The Good Orc

Bardena Bekhen thought.

If someone suddenly approached you on the street and claimed, out of nowhere, to be a famous person of recent renown, how many people would seriously listen? He'd bet eight out of ten wouldn't believe it. Of the remaining two, one would be too stupid to doubt it and believe it outright, and the last one would clearly walk past with an expression that said they'd seen every lunatic the world had to offer.

That wasn't strange. Believing such a claim without any proof was what was strange. Sure, ignoring it and moving on was the right call, and mocking and sneering wasn't exactly a good deed either, but anyway, being punished for not believing it was deeply unfair.

And if that punishment wasn't just a simple matter of pressing your forehead to the floor, but instead took the shape of being ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠forced to face three orcs while dragging along two incompetent adventurers, then it was truly a shit deal, even by the worst standards.

Those pig bastards might not have had any skill, but they had brute strength and size, and no matter how battle-hardened he'd become as a red-rank, overcoming such a physical gap wasn't easy. Under the premise that one hadn't awakened Aura, an orc of the same red-rank was harder to deal with than a pack of goblins. At least a blade could stab into them, so they weren't impossible to fight, but facing two at once was a different story.

Even against fellow humans, a coordinated attack was a brutal thing. Even now, it was only by barely holding on as the two orcs, whose every swing gouged out chunks of thick tree, lurched back and forth without any concept of coordination. Every time their attacks managed a terrible, coincidental synchronicity, Bardena had to feel death creeping a step closer.

What put an end to that life-threatening danger was the sound of a dog barking from somewhere.

With no leisure to turn his attention toward the sound, Bardena didn't realize that the noise signaled the arrival of the primary cause of this entire situation. Bardena only noticed Eldmia's appearance when he saw something like a knitting needle embed itself in the eye of one of the orcs attacking him.

He stood there dumbly for a moment as the orc, curling in on itself and screaming from an agony it had likely never felt in its entire life, was left alone, while the other orc bellowed and charged at Eldmia. But Bardena, not missing his chance, diligently worked his blade. The orc, panicked by the sudden pain compounding upon itself, met its death without even putting up proper resistance, a pathetic end that belied its ferocious momentum moments before.

Only then, fully realizing he'd survived, Bardena let out a sigh of relief and stared at Eldmia. From what he'd felt getting beaten to a pulp yesterday, the guy clearly knew how to use Aura, so he'd make short work of an orc or two. That was why he'd planned this dangerous mission without a care for people like us, since he could take them down so easily.

"These Aura-using bastards, they all see the world by their own standards, seriously."

It was true his life had been on the line, but since it was Eldmia who'd put him in danger, Bardena frowned. Thinking that if they'd all stuck together inside the village, they wouldn't have felt threatened by these creatures.

"Skiiik!! Fight!"

Even as discontent and resentment simmered, the orc that had been harassing the blue-rank adventurer grew frenzied at the sight of a strong enemy and attempted a brainless charge at Eldmia. It was a situation where if he'd gone for its back, he could have easily killed it, but Bardena, already filled to the brim with complaints, just stood there blankly watching the creature rush past him. It was an action born from the hope that, since an easy victory was obvious anyway, the bastard might suffer just a little more.

Even while slumping to the ground to catch his breath, watching an orc that had belatedly charged in swing its axe, aiming for Eldmia's flank as he fought the first one, Bardena remained thoughtless. He just watched Eldmia fight, hoping the battle would end quickly so they could return to the village. Aura User combat was useless to watch no matter how long you stared, so he planned to look away soon anyway, and check on the other adventurers.

But as the fight continued leisurely even after one more orc had joined, Bardena sensed something strange.

"Skiiik! Die! No, get hit!"

"Squeak! This! Fishy! Human! Fight me head on!"

He could see the movements. Not just see them—they were at a level he felt he could manage himself.

"You crazy bastard."

Since the desperate battle moments ago left zero chance he'd suddenly awakened Aura, it meant Eldmia was fighting two orcs barehanded, without using Aura at all.

"He can use it, and he pulls this shit on purpose?"

There's a saying that mages have weak stamina and knights have strong stamina. At a glance, it seems simply true, but if you examine the cause, it's not necessarily a hard rule.

A mage who uses Mana has no reason to use their body, so they naturally become weak. This isn't just true for mages, but for anyone. Unused muscles atrophy. Just look at Battle Mages—they often possess physiques that put average warriors to shame. So no causal relationship existed where mastering Mana makes you weaker. It's simply that Mana can substitute for physical labor, so you don't move, and thus you weaken.

Then what about those who can use Aura?

When the power gained in a single moment of Aura awakening is greater than the power gained from swinging a sword twelve hours a day, was there any real reason for them to obsess excessively over physical training? Did swinging a sword mindlessly even increase your Aura?

