From Slave to King: My Rebate System Built Me a Kingdom With Beauties!-Chapter 223: Borg’s Pathetic State [FIXED]

The orcs closed the distance between themselves and Borg with methodical precision, moving through the settlement’s back pathways with the practiced stealth of hunters stalking dangerous prey. They knew Borg would be cautious despite his many flaws—paranoia was often the survival mechanism of those who’d seized power through questionable means, and he would have contingencies in place even if his broader security was compromised.

Shava led Maui directly to Borg’s location with the confidence of someone who knew every inch of this territory. She navigated through narrow gaps between buildings, avoided the few remaining patrol routes that hadn’t been drawn away by Grishka’s spectacle, and brought them to a structure that was larger and more elaborate than the surrounding dwellings. It had clearly been Kragg’s personal quarters before his death—built with care and displaying the kind of craftsmanship that spoke to permanence rather than temporary shelter.

They crouched behind a stack of supply crates positioned near what appeared to be a secondary entrance, their breathing controlled and quiet despite the exertion of their infiltration. From this vantage point, they had a clear view of the main doorway while remaining concealed in shadows that the sparse torchlight couldn’t penetrate.

Maui’s heart was pounding, adrenaline sharpening her senses to almost painful clarity. Every sound seemed amplified—the distant murmur of the crowd around Grishka, the crackling of nearby torches, the rustle of fabric as Shava shifted position beside her. This was it. Everything they’d planned, everything they’d risked, came down to the next few minutes.

Then movement at the doorway caught both their attention simultaneously.

They pressed themselves flatter against their hiding spot when they saw Borg step out of his dwelling with a bottle of booze clutched in his hand. He moved with the careful deliberation of someone who was already significantly intoxicated, his steps just slightly off-balance, his free hand touching the doorframe for support as he emerged into the night air.

Maui didn’t remember him being a drinker when she’d last encountered him. During her time in this settlement before everything had gone wrong, before Byung had arrived and changed the trajectory of her life, Borg had been known for his discipline if nothing else. He’d maintained strict control over his habits, presented himself as the model warrior who needed no substances to cope with stress or responsibility. It had been part of his image—the capable second-in-command who could step into leadership if circumstances demanded.

But the orc before her now looked nothing like that carefully constructed persona. His armor was disheveled, pieces missing or incorrectly fastened as if he’d dressed in haste or while impaired. His face carried a haggard quality even in the dim light—dark circles under his eyes, a gauntness to his features that suggested poor sleep and worse eating habits. The bottle he carried was nearly empty, and from the way he swayed, it clearly wasn’t his first of the evening.

"Fucking legends showing up at my doorstep," Borg muttered to himself, his voice slurred and carrying the particular bitterness of someone deep in their cups. "Couldn’t stay in her mountain fortress where she belongs. Had to come here, had to make a statement. Of course she did."

He took another long pull from the bottle, draining the last of its contents before hurling it with surprising force against a nearby wall. The glass shattered with a sound that seemed far too loud in the quiet night, shards scattering across packed earth in glittering fragments.

Shava tensed beside Maui, her hand moving instinctively toward her weapon. But Maui placed a restraining hand on her arm, shaking her head slightly. Not yet. They needed to see what Borg would do, needed to understand his state of mind and tactical position before committing to action.

Borg stood there swaying for a long moment, staring at nothing in particular, his expression cycling through emotions too quickly to properly identify. Anger, fear, resignation, defiance—all of it flickered across his features like shadows cast by unstable flames.

"Should have killed her when I had the chance," he continued his drunken monologue, apparently not caring or not realizing that his voice carried further than he likely intended. "Should have sent assassins years ago, should have poisoned her food, should have done something instead of just... waiting. Hoping she’d stay away. Hoping she’d decide we weren’t worth her attention."

He laughed then, a sound without humor that carried undertones of something approaching hysteria. "But no. I had to go and make moves. Had to claim territory, had to push boundaries, had to act like I was actually worthy of leadership instead of just another opportunist filling a dead orc’s boots."

Maui exchanged a quick glance with Shava, reading concern in the other woman’s expression that likely mirrored her own. This wasn’t the confident, calculating Borg that either of them had prepared to confront. This was someone unraveling, someone whose grip on both power and sanity seemed to be slipping with each passing day under the weight of responsibilities he’d claimed but couldn’t actually manage.

Borg started pacing now, his movements erratic, hands gesturing as if arguing with invisible opponents. "They’re all watching. All judging. Waiting for me to fail so they can say ’see, we knew he wasn’t good enough, knew he couldn’t fill Kragg’s role, knew this would end badly.’ And now she’s here. The Stonehide Chieftess herself, sitting in my settlement like she owns it, probably planning how to carve up my territory among her supporters."

He stopped abruptly, his head tilting as if listening to something neither Maui nor Shava could hear. His hand moved to the weapon at his belt—a wicked-looking axe that seemed almost too large for practical use, more statement piece than combat tool.

"Maybe I should just walk out there," Borg said slowly, his voice taking on a dangerous edge despite the slurred delivery. "March right up to her with this axe and see if the legends are true. See if the great Stonehide Chieftess really is as unkillable as they say. Because if I’m going down anyway, might as well make it memorable. Might as well give them something to talk about besides how I failed."

Shava’s breath caught audibly at this suggestion. Her expression had shifted from concern to something approaching alarm. "He’s talking about suicide by combat," she whispered so quietly that Maui almost didn’t hear. "If he actually does that—"

"Grishka would cut him down in seconds," Maui finished, equally quiet. "And then we’d have no answers, no accountability, no proper transition of power. Just another dead chieftain and more chaos."

But more than that, Maui realized with uncomfortable clarity, Borg dying in glorious combat against an obviously superior opponent would actually serve his reputation better than what she’d come here to accomplish.

They couldn’t let him do this. Not for his sake, but for everyone else who’d suffered under his brief, disastrous reign.

Borg took a step toward where the crowd had gathered around Grishka, his hand still on his axe, his jaw set with the particular determination of someone who’d made a decision they knew was probably terrible but were committed to following through regardless.

Maui tensed, preparing to intervene somehow, though she wasn’t sure yet what form that intervention should take. Tackle him? Call out? Try to talk him down from this suicidal impulse?

But before she could decide, another figure emerged from the dwelling behind Borg—a servant or aide, judging by the simple clothing and nervous demeanor. The orc cleared his throat tentatively, clearly aware of his chieftain’s volatile state but compelled by duty or circumstance to interrupt anyway.

"My lord," the servant said carefully, keeping his voice low and non-threatening. "There’s word from the southern patrol. They found something you need to see. Something... unusual. They say it can’t wait until morning."

Borg turned to face the servant with visible irritation, his contemplation of dramatic suicide apparently disrupted by mundane administrative necessity. "What could possibly be more important than—" he started, then caught himself, seeming to realize he’d been about to admit to suicidal intentions. "Fine. What is it?"

The servant glanced around nervously before speaking, clearly uncomfortable with discussing sensitive matters in the open where anyone might overhear. "They found tracks. Large ones. And signs of recent activity near the old shrine. The one we were told never to approach."

Something shifted in Borg’s expression at this news. The drunken haze seemed to clear slightly, replaced by sharper focus that suggested whatever this was, it carried genuine significance. "How recent?" he demanded.

"Within the last few hours, my lord. And..." the servant hesitated, then pushed forward, "and they found something else. Something the patrol leader says you need to see personally because he doesn’t trust describing it accurately."

Borg stood there for a long moment, visibly weighing his options—the dramatic confrontation with Grishka against this mysterious discovery that clearly carried weight he couldn’t ignore. Finally, he nodded sharply. "Get my horse ready. Assemble a small escort—no more than five warriors. And tell absolutely no one where we’re going. If word gets out..."

"Understood, my lord," the servant said quickly, already moving to carry out the orders.

As Borg turned to go back inside, presumably to gather supplies or weapons for this unexpected journey, Maui and Shava found themselves facing an unexpected complication. Their carefully laid plan had assumed Borg would remain in the settlement, would be cornered here where Grishka’s presence limited his options and their numbers provided advantage.

But if he left—if he rode out with a small escort to investigate whatever this mysterious discovery was—they’d lose their window. He could disappear into the wilderness, could potentially not return for days, could slip away from the accountability they’d come here to enforce or possibly be killed by the honor guards protecting the axis.

Maui made a decision in that moment, though she wasn’t entirely certain it was the the right one but she had to confront him here and now.

Whatever was happening, whatever Borg had gotten himself involved with, it was clearly bigger than just his failed leadership. And Maui intended to see it through to whatever end awaited them in the darkness beyond the settlement’s borders.