The Good Orc

My worries, which I had nursed right down to the final moment—always keeping in mind the faint possibility it could all still be pretense and deception—were put so thoroughly to shame that Bisquente turned out to be a perfectly normal noble.

Or was he? If I measured him against common sense, maybe he was closer to abnormal. It would be more accurate to say he was a decent bloody noble.

Quite apart from his conduct, over twenty wyverns had actually begun flying toward the village before noon. I'd handed a bottle of wine to Abnam, who had lost time standing guard in my place, then continued my shift until relief came. I was distracted by the magnificent sight—enough to make me think this must be why the royal family invested in wyvern knights—when Bisquente quietly approached and struck up a conversation in a satisfied tone.

"Truth be told, I had worried the road for the supply wagons carrying additional matériel would be harsh because of yesterday's heavy snow, but it is truly fortunate that it cleared up as if by a lie. God is watching over us."

I'd assumed he had come to boast, but there was none of that. And on top of that, he was devout! I nodded along appropriately at his picture-perfect, painted-by-numbers noble response, but he apparently had no intention of ending the conversation there and kept bringing up other topics as he talked on.

"I have learned that orcs possess a very faint concept of strategy and tactics. Because of this, they say, unintentionally intriguing scenes often unfold. There exists a record in the western territories of a single warrior defeating over thirty orcs on open ground. While the individual's martial prowess certainly played a part, they say the orcs surrounded him but did not attack all at once."

The problem was that this fellow, unlike the helmet-for-brains types who bring up art before a battle, had the additional talent of raising genuinely substantial and stupefyingly interesting topics, making it impossible for me to endure without interjecting.

"What? Then how the hell did they fight?"

"Incredibly, they fought one-on-one, exactly like knights in a duel. Right down to the point where a single orc remained, neither side backed down. It is clear they had no contact whatsoever with chivalry, but it was the result of a belief that through combat with a strong warrior, they go to the afterlife they believe in. I personally consider it a most remarkable case."

In this insane world—just when I'd thought 'surely not'—they'd actually fought a one-on-one duel? The story was so shocking that I even forgot to gape and could only ask Bisquente again.

"Were those orcs a different species? The ones I've met here seemed perfectly happy to gang up, two at a time."

"Haha, a sharp question. In truth, that case involved both an exceptional warrior and exceptional orcs. It's an anecdote from the end of the Green War, when the Western 8 Kingdoms became 5, concerning the warrior fighting on the front lines and orcs who were isolated in human territory. Since they were already isolated at the war's end, the orcs had no way to return alive to the Great Grassland and were simply awaiting death."

It was a very old story, Bisquente explained, but it was well-documented because it had been such a shocking, major event.

"'Don't grovel. Fight bravely and get the hell out to the Heavenly Great Grassland,' the warrior facing the orcs is said to have shouted. The chronicler views it as a kind of martyrdom they dreamed of, being monsters with undeniable culture and intellect. From that angle it's truly fascinating. Even if they were quite stubbornly single-minded, had they merely not viewed humans as a food source, it's possible that with the level of intelligence and culture they had built up, they might have formed reasonably decent relations with other species, just like any other race."

Even his thinking was flexible for a young man. A genuinely rare talent. There must have been a reason the lord of Raviel had sent him with such confidence. As I was gazing at him with an inwardly admiring look, Bisquente noticed my attention and burst into an embarrassed laugh.

"That must have come across as a somewhat laughable opinion."

"Not in the slightest. I was simply admiring that you see the world from a remarkably wide range of perspectives. There's a saying among adventurers: those lacking imagination die first, in that order. If the countless adventurers out there could only think half as deeply as Sir Bisquente does, there'd never have been a shortage of capable people."

This time, Bisquente wore a surprised expression, as if he hadn't anticipated my reaction at all. Maybe other knights or nobles had dismissed him as an eccentric because of ideas like that.

Brilliant people are truly brilliant, but the reality is that the world's mostly filled with blockheads mired in their own inertia.

"I see. My learning has been insufficient, so I'm not well acquainted with many tales of adventurers. Once this matter is settled, I must look into them."

Just look at that outstanding thirst for knowledge, utterly unconstrained by his status. He was such a proper individual that even Bad Eldmia and Worse Eldmia, who had been vigilantly waiting for their chance, were giving him a standing ovation in my head. Bisquente spent a moment with his chin resting in his hand, pondering, until he spotted the wyverns leaving the adventurers behind and returning to the capital. He clapped his hands lightly and shifted the subject.

