My Parasite Skill System

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The chief, huh.

The big outlines of his appearance were similar to that of his friends though he wasn't about quite the same.

He wasn't tied upon his throne, like myself. He wasn't just like me. He was the chief, once again. Simply sitting on his throne, he looked over to me.

Wearing about his rags and bits of armor, his eyes were placed onto me.

I looked back at him. Very carefully and all the more analytically.

Then it struck me that, among his peers, only he was to be possessed by a certain sense of grace and nobility.

He felt different, and didn't emit quite the same aura as his friends'.

Our eyes were still diving into one another. All the while I'd been brought in here, I never once really did look at him. Right now, it was the first time our eyes met–he felt strong … and different.

And it struck me, then again, that all the time I'd been standing here, going about analyzing and scanning this place over, how was I not to feel this pressure?

It wasn't quite so pressuring me … his presence … though I felt it good.

His only one assessing eye was set on fire and yet, the orc was cold all over.

So, this is the chief.

And my overly analytical state of mind didn't stop at that.

The humans next to me, being tied up too, my eyes were now set on them.

Still facing the boss, my pupils only turned left and watched their way.

My eyes didn't stay long on them–the 'vile humans' this whole thing was about seemed to be about, all lined up, on their knees, blindfolded–they were all to my left.

The vile humans were here. The powerful humans were there.

With fearful eyes–or maybe not fearful at all–some of them were hastily looking around them, as though they weren't blindfolded; or simply unwilling to stay in the dark alone.

And with the same 'fearful' eyes, the other part of them were just standing still, like docile and subdued animals.

Hmmm…

I was to be counted among them … or not among them?

Was I, too, a prisoner or not?

That fat and muscled orc to my left had called me a 'little monster,' after all.

I'm not with them. It's cool. Still, though, what's my share in this? To the orcs, I mean. What do they want?

Hmmm.

And so, is it just about killing them?

Sure, I can do that–

But one thick and large palm was suddenly set firmly on top of my head–"Ugh!"–and fingers went pressing my temples and back of the head at once.

It felt irksome–I tried to move my head though I couldn't.

Tattooed Orc was doing this.

With a movement of his chin, the king had just interrupted my leisurely and passive observations.

And, without a word whatsoever, his brute got to work right away.

–"Let go of my head, Big Palm!"

Oh, but he just did that.

"Mmh!"

But went on shaking the bucket of water he still held in one hand–the water went on bubbling.

Slowly bringing up the bucket on top of my head–he quickly flipped it over and poured it on me.

There wasn't even one-quarter of a gallon.

Thankfully, it was a sunny day.

But it still felt cold.

"You! …"

"Oh, oh, oh! Annoy you!"

"... stop that, please."

And I right away compressed the feeling of cold anger that came hitting my head.

I kept my cool.

My hair was now wet again. It wasn't like I was dry or something before, since they'd already splashed me with that damn bucket of theirs … but still.

Why did he even stare at me like this?

I grimaced.

And suddenly went on shaking my head. I figured it'd dry me out at least for a bit. All of which made the tattooed orc beside me wince as he received some on his large, long face.

As he liked doing, it seemed to me, bringing his huge face always so up close to mine the way he was.

He winced, but he didn't take his annoying face away from mine.

And at this point, I understand the mechanics; he waited for an answer. It did make sense anyway, right? Of course, he waits for an answer. I gotta say something, and quickly.

Only after having thoroughly got most of the water off of my wet hair (though they obviously still were wet), I did turn to him, too.

He was still on my right, wincing and grimacing.

Like this, our eyes stayed met for about three seconds.

I then turned to the one he'd called his chief; he was waiting for me so say something, too, I'll bet.

Anyone of them actually seemed to be looking at me. Anyone of them waited for me.

Be it by their long side glances or with straight-looking eyes, every one of them hardly ever took their eyes off of me.

Kinda felt like a star.

It was just like this: Tattooed Orc simply was waiting for me to tell him I agreed with his terms because obviously it was either my head … or these random humans' heads; and the rest of the crowd also simply waiting for Tattooed Orc's word of validation.

"So … so!"

He sure seemed to be in a hurry with me, huh.

"... Hm," sticking back my face on his, I went on, " … what? Lemme just think 'bout it."

"Oh, oh?..."

"… Why you staring like this? What now?"

"Speak … speak … slow!"

Did he not understand? … Right, he must not be that comfortable with the human's tongue, I can see that.

"Let me just think about a suitable answer," I uttered properly, still thinking up what I should be saying.

To me, it seemed to be a delicate matter. Or maybe not. I don't really know.

"Sui-i-itable!..." he then pronounced, sort of following me through my line. "No think!"

As he put it, I should just say to him what I got to say to him.

"Yes … I need to think. Think … think … think."

What should I even do right now?

"..." and he only formed two perfect rounds with his nose's nostrils; before looking ridiculous, he indeed looked more menacing.

Oh, there, don't be impatient, Tattooed Orc.

Alright, alright, "Think … I think that … err … I think that I can't think when I'm being tied up like this!" and only ended up rapping out this. "It doesn't feel comfortable! Thinking is an art, as such, it requires for me … err … to be comfy, and I'm not right now!"

I spoke too quickly; he mustn't even have understood a word of what I've just said.

Irritation settled down on me. I was too easily irritable.

Like it'd serve any right if he'd understood anyway.

"Hm!"

I just didn't know what to say, to be honest. It all just felt way too passive and weird … and detached, somehow.

And … gosh. When will that tattooed orc actually take off his damn face off of mine? … It isn't practical for me to think under such circumstances, right, right??

Quickly and promptly, his eyes set off my face. With a quick movement of his muscled neck, he glanced towards Chief Orc.

He nodded, and his chief nodded too.

Turning back to me, he began again, "Hm!" but didn't just stick his face onto mine, this time, thankfully.

All the while he'd been fixed on me, he was bending his long spine like crazy just for the sake of meeting me eye to eye, point-blank.

And now, his maneuver would be different.

Redressing his long back at once, letting it be straightened good and well healthy (one has to take care of their back, it's important), one of his hands went snatching a dagger hanging around his waist.

–But to my surprise, he hurried it at me!

"Wait, no!"

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