Chương 279: 279：Sanctuary for the Broken

Duran pinched the silver coin between his fingers, his eyes locking onto Soren with razor-sharp vigilance.

"Sir, that isn't how you barter for grain. If you're here looking for trouble, I, Duran, might be a rough man, but I promise you, I am absolutely no easy prey." Unfazed by the threat, Soren didn't so much as reach for a weapon. Instead, he slowly raised a hand and pulled back the heavy burlap hood obscuring his face.

"You possess the raw kinetic strength to tear an Orc apart barehanded, yet here you are, rotting away in this hopeless fortress, clinging to life by peddling damp sorghum." Soren looked Duran dead in the eyes, lowering his voice to deliver a brutally direct strike to the brawler's pride:"Duran. With your exceptional combat arts, are you truly content spending the rest of your life as a miserable grain peddler, swallowing insults beneath the crack of an Orc's whip?" A violent jolt ran through Duran's heart.

He knew full well that the kinetic redirection technique he had just used to catch that silver coin could never fool the eyes of a true master.

"Who exactly are you?" Duran's brow furrowed deeply. His thick arms, hanging by his sides, coiled with tension, fully prepared to erupt into lethal violence at a fraction of a second's notice. Soren took a half-step forward. The majestic, suffocating aura of a supreme commander who ruled over thousands was unleashed without a shred of restraint.

"Vice-Commander of the Crimson Moon Knights, Silvermoon Kingdom." Soren's voice was low and steady as he enunciated the title that was currently shaking the entire continent:"And the Lord of Greywater Village in the Misty Swamp. I am Soren." BOOM! That name struck like a physical sledgehammer, detonating violently within Duran's mind. The ferocious, hyper-vigilant glare on his face instantly melted into unimaginable, absolute shock.

He violently widened his eyes, his breathing grew ragged, and he subconsciously stumbled half a step backward.

"Lord... Lord Soren?" Duran's voice trembled uncontrollably. How could he not know that name?! Just over the past two days, the smuggled gazettes detailing how Greywater Village had entirely annihilated two thousand elite Orcs and decapitated an Oracle had spread like absolute wildfire through the human black markets of Abysswater Keep! He was the sole, blazing beacon of hope for every oppressed, humiliated human trapped deep within the Orc-occupied zones!

He was the God of War whispered about in the darkest alleys! Duran couldn't have imagined in his wildest dreams that this legendary human commander—the man who was currently terrorizing the Orc Alliance and driving Warchief Blackstone into an apocalyptic rage—was actually standing in the flesh right in front of his dilapidated grain stall! As the shock subsided, a wave of profound, irrepressible reverence surged into Duran's eyes.

He instantly snapped his spine straight, violently slamming his thick right forearm across his chest in a rugged, yet intensely solemn military salute.

"Lord Soren! Your name has already echoed through every labor camp in Abysswater Keep! You slaughtered those high-and-mighty Orc elites; you are the true hero of humanity!" Duran's eyes turned red with emotion.

"I might be a backwater brute, but I dream every single night of gripping a blade, marching to the Misty Swamp to follow your banner, and butchering those animals who eat our kin alive!" Hearing this hot-blooded declaration, a highly satisfied smile surfaced on Soren's face.

"Since you possess the fire to bleed for your race, I am formally extending an invitation to you right now." Soren's gaze was unyielding as he locked eyes with Duran.

"Leave this filthy fortress. Join the vanguard of Greywater Village. I promise you, those fists of yours will crush the skulls of countless Orcs on the battlefield, instead of being caked in the mud of this slum." However, faced with an offer that would make any warrior's blood boil, the ferocious excitement in Duran's eyes flickered, struggled, and then rapidly dimmed. He agonizingly unclenched his fists, dropping his head in a display of profound powerlessness.

"Lord Soren... forgive me. I cannot go with you." Duran's voice was saturated with deep, suffocating despair and helplessness.

"Why?" Soren wasn't angered; he merely asked with absolute calm.

"I have an elderly mother." The massive, towering man's eyes grew wet, his voice choking in his throat.

"Years ago, when the Orcs came to drag my little sister away, they shattered my mother's legs. Now, she's completely paralyzed, bedridden, and going blind." Duran looked up at Soren, his face a portrait of sheer filial agony:"Lord Soren, if I don't sell grain here, my mother won't even have a crust of moldy black bread to eat."

"If I leave to join the army in the Misty Swamp... left behind in this brutal occupied zone, a blind, paralyzed old woman wouldn't survive three days." The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"I am a warrior, but I am a son first. I must stay here to care for her until she passes." Hearing this tragic burden, Lyra, standing silently behind Soren, felt a pang of deep sympathy. In a chaotic era where human life was worth less than dirt, such heavy, unwavering filial devotion was absolutely beyond reproach. But Soren didn't display a single trace of disappointment. Instead, the confident smile on his face only grew wider.

"Duran, did you forget what it was in Lucia's exclusive interview that truly shocked the continent?" Soren stepped forward, firmly patting Duran's broad, muscular shoulder, and dropped an offer the brawler wouldn't have dared to dream of:"Greywater Village enforces a classless military code, backed by an absolute [Lifelong Pension and Care System]!" Duran snapped his head up, his face painted with sheer disbelief.

Soren's words practically overflowed with the reassuring, magnetic charisma of a true leader:"Your sole concern is the safety and nourishment of your mother."

"As long as you pledge your loyalty to me, you can bring her directly to the territory of Greywater Village!" Soren pointed north, painting a picture Duran had never dared to covet:"There, we have impregnable barricades and deep, secure underground bunkers. Your mother will never have to fear the crack of an Orc's whip again. Our territory employs dedicated logistical personnel specifically to care for dependents."

"There, she won't just be safe. She will eat steaming monster-meat stew every single day, living out her twilight years in peace inside a warm, high-stilt wooden cabin!"

"All you have to do is focus entirely on slaughtering the enemy on the front lines. Every single burden regarding your family... I, Soren, will shoulder it for you!" Those words violently reignited every dead ember of hope in Duran's chest! Tears of absolute disbelief welled up in the brawler's fierce eyes. Bring a paralyzed old woman into a military camp? Not only without forcing her to work, but with dedicated caretakers and hot meat stew?!

This was utterly impossible even in the elite Royal Legions, let alone in a chaotic era where mere survival was a luxury! But those words came from the mouth of Lord Soren himself. Duran knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was an ironclad vow!

"Lord Soren... are... are you telling the truth?" Duran was shaking uncontrollably with emotion, his knees practically buckling as he wanted to drop and kowtow in the mud. Soren's firm grip instantly caught his arm, preventing him from kneeling. Soren smiled and nodded.

"The military decrees of Greywater Village are never a joke." Duran took several deep, shuddering breaths, forcefully suppressing the burning urge to abandon everything and follow Soren right this second. Ultimately, he was a cautious man, especially when it came to his mother's life.

"My Lord! Even if I die ten thousand deaths, I could never repay the grace you've offered!" Duran gritted his teeth, his eyes clouded with agonizing conflict.

"But... the inspections at the gates of Abysswater Keep are brutally strict. If I try to leave carrying my paralyzed mother, we'll never make it past the walls."

"Please, allow me to return home tonight to speak with her. I will find a way to secure a secret smuggling tunnel out of the city!" Faced with Duran's hesitation, Soren didn't aggressively push for an immediate decision. Out of the corner of his eye, Soren's gaze coldly swept toward the far end of the street. There, a squad of heavily armed Green-skin Orc patrollers was marching aggressively in their direction.

Their greedy, slit-like eyes were already locked onto the meager, pitiful supplies held by the human peddlers in the market. As a former elite special forces operative in his past life, Soren possessed a hyper-accurate, clinical understanding of enemy psychology.

"With the Bloodbone Legion redeploying and Warchief Blackstone preparing for a massive encirclement, the Orcs' logistical burn rate is skyrocketing. At a time like this, they will inevitably intensify their ruthless extortion of the human-occupied zones to resupply their front lines." Soren made a cold, ruthless deduction in his mind:"Duran's few pathetic sacks of damp sorghum won't last the hour. Under the crushing weight of Orcish oppression, reality will force his hand and make the decision for him."

"Very well. I won't force you to make a decision right now." Soren slipped his hands back beneath his oversized burlap cloak.

"I will be at 'The Rose' tavern in the western sector for the first half of the night. Once you've thought it through, or... if you run into trouble... come find me there." With that, Soren didn't linger for a second longer. He signaled Lyra, and the two turned around, seamlessly vanishing into the dense flow of the civilian crowd. Leaving Duran standing alone in the freezing wind, his fists clenched tightly at his sides as he stared deeply at Soren's receding silhouette.