Of course there wasn't. Before awakening Aura, you'd obviously train like crazy, but from the moment you opened your eyes, most people focused on cultivating the Aura within their bodies, not dedicating much time to physical conditioning.

Not only could all physical abilities including strength and endurance be enhanced by Aura, but unlike Mana, there was no risk of external factors disrupting or neutralizing it. It was a natural outcome. If you could consistently train your Aura and simply expand its limits, even a pot-bellied middle-aged man could become strong.

Of course, the gap from basic fitness and stamina wasn't entirely nonexistent, but the gap in Aura applied more broadly. Since Aura manipulation had its own levels and qualitative differences, once you awakened it, you invested your time in learning to use it better even a single day faster, and physical training became a secondary thing, done to clear the mind and body when you hit a wall.

There was a reason why seemingly versatile types like Magic Knights and Battle Mages rarely distinguished themselves. Just mastering Mana and Aura simultaneously was demanding enough, but they also had to suffer the triple hardship of inevitably maintaining physical conditioning alongside it. That was the case for most, unless they were famous enough to make a name across the continent.

But the spectacle unfolding before his eyes was kicking one of Bardena's common sense notions right in the face.

It wasn't flashy in the slightest. He even saw things that Bardena himself had occasionally picked up in taverns—the very fundamentals of swordsmanship. With only that, Eldmia faced the two orcs, toying with them as if conducting some kind of experiment.

He'd duck into a blind spot to throw a punch, or stab the orcs' legs repeatedly with strikes that would have immobilized a human, checking how much they could endure. All of it was clearly at a level Bardena himself could manage.

The sight felt like it was rebuking Bardena himself, telling him that the reason things had been so perilous moments ago wasn't because the orcs were strong, nor because Bardena couldn't use Aura—but simply because he'd been lazy.

With no room to even attempt mental victory or self-rationalization, what Bardena felt from the reality that hit home was a crushing sense of shame.

◈

Was it said that humans are human because they use skill?

As expected, orcs were nothing but punching bags with good strength. I'd been a bit puzzled when one more ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠suddenly joined in, but since it just meant more test subjects, it wasn't a bad thing. The two of them, who seemed to utterly lack even the concept of coordinated attack, put on an amusing show of swinging their axes at each other if I just positioned myself well by paying attention to my footwork. They lost their lives the moment my test of how far I could go with a body not using Magic Power concluded.

"Kik, kiiiik..."

Since they just pushed through with muscle mass rather than being clad in Aura, my blade sank in nicely. Seeing this, the Guild's request grading was indeed pretty damn accurate. They were definitely manageable opponents for red-rank. No, it was to the point where they should actively encourage it and have people slug it out with orcs.

Beings with nothing but strength, no skill or intelligence—they were living, breathing combat-power measuring devices.

And on top of that, they even become good once the training's done, right?

"I've located the orcs. Tell me once you're ready to move. We're heading back right away."

As I watched the ones sighing in relief at escaping death's crisis, I looked at the red-rank who'd held out alone—Bardena, eating something with a grimace. The yellow-rank who hadn't run off alone in that situation, and that guy who'd physically endured two orcs without Aura—I wasn't sure about their mindset, but their skill and guts were at least somewhat useful.

Bardena, his expression unreadable whether he was intimidated or had just picked up something nasty again and was making that disgusted eating face, cautiously asked after hearing me out,

"Is it large-scale?"

"Pretty large. I'll explain it back at the village ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠anyway, but we might need to contact Raviel once more."

He wasn't so clueless as to not understand what that meant, and Bardena's face quickly turned grave. Of course, regardless of that, I was busy sorting out my thoughts while feeding some more Magic Power to Laika, who had worked hard.

Even Bardena, who'd been swaggering around as the leader in his own way, had struggled to handle two orcs. Then that guy who'd lost an arm—would he manage three at best?

If the orcs charged with sheer numbers, coordinating against them wouldn't be easy, so the lack of capable combatants was fatal in several ways.

"Hoo, I wish we had the luxury to send word to the capital too."

[Why don't you just give up on the village?]

Laika, having eaten Magic Power and grown smarter, offered a simple solution. I checked that we were far enough from the adventurers, then scooped Laika up and whispered softly.

"If that's what the village wants, that's what we'll do."

[And if they don't want to?]

They'd already been forced to abandon their homeland to flee the Demonfolk, and had been forced to abandon their village once because of rebels. Many had even died because of it.

Despite all that, they'd come back and were working to rebuild their home.

"Then we protect it."

It might have just been me getting swayed by a strange sense of kinship, but I didn't want to inflict a third helping of pain ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on them.