"The wyverns seem to be roughly organized now, too. If you don't mind, would you accompany me and assist in speaking with those people? Since they're adventurers from the capital, explaining the situation together with Sir Ega will likely make it easier to secure their cooperation than if I spoke to them alone."

"Of course. I have to."

I'd just run into a person of principle as impressive as the Gaendal Party for the first time in ages—why the hell would I pretend otherwise? It was a job that had to be done anyway, and handling it in one go together was easier, so I headed with him toward the adventurers who were looking around the area.

None of the adventurers from the capital were yellow-rank. Out of twenty, fifteen were red-rank and five were blue-rank. Even the five blue-rank ones were faces ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I recognized, none of them lacking in skill. There were maybe five or six whose character was a bit lacking, but thanks to my notoriety, which had already spread as far as it possibly could, they'd become well-behaved on their own.

"Ma-Mad Dog?"

"Goddamn, I did have a weirdly good feeling about this run... Huh? Or is it the opposite? Is it a job I can freeload off if the Guillotine's here?"

I briefly considered smacking the back of the heads of the ones spouting gibberish, but since they seemed prepared to behave cautiously on their own, there was no need to deliberately hit them and rile them up. It was a pity the Gaendal Party wasn't among them, but honestly, if I had run into them again here, that too would have been surprising in its own right, so I let it be.

"Well met, adventurers. I am Bisquente, your employer and a knight dispatched from the gate city of Raviel. Matters relating to you adventurers will be handled by red-rank adventurer Sir Eldmia Ega here, so I ask for your cooperation."

When my own infamy was combined with Bisquente, who was both a knight and impeccably courteous, the adventurers adapted with astonishing speed and moved to the hall. I couldn't help but be surprised once at the sight, and then a second time at Bisquente's diligence, who seemed set to repeat this cumbersome process every time adventurers arrived by wyvern.

"I am simply doing what ought to be done."

Since I had nothing else to do anyway until Asilie returned from another reconnaissance run while I stood guard, I decided to light a campfire and keep watch with him.

Maybe an hour had passed as I sat there, entranced once more by the bag of stories Bisquente had begun to unwrap, when the sound of hoofbeats racing from deep within the forest caught our attention. There was a fair bit of distance, but with no snowstorm blowing, it wasn't that difficult for our eyes to identify the person mounted on the horse.

"It appears to be an adventurer, but I wonder if they're just passing through? Wyvern service is free, so there would be no need to ride a horse..."

Unlike Bisquente, who tilted his head as if genuinely puzzled, I had to let out a hollow laugh. The female warrior galloping from afar, her striking golden wavy hair streaming behind her, was someone I knew. I was curious why she was riding a horse alone, but that was something I could ask during the spare time ahead.

She, who possessed astounding physical ability without even using aura, seemed to have already recognized me as well, because she laughed cheerfully from a great distance and waved her hand. Just that gesture alone began to make me feel as if the orc problem could somehow be resolved even if no more adventurers arrived.

"Hey! Eldmia! I just knew you'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠be tangled up in this!"

From atop the large warhorse she'd acquired during the last quest—dressed in clothes slightly too thin, as if detached from the cold winter around her—Yekaterina greeted me. I rose from my seat and answered with a grin.

"No, if you took a quest, why in the world would you come by horse and tire yourself out instead of flying a wyvern?"

It was a question I'd tossed out casually as a greeting, wondering if there was some other reason, but Yekaterina, who had closed the distance in an instant, flinched as if she'd suffered a momentary spasm.

"Uh-uh-uh, well, my weapon's so heavy, you know? It'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠be dangerous if it fell while I was flying around, so..."

Even her answer was oddly like an excuse, and the smile that had been utterly radiant just moments before had turned awkwardly strained, as if undergoing a convulsion.

"What? Wyverns comfortably carry loads heavier than that. Why worry about that?"

"Ugh, well, and besides! Wyverns fly high, so it's chilly!"

"No, Yekaterina, you're from Ravil, so you don't even get that col-"

As the bizarre excuses kept coming and her horse kept approaching on its ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠own, making Yekaterina's expression increasingly distinct, a hypothesis suddenly flashed through my mind.

No way?

"Yekaterina?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you, by any chance, afraid of heights?"

"Wh-wh-wh-wh-wh-what are you talking about! Do you know how high the mountains in Ravil are! I practically live running around on high places!"

The possessor of such valor that she looked ready to crack skulls open with that massive war hammer, Yekaterina, with a face flushed bright red, offered an excuse that nobody was buying.

Wow. Unbelievable. Yekaterina had acrophobia. In a world without airplanes, it wasn't completely incomprehensible, but...

It really was incomprehensible.