the kingdom provided subsidies for these veterans to ensure they lacked for nothing in their old age.

"Then why are you here, Volx? Do you not know how critical the kingdom’s situation is right now?"

"I know—"

"He is not our representative, O Asura! He could even be called a traitor to his own kind! He cares nothing for his enslaved kin, even defending you as he watched his own children die! He is no Goblin; he is merely a pet dog of the Asuras!" A loud voice cut Volx off. From the hobgoblin crowd, someone emerged.

His dull green skin was covered in jagged scar tissue. Although medical potions from the R-18 unit could now remove scars entirely, many monster warriors chose to keep them as badges of honor or because of the memories behind wounds that were too difficult to forget.

"My name is Grak, a common war veteran whose name has likely never reached your ears, O Director of Intelligence. Volx is not our representative; I am the one who has stepped forward to meet you. I am no coward. I do not need to hide behind the back of an old man like him. I choose to look the oppressor directly in the eye!" Grak’s voice thundered, and Swa could see the deep-seated hatred in his gaze.

"You wish to talk, Asura?" Grak’s voice was hoarse, sounding like the grinding of rough stone. "Or are you just looking for a new neck to wrap a noose around?"

Swa stepped forward until his face was only inches from Grak’s. Heat radiated from his body. "Listen to me closely, you dirt-rat. Out there, millions of Demons are marching toward this place. Furfur will not ask who is master and who is slave when he burns this place to ash. If the walls of Capital are not reinforced, there will be no more protests, no more rights! All that will remain is a pile of rotting corpses!"

Grak laughed—a sickening, dry sound. "And what difference does that make to us? Every day we die as war-fodder just to watch the Asuras reap the rewards. Every day our hearts die as we watch our women leave their kind in droves to marry you. Every day we die in underground tunnels, abandoned with no one to mourn us. Death is far better than living like this!"

Mige stepped forward as well. "And you blame us for all this? The kingdom never forced you to go to war, the kingdom never forced your women to marry Asuras, and the kingdom never forced you to work on building the foundation of our species!"

Mige’s eyes narrowed, his tone growing more pressing. "Since the founding of Wilwatikta—and even long before that—the cooperation between Orcs and Goblins, or Asuras and Hobgoblins, has been established. Have you not read the history of how Orcs and Goblins worked together to kill two human mages who were considered impossible for monsters to defeat back then? The Goblins served as bait and drew the enemy into traps. Once the enemy was weakened, the Orcs would charge the front lines and fight to the death. This is the partnership of two races that built this kingdom! Perhaps you young Hobgoblins do not understand our sacrifices for survival. But do your parents not understand? If they don’t, did your grandparents not tell the stories?! If they too remained silent, did your ancestors not record it in history?!"

Murmurs began to ripple through the plaza. The Goblins and Hobgoblins whispered to one another. Historical records indeed stated that the cooperation between Orcs and Goblins was not an equal partnership in terms of function. Each had their own duties and different ways of sacrificing their lives. The Goblins, more creative in construction and massive in number, served as the bait and architects of traps. The Orcs, stronger but fewer in number, served as the sharp blade to end the enemy.