Legend of the Southern
Legend of the Southern
I didn't know what the hell had happened in Itisel while I was crossing the continent from the west, but the road from Irmiz to the gate city of Millean had been plenty spectacular.
"Die! Die, you fuckers!!"
"Kiiiek! Die, human!!"
It was mostly my surroundings that were spectacular, not me.
I'd picked a decent clearing to rest and warm myself by a fire, and suddenly a bunch of orcs and humans showed up and started brawling right next to me. It was genuinely novel entertainment. Since neither group seemed to give a single shit about my presence, I figured it'd be a waste to ignore their dogfight. So I finished prepping my meal faster than usual and had been watching while I ate. That was my current situation.
It seemed large-scale activities like hiring mercenary bands weren't just an Irmiz thing. Whenever I got near any normal city or decent-sized village, I had no trouble running into adventurers or mercenaries scouring the surroundings.
Normally, these would be people lazing around all winter. The sight of them with their eyes blazing, prowling the white fields and forests, was a sight worth seeing. But it had less impact than my current situation.
Unlike the humans who showed up warily acknowledging my presence, the orcs had been focused entirely on the humans from the start, and they fought pretty damn well.
Honestly, 'fighting well' for orcs just meant they weren't crashing into each other and getting in the way. But amazingly, these bastards had managed even that. I couldn't tell if they'd learned it to survive, or if they were among the more capable fighters who'd followed Kakula, but it was genuinely a rare sight.
Thanks to that, the outcome was hard to predict, which made it fascinating to watch. Then, the slightly bigger orc who'd been fighting at the very front roughly shoved the warrior he was facing—shield and all—and shouted with a sneer.
"Kiiiek! Human! Weak!"
From their perspective, it must have been pretty embarrassing, but it was true.
The six... adventurers? Mercenaries? who had boldly showed up shouting 'They're mine!' couldn't overpower the dozen or so orcs, despite their swaggering entrance.
Compared to the pseudo-hero party I'd met near Irmiz, it was a little striking that this was a reverse-harem party: all men except for one female mage. But that was it. Hell, the mage was just pitifully tossing baseball-sized fireballs as token suppressive fire.
Even a half-wit kicked out of the Magic Library would do better than that... or maybe not? Was that normal? Thinking about it more, Rellie was a promising talent with an actual alias, and I'd never seen Merdela cast a proper spell in her life, so I had zero comparisons to gauge that mage's skill...
"Ah. No, wait. Even the kids are better than that."
The academy students. Kids who must have been eight years younger than that woman weren't that pitiful. Well, but then again, those kids were elites in their own right...
"You fuck! Help us!"
I'd finished evaluating the men's skills and was deep in thought trying to assess the mage. What interrupted me was the big shield-bearer the orc had just shoved away. He glared toward me on my slightly elevated spot on the hill, snapping irritably. That made me jump—I thought maybe their companions were hiding their presence behind me—and I whipped my head around to check.
But there was no one. Was it just a fake-out to deceive the orcs? I turned back around. The guy who'd just barely blocked another orc strike shouted again.
"You! Yes, you! The bastard casually stuffing his face over there!"
"...Me?"
I'd just scooped up a bit of stew that was starting to simmer to check the seasoning. My hand froze, dumbfounded. Wait, what now? Out of nowhere? Was this some new trendy joke?
But the bastard seemed dead serious. This time it wasn't him, but the mage who'd been flinging burning baseballs from the back. She shouted next.
"Yeah, fuck! If you're not gonna help, get lost!"
"What's this crazy bitch saying? I was here first."
I clearly remembered that when they'd first burst in, they'd shouted 'They're ours!' and kept me in check. So what the hell was this reaction?
It was absurd, but dealing with lunatics wasn't my style. I was just about to go back to seasoning my stew. Then the orcs, reacting to the humans' shouts, belatedly spotted me. They freaked.
"W-Why is the Great Chieftain's axe here?!"
Hm, a little bland, but not bad.
Satisfied with my own cooking skills, I nodded to myself and answered the stunned orcs.
"Your chieftain went to the Heavenly Great Grassland."
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The warrior, who'd been barely holding on by the strength of his shield against the orcs' one-sided beating just moments ago, couldn't believe his ears.
A fight broke out right next to him, and this lunatic had been just spooning up stew. What did he just say? Heavenly Great Grassland? Where the hell was that?
He turned his head, just in case, but he wasn't the only one reacting that way. His party members were also frowning, completely unable to grasp the situation.
But the orcs were different. They stopped fighting in the middle of their frenzy and began retreating in terrified shock. If they hadn't, the warrior and his party wouldn't have had the time to stand around grimacing.
The only one unconcerned was that stew-eating lunatic. Even with the orcs' and his own party's gazes all on him, he showed no particular reaction. He just wrinkled his nose and waved his hand dismissively, as if shooing away gnats.
"What're you looking at? I've got no interest in your shitty little battle between small fry, so get back to it."
"K-kiiiek?"
The warrior realized it. Even if he had no clue what was going on, this was a golden opportunity. He loosed a wild thrust straight into the heart of an orc who wasn't even thinking about him, shouting.
"Now! Kill them!"
"K-kiiiek! Cowardly human! Filthy humans! Skreeak!"
Thankfully, his comrades reacted quickly to his shout and pulled off the ambush. As if the tense standoff just moments ago had been a lie, the orcs crumbled in an instant. When some of them finally turned their backs and fled, the female mage—who hadn't been able to properly cast spells for fear of hitting her allies—launched a decent-sized fireball at them.
"Huh, now you've upgraded to a dodgeball."
The stew-eating lunatic muttered something, but that wasn't what mattered now. The warrior charged at an orc who was screaming and rolling on the ground with its back on fire, slit its throat for sure, and only then let out a sigh of relief.
What followed that relief was irritation and rage. Specifically, rage directed at that stew-eating lunatic.
"You crazy fuck! You just sat there and watched?!"
He stomped over, shouting, but the lunatic was still casually blowing on his stew. He didn't even spare him a glance, answering dismissively.
"Of course. Don't you remember? The second you all barged in, you kept me in check and shouted 'They're ours.'"
"So you just stand by when fellow humans are getting killed? Can't you figure out that if we die, you're next?!"
Pfft! Something must have been funny, because the lunatic suddenly spat out his stew and laughed.
"Cough, cough! Don't be so fucking dramatic. Stop interrupting my meal and get lost. They say even dogs don't bother you when you're eating."
The lunatic reacted as if he'd heard utter nonsense, and the veins in the warrior's temple bulged. This fucker was mocking us?
He wanted to kill him right then and there, but he still had things to find out, so he exercised restraint.
"...Hoo, fine. Whatever. What's that thing? And what's the Heavenly Great Grassland?"
He pointed at the large two-handed axe lying next to the lunatic with a sword still dripping orc blood.
The orcs had clearly recognized that axe, and they'd reacted with total terror and confusion. The Great Chieftain's axe, was it? It seemed like some kind of symbolic object to the orcs. If just showing it could cause a reaction like that, it would be incredibly useful for this orc subjugation mission.
"The object that'll kill you if you take an interest, and the place you just sent those orcs."
But the lunatic wasn't cooperating at all. Even when the warrior's comrades followed him up the hill, the bastard just kept eating his stew.
Maybe he really was just completely insane. With that thought, the warrior shifted the tip of his sword toward the man.
"No matter what, is it worth more than your life?"
The bastard's gaze, still chewing a chunk of stew meat, moved to the sword. But there was no trace of fear or tension. Just... just a very slight furrow of his brow, showing displeasure.
"Put the sword away. You're dripping blood into my stew."
"Cut the bullshit. Hand it over. Then I'll let this slide."
He could tell just by sound that his comrades behind him were adjusting their grips on their swords and the mage was chanting a spell to form a fireball. But the lunatic just stared at the tip of the sword, still looking displeased, and let out a deep sigh.
"I'm in a good mood, having just come back home after a long time. I also don't have a hobby of spilling blood mid-meal. But the moment that blood from those pig bastards on the tip of your sword gets into my stew, you're dead—and I'll count your threat against you too. I won't say it a third time. Put your sword away before any blood drips into my stew."
"Ha, crazy bastard. Is the stew that important to you?"
Lunatics truly were impossible to understand. The man let out a hollow laugh. And then he shoved his sword right into the stew.
"If it's that important, just fucking eat it anywa..."
"You piece of shit."
In the next instant, the man was flying through the air.
'Huh?'
He couldn't tell what had happened. The lunatic had suddenly blurred, and then he himself was airborne.
Unbidden, his vision spun. The edge of it caught the forest, and the place where he'd just been standing—and the lunatic.
The man who'd clearly been holding a stew bowl and spoon was now gripping the axe that had been lying beside him.
"...Elde... Ega... ha..."
By the time he noticed the clean axe blade was now soaked crimson, the warrior was already rolling haphazardly down the hill, his consciousness fading.