Real Combat

“Buhi.”

The orc grinned lewdly at the human charging straight at him without a shred of fear. At the thought of catching and violating the human, its genitals twitched eagerly once more.

The human was covered head to toe in those bothersome ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cloth scraps, so the orc still couldn’t tell if it was male or female. But the small frame and the sweet scent wafting off it promised that either way, the meat would be delicious.

Recalling the tender flesh ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of a young human male it had once tasted, the old orc raised its axe high. The plan was to scare the human into submission and capture it with as few wounds as possible—so it could play with its new toy for as long as it wanted.

By its reckoning, this human would make the perfect breeding sow. So it would take care not to break it while it raped, and raped, and raped again, until the human’s body could no longer live without the orc’s cock…

“Grrk?”

While it was lost in pleasant daydreams, the human vanished from its sight in the blink of an eye. Bewildered, the orc stared blankly at the empty spot where the human had stood—until the very instincts that had kept it alive all these years suddenly screamed a warning.

The old orc scrambled backward on pure reflex.

Swish!

A pitch-black blade swept upward in a diagonal arc from below, slicing through the space the orc had occupied a heartbeat earlier with a sharp whistle of air.

Groping…

“Grrk, grrk.”

The orc patted its belly, fretting that it might have been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cut. Confirming its gut was unharmed, it began to sneer at the human—completely unaware that it was in no position to laugh.

Thud. Roll…

Something hit the ground with a soft sound. A vague sense of dread prickled the orc’s nape; it carefully turned its gaze that way.

A very familiar stick came into view.

Drip.

The sneer died. Slowly, the orc lowered its eyes. Its protruding gut blocked the view of what it desperately needed to check. With trembling hands it groped the place where its genitals should have been.

Fire-egg one: present. Fire-egg two: present. Rape-stick one: present… wait.

“Graaaah!”

And so the old orc, who had intended to turn the human into a body that could not live without a cock, itself became a body without one.

An unstoppable impulse swallowed it whole.

Serves you right, you pig bastard.

The orc charged like a berserker gone mad. Dark crimson blood poured in thick rivulets from the stump of its genitals, more than half of which had been sheared away. It was a grotesque sight, yet a satisfied smile spread across Jun’s face.

Perhaps some shred of reason still remained; the creature’s movements only grew faster and more ferocious. Jun would bet that even in its prime the orc had never moved like this.

“Greeeeek!!!”

In an instant it was right in front of him. Both hands clamped tight around the axe haft, it raised the weapon high, clearly intending to cleave Jun clean in two. The pressure rolling off it was nothing like the earlier intimidation pose.

If Jun had been an ordinary child, he might have wet himself on the spot.

No—

Without the abilities he had already primed the moment he drew his sword, even a reincarnator like him might have wet himself.

A psychic power that accelerated the brain, mana that reinforced the body, and aura that elevated both superpower and physique another notch. When the three fused into perfect trinity, Jun moved with freer abandon inside a world that had slowed to a crawl.

As if he had used Blink, Jun vanished from the spot where he had stood. A beat later the orc’s axe smashed into empty earth.

By the time the orc registered the fact, its left arm was already tumbling across the ground beside the severed genitals.

“Gyaaah!”

Clutching its shoulder, the orc screamed. Jun was already standing behind it, murmuring quietly,

“Shut up.”

The orc’s heart plummeted. Why did that small, dry voice—utterly devoid of excitement, pleasure, or guilt—sound more terrifying than a beast’s roar or a falling thunderbolt?

Fear of the unknown crept through the orc like cold fog. Then the shadow of death fell over it.

Thuck!

“Guh! Gahk!”

A jet-black blade punched out through the left side of its chest. Even as blood surged up its throat, the old orc stared blankly down at the weapon, as if unable to believe what it was seeing.

Thump! Thump!

The heartbeat transmitted through the sword. As though accepting death, the pulse grew steadily weaker.

Gritting his teeth against the natural wave of nausea that rose from that vivid sensation, Jun slowly drew the blade free of the orc’s heart. Deprived of support, the body collapsed bonelessly to the dirt.

As its head lolled, the orc’s eyes met Jun’s. The blazing rage, the resentment and craving that had followed—all of it drained away until the old orc’s pupils were completely empty of light.

