The Milkmaid's Approach
Dorne smashed open the door to the room where Grombal Mordin was imprisoned and immediately began reciting the message he had prepared.
“I just killed every vassal in the conference room, including Cairo Bellone and Elysia Bellone. I’ve taken their treasury, and from now on I will free every other Mordin locked up in this place. You Mordins can do whatever you want with the leaderless Bellone Territory. There is only one condition. Make certain the territory’s honey and leather production returns to normal as quickly as possible. The Right Labyrinth Merchant Group is my sponsor.”
“…….”
Grombal Mordin’s eyes rolled as he tried to replay Dorne’s words. The giant dwarf was so stunned by the revelation that Dorne had killed the Bellone family head that the rest of the speech barely registered.
“What did I just say?”
“…That you killed them all.”
“Hah…”
Simple and honest though he was, Grombal Mordin was not quick-witted. He kept forgetting Dorne’s instructions, so Dorne had to drag the dwarf back to the blood-soaked conference room and write everything down on paper. Grombal accepted the note with great care, tucked it against his chest, and thumped his breastplate hard enough to echo. You can count on me.
Dorne, having ended the lives of people he had formed bonds with, could no longer stand the sight of Bellone Castle. He did not wait for Grombal to claim the now-masterless fortress. Instead he turned his steps toward the Bellone branch of the Right Labyrinth Merchant Group.
Beyond the bustling merchants the sun still shone as brightly as ever, yet it seemed to hide its face.
—Gasp!
The moment the merchant employees spotted the colossal armored giant they froze in shock.
“I am explorer Dorne. The Right Labyrinth Merchant Group sponsors me, so bring your branch manager.”
One employee scrambled away as though his tail were on fire and soon returned with the branch manager. Dorne and the man now sat alone in the office prepared for such meetings.
“A pleasure, Mister Dorne. The letter you entrusted to the Bellone family was sent last time. It probably hasn’t arrived yet, however.”
The Bellone branch manager looked quite different from the ones Dorne had met in the labyrinth city. Those men had been slight and smooth-skinned; Logan, by contrast, was burly and heavily bearded. Only the straight, upright gaze remained the same.
“A pleasure, Mister Logan. I came because there is something I must tell you about the Bellone Territory.”
Dorne had visited the branch to warn the people around him of the coming aftermath of his actions.
“I have just come from killing every vassal who could have attended the meeting, including Elysia Bellone and Cairo Bellone. I freed Grombal Mordin and left him in charge of stabilizing the territory, but for the time being the specialty products of Bellone—honey and leather—will not flow as they once did.”
“…Pardon?”
Logan stared, dumbfounded. Only after Dorne patiently repeated the same information several times did the man finally accept reality. Even then, Dorne repeated the story again without a trace of irritation.
“Mister Logan, I will need to impose on you for a day or two. Do you have a place where I might stay?”
“Hmm… Unlike the labyrinth city, our Bellone branch has no separate annex.”
Logan stroked his beard, looking troubled. Dorne, tired of everything in the world, simply pushed.
“Then I will stay at your house for a few days. Thank you in advance.”
“No, no! My wife and son live there!”
When Logan waved his hands in protest, Dorne waved back.
“I am also someone’s son. I grew up in an orphanage and I don’t have a wife yet.”
Logan could not hide his discomfort at Dorne’s stubbornness. Reading the man’s true feelings, Dorne spoke again, his expression serious.
“Mister Logan, I am not a strange person. I am not blood-crazed, either. Right now my heart is heavy. The Bellone family tried to play dirty with me, so I had no choice. I did it to protect my own people. Among those I killed today were people I had come to value. I am exhausted. May I impose on a place I can trust?”
Logan looked into Dorne’s wounded yet solid, honest eyes and his heart softened.
“You’ve been through a lot, Mister Dorne. I’ll tell my wife to prepare a generous supper.”
Dorne let out a long, relieved sigh. The day, soaked in the blood his heart had shed, was finally coming to an end.
“Thank you, Logan.”
For the next several days Dorne stayed at Logan’s house and heard, second-hand, how Grombal Mordin was restoring order to the Bellone Territory. Knowing that the Right Labyrinth Merchant Group sponsored Dorne, Grombal sent regular reports through them.
According to the news, Grombal—despite his injuries—was leading the dwarves in a purge of the remaining hyena beastmen inside the lord’s castle. (Elysia had told Dorne there were surprisingly few strong fighters on the route she revealed; as a result, quite a few powerful hyena beastmen had been hiding in the now-ownerless fortress.)
“But Dorne! You said you’re an explorer, right? So how strong are you? If you fought an orc, who would win?”
Erik, Logan’s ten-year-old son, sat across from Dorne with sparkling round eyes.
The boy had grown close to Dorne after sharing supper at Logan’s house. Fascinated by the giant’s enormous size and the floating Orbholder, Erik had abandoned the neighborhood children to trail after Dorne instead.
“The orc would lose.”
“Whoa—amazing! Then, then have you ever seen a golden goblin?”
While the lord’s castle remained chaotic, the streets outside were peaceful and full of life. At the teahouse Dorne had visited for several days in a row, the same tall milk-delivery woman could always be seen.
—I’ll come again tomorrow!
—Thank you!
She was tall, slender, and graceful. Dorne and the woman had taken to stealing glances at each other at the same hour each day. He was impossible to miss, and her clean skin, elegant height, and toned figure drew every eye even beneath her working clothes.
“They say drinking a lot of milk makes you tall. Isn’t that a lie?”
Dorne found himself linking milk deliveries with great height.
These past few days he had been ironing out the wrinkles in his mind. If he let his thoughts wander, unpleasant memories crept in; keeping his mind deliberately blank was safer.
“Orb-holder! Can’t you use psychokinesis on me again? Just one more time!”
When Dorne did not answer, Erik turned his begging on Orbholder.
“Erik, leave Orbholder alone. You asked about golden goblