Macho Macho Man (2)
Neromeltia di Isis stepped out of the training ground thick with sour, musty sweat and breathed in the fresh air beyond the cave. She savored the brief sense of liberation and felt a rush of joy, then suddenly pressed her nose to her own clothes and sniffed. A twitch flickered at the corner of her eyes; she clenched her teeth and began conjuring water with magic to wipe both her body and Beatrice’s.
The magically created water drifted about as though it possessed a will of its own, drawing out every trace of grime and odor from skin, garments, and hair. Once she confirmed that their bodies were spotless, as if freshly bathed, and their clothes soft and dry as though just laundered, she also cleaned the umbrella she had used inside the training ground before dispelling the water. Still unsatisfied, Neromeltia restructured her signature attire, Night Illusion, reshaping it with fresh fabric. While storing the cleaned umbrella in Dimensional Storage, she retrieved a bottle of perfume and sprayed it over herself and Beatrice. Only after inhaling the sweet fragrance—blackberry top notes melting into a rose base—did her expression finally soften with relief.
“I heard everything from Moka! My lord, congratulations on your successful resurrection!”
Thud! Thud! Thud!
“Shield!”
Oun had approached unnoticed. He pounded his chest heartily in celebration. Each blow rang like a war drum, and sweat droplets flew from his sweat-soaked chest hair with every swing of his thick fist. Had Neromeltia not cast a defensive spell in advance, she would have been drenched like a traveler caught in a sudden downpour.
Only after that did killing intent surface in her eyes as her patience finally snapped.
“Hey, Ogre Chief.”
“Yes! Give your command, my lord!”
“Go wash up first…… Every last one of your muscle-bound subordinates reeking of sweat!!!”
Neromeltia, meeting them for the first time and having struggled to suppress her emotions out of respect for cultural differences, finally exploded, rendering all her efforts meaningless.
Startled by their lord’s sudden fury without understanding the reason, Oun immediately led the entire tribe of warriors off to bathe. Hugo, still unsure why Neromeltia had erupted, hesitated, glancing about as though wondering whether he too should follow. Moka, who had clearly been nursing considerable dissatisfaction, quietly raised a thumb in approval. Ko nodded with a triumphant air.
“We Ogres swear our lives in loyalty to our one and only lord, the Demon Lord Neromeltia di Isis!”
Having completed their lord’s first command—bathing—with utmost sincerity, the Ogres dropped to their knees as one and offered their heartfelt pledge. Oun, standing at the forefront, shouted with the deepest respect, and the rest of the tribe echoed their chieftain in unison. Their majestic voices shook even the lofty Decastras Mountains, reaching deep into the hearts of everyone present.
“Ogre Chief, Oun.”
“Yes, my lord!”
“You have enjoyed a long peace. Are you truly willing to follow me? The path I walk is one of rebuilding a nation from rubble and ruin, and it lies at the heart of bloody wars against Humians, Dragons, and even the gods themselves. In the past, Ogres lived as citizens of Hemonigent and pledged loyalty to me, but that was your ancestors’ affair. It has nothing to do with you.”
Every word carried Neromeltia’s genuine concern. She felt uneasy about these people who had known generations of peace in the tranquil Caboni Forest stepping into a world filled with hardship and danger. If they wished to remain in their village, she intended to respect that choice and even planned to place purification and defensive magic over the settlement for their safety.
Yet Oun’s fearless reply rendered her worries unnecessary.
“…Ogres born as valiant warriors know no fear! To follow my lord with righteousness and chivalry, advancing along the proper path—that is the warrior’s way! How could those who live beneath the grace of Luina ever turn their backs on the Demon Lord! Moreover, my lord is the righteous one who sacrificed herself to save countless citizens! Not a single coward exists among the Ogres who would tuck tail and flee to save his own hide before such a benevolent and merciful lord!”
History had evidently been passed down among the Ogres as well. Even Oun, the muscle-brained chieftain who seemed far removed from scholarly matters, knew the events of a thousand years ago. For a true warrior, born to the marrow of his soul and devoted to righteousness and chivalry, the tale of their lord sacrificing herself to protect the powerless must have struck deep; his current expression made that plain.
Oun’s eyes reddened, tears welling, and he poured his surging emotions into a thunderous shout that struck the hearts of his fellow Ogres.
“Isn’t that right, my brothers!!! Is there such a coward among us!!!!!”
The soul-shaking cry stirred waves of moist admiration that colored every heart. The tide of emotion, heating blood and tightening chests, spread through the Ogres, and it did not take long for them to raise their voices in fervent agreement.
“There are no cowards among the Ogres!!!”
“The only ones who ever see an Ogre’s back are those we protect!!!”
“Fear belongs only to our enemies!!!”
“Our muscles were forged for a warrior’s lifetime!!!”
“If a warrior falls valiantly in battle!! His soul ascends to the warrior’s paradise where the hymns of heroes never cease!!”
“Living in hiding is not the warrior’s way!!!”
“For our most righteous lord!!!”
Moved by the sight of everyone raising their voices in unison, Oun wept openly. The tribe warriors, their blood boiling at their chieftain’s display of courage, also shed tears and roared their approval.
Neromeltia found herself impressed by Oun’s qualities. The ability to stir subordinates’ hearts and raise morale was an essential trait of leadership, and Oun had achieved it with a few heartfelt words. While their simple outlook made such influence somewhat understandable, his talent for captivating the Ogres was undeniably a strength to be valued.
“Brothers!! Let us show our resolve and loyalty to our lord!!!”
At Oun’s sudden shout, the Ogres formed an orderly line as though rehearsed. They stripped off the clothes they had donned after bathing, leaving only the short leather pants typical of their culture, and stood half-naked. With resolute gazes fixed on their chieftain, they awaited his command.
“Front Double Biceps!!!”
“Hmph!!!!!”
Oun, eyes on Neromeltia, bent and raised both arms while bellowing the command. The warriors mirrored the pose, letting out powerful kiais. Their massive arm muscles and then their entire bodies swelled dramatically. Thick veins writhed like serpents; the overinflated muscles pressed so tightly against their thick hides that even the fine striations became visible. At the spectacle of dozens of Ogres flexing in perfect unison, Neromeltia turned pale, her vision blurring, while Beatrice remained motionless—clearly having shut down her visual circuits once more.
“Side Chest!!!”
“Hnnng!!!!!”
This time they shifted, gripping their right wrists with their left hands, thrusting their chests forward and swelling their pectorals until the muscle fibers strained with audible tension. Unable to endure another moment of the surreal display, Neromeltia covered her face with both hands and cried out in desperation.
“Please stop already!!!!!”
It was the heartfelt plea of someone who felt she might develop an allergy to even the sight of beef tendons in stew.
The only Ogre not participating in the display, Moka, closed his eyes and nodded quietly, as though he understood everything. Ko, standing beside him and still holding the Side Chest pose, nodded along with a triumphant expression, though no one paid it much attention.
“Master!! Masterrrrr!!”
A frantic female voice rang out from afar. At the familiar tone, Neromeltia turned sharply toward the sound. Beatrice reconnected her visual circuits and looked in the same direction.
Lusteria was hurtling toward them from high in the sky at reckless speed. She flew so desperately that one worried whether she could land safely. Her clothes were crumpled and torn, and her neatly tied hair had come loose, whipping wildly in the wind. There had to be a reason for her disheveled state; after all, she had been ordered to investigate why the Caboni Forest remained untouched by the Humians and preserved its pristine environment.
Thoughts raced through Neromeltia’s mind. She was both intensely curious and somewhat anxious about the news Lusteria carried, yet her first concern was catching the succubus safely before she could injure herself.