Jun could hold it in no longer.

“Ugh!! Uuurgh!”

“Jun!”

He retched hard. Fortuna, who had been in soul mode, instantly shifted into fairy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠form and began rubbing his back.

“Feels a lot different from killing wild game, doesn’t it?”

Robin pushed through the underbrush and held out a waterskin. Jun rinsed his mouth, took a long drink, and managed a weak nod.

Ever since arriving at the cabin he had helped Robin with hunting and butchering whenever free time allowed. Even the first time he killed and dressed game there had been some revulsion, but nothing like this.

Was it because the creature had a humanoid shape? He couldn’t be certain, yet that felt like the right answer.

Thank god I have Super-Intelligence.

Ten years had passed since his reincarnation, yet the ethical framework of his previous life still sat deep in Jun’s mind. Taking a life was never easy for someone like him. If he had not deliberately focused every thought on combat through Super-Intelligence, he never could have swung the sword so decisively. He would have hesitated, given the orc an opening for a counterattack.

Well, he still wouldn’t have lost.

The old orc had been an embarrassingly easy opponent for all the tension Jun had felt. When he voiced the thought aloud with a sigh of relief, Robin shook his head with a look of pure exasperation.

“If you’d been like most people on their first real fight—hesitating out of revulsion, tensing up and putting too much force into every swing—then yes, it would have been a perfectly suitable opponent. Though with that sword of yours you still wouldn’t have struggled much.”

At Robin’s words Jun looked down at the jet-black blade in his hand. One of the three items he had chosen as payment, the sword looked utterly plain—yet it was every bit as exceptional as the robe.

As the description stated, it possessed no special gimmicks whatsoever. Its only virtues were a cutting edge that could slice rock like paper and the absolute indestructibility that no force could break or warp.

Some might wonder how a weapon with nothing more than those two traits could possibly be Gold-grade. Yet to any warrior who actually used weapons, this blade was a solid, reliable companion—the kind of friend that made you feel safer just by having it at your side, like a good bowl of soup on a cold day.

Leonard had understood that perfectly. That was why, unlike the Premium robe of equal grade which he had handed over without much fuss, he had hesitated long and hard before giving up Firmus. Judging by the way he had begged them to keep it secret from Leon when Jun and Fortuna finally coaxed it out of him with threats and cajoling, he had probably intended to give it to the boy someday.

“Jun, never go around advertising what this sword can do. Adventurers are one thing, but knights—those bastards would kill you without a second thought just to claim it.”

“Yeah, knights would go crazy for a sword like this.”

There were several reasons knights refused to change weapons—specifically, weapons that had absorbed the wear of their own hands—and one of them was the desire to turn their personal armament into a Relic.

The more aura a warrior poured into a weapon, the more its very essence was gradually strengthened while simultaneously growing to resemble the user’s body. When that process accumulated far enough, base performance rose, the upper limit of aura reinforcement expanded, and pathways—circuits—formed inside the weapon for aura to travel. Ordinary weapons usually reached the end of their lifespan or stopped growing around that point. But if fortune smiled and the weapon continued to evolve, a special ability that realized the ideals and will the user had pursued would awaken, along with a core the user could freely command.

The world called such weapons Relics, and every Relic-wielder had seized tremendous power and renown thanks to the overwhelming force sealed within. Countless people therefore coveted Relics—yet a Relic vanished with its owner’s death and could be used by no one else, so each person had no choice but to create one themselves.

Creating a Relic, however, was never easy.

But…

If Firmus is used consistently, it has an almost one-hundred-percent chance of becoming a Relic.

Infinite durability meant no worry about lifespan. Receiving a god’s full blessing meant the blade’s latent potential was correspondingly vast.

If that fact ever spread…

Jun shuddered at the mental image of knights drooling and stampeding toward him, then hastily stowed Firmus in his subspace. In its place he drew a loaded crossbow and, with a carefully casual expression, asked Robin—who was calmly checking his own weapons—

“I’ve taken down my first ‘opponent,’ so I can use ranged weapons now, right?”

“Go ahead. Use every means at your disposal.”

“Then—”

Twang!

A bolt shot from the crossbow into the undergrowth. A metallic clang rang out, and black dolls emerged from the bushes.

The first real combat was not over yet.