Steel, Guns, and the Industrial Party that Traveled to Another World

Under the distant skyline, the vast expanse of green spreads out, like a vast green brocade, gently covering the chest of the earth. The sun pours down from the blue dome, and the golden light shines with the dew on the grass tips, flashing delicate and dazzling light, as if every ray of light is telling a story.

This is the prairie, the habitat of the orcs. Countless orc tribes follow the nomadic tradition for thousands of years, herding horses and sheep on the prairie, and living by water and grass.

This seemingly endless prairie is actually divided into two parts, north and south, with a vast Gobi Desert in the middle as the dividing line. Most of the human caravans - or armies - coming from the south of the Rocky Mountains can access the southern prairie. No one in historical records has ever been able to cross the Gobi Desert to the northern prairie.

This Gobi Desert that divides the prairie into two can be called a dead end for life. Only the old shamans among the orcs know the safe way to cross it. For this reason, in the long history, this Gobi Desert, which is regarded as a dead end, has saved the orcs from extinction several times.

Although the grassland is vast, its population carrying capacity is very poor. A severe drought or a heavy snow can kill a large number of livestock. The orcs who have lost their living materials will then turn their attention to the human territories in the south. The human territories are all rich lands with developed agriculture and abundant output. In the eyes of the orcs, they are simply flowing with milk and honey.

So they will ride horses in groups to the human territories to plunder important living materials such as food, cloth, etc., and use their speed advantage to leave quickly before the human armed forces can react.

Specifically in the area of ​​the Kingdom of Aldo, since the long Rocky Mountains stretch east-west across its north, it is relatively safe as long as the Gabela Corridor leading to the prairie in the northeast is guarded. The reason why it is relatively safe is that the dwarf clans on the Rocky Mountains are afraid that human settlements will get closer to their territory, and they will open secret passages in the mountains from time to time to allow small groups of orcs to pass through, and use the orcs to drive humans away.

Human civilization has ups and downs. When it is at a low point, it can only grit its teeth and swallow its stomach in the face of orcs' plunder, but when human civilization is at its peak, it will send a powerful army to conquer the orc tribes on the prairie.

Because the human army crushes the orcs in terms of organization, weapons, and supplies, the only advantage of the orcs is that they are stronger, but this advantage cannot offset the many other advantages of humans, so they often lose more than they win when facing human armies.

When the orcs were badly defeated, in order to get rid of the human army that was determined to destroy them, they had to enter the Gobi Desert. Under the leadership of the wise old shamans, they crossed the Gobi Desert and came to the grassland in the north to recuperate.

It was very difficult for the human army to go deep into the grassland to pursue the orcs, not to mention crossing the Gobi Desert. Therefore, every time the orcs entered the Gobi Desert, the humans could only sigh at the Gobi Desert and retreat to the south helplessly.

The remaining orcs relied on the northern grassland to recuperate. When they became stronger, they would cross the Gobi Desert again and occupy the grassland in the south again, and enter the next cycle again.

Until Abar's "king's tent" appeared, the situation changed slightly.

"We are almost there, and their tribal settlement is ahead!"

An extremely excited shout interrupted Alvis's memories of the grassland history.

Elvis looked up from his camel and found some tents scattered in the grassland in front of him. There were many figures among them, who should be the residents of this tribe. Behind those tents, the mountain before was still quietly lying in the distant sky. He thought that after walking for so many days, he would be able to touch the edge of the mountain, but it seems that it is far from enough. There is a saying that "looking at the mountain and running the horse to death", which seems to be true.

"It seems that we can rest for a while!" The guard Marek was behind him, also riding a camel.

In order to get rid of the witch's pursuit, the master and servant did not take the Nerodan Corridor, but went directly north into the prairie. They were lucky to meet a human caravan, which was said to be going to the prairie to do business, so Elvis and Marek joined the caravan in the hope of finding out more information.

In front, the leader of the caravan had already contacted an orc who came on horseback. The leader took out a long piece of paper and read it, which was full of daily necessities for exchange.

"Two slaves! This will cost extra!" The leader handed the list to the orcs who came to meet him.

Alvis heard it clearly and immediately became alert.

Slaves? After the exchanges over the past few days, he knew that this caravan did not bring any slaves!

"Clang!" The sound of a sword being unsheathed broke the silence. It was Marek. He heard the hidden meaning. This caravan wanted to sell him and Alvis to the orcs!

The guards in the caravan noticed his intention and immediately rushed towards him. One of them held Marek's sword against his, and the other went around to the side to attack. Marek and the guards were fighting with swords and had no time to be distracted. He was immediately pinned to the ground, and Elvis was also captured.

In this way, both of them became captives of the caravan, or gifts exchanged for the orc tribe.

The two were forced to separate, and Alvis was taken to a tent.

This tent is built with thick animal skins and tough branches, standing quietly on the grass, as if it is a small safe haven in nature. The afterglow of the setting sun shines through the sparse leaves, sprinkling on the curtain of the tent, giving this small world a warm golden color.

Alves opened the tent flap and entered its interior.

An old orc was seen sitting upright on a low stool carved from rough logs. His face was weathered, and every wrinkle recorded the vicissitudes and wisdom of the years.

He has a pair of long, slightly droopy ears, covered with thin down, a unique sign of his race. Although his hair is gray, his eyes are still clear and deep, showing a kind of peace and tenacity.

There is no mistake. One post, one content, one 6 one, one book, one book, take a look!

The old orc turned his eyes, and there was turbidity under his eyelids, but when he looked at Alves, an indescribable brilliance suddenly burst out from his eyes.

"A scholar from the White Tower of Gabela?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

Alves was stunned. How did this old orc know? From the clothes he wears to the accent he speaks, he has concealed everything that might reveal his identity.

"Who are you?" Alves asked.

"I am the shaman here, Mr. Scholar."

The old orc revealed his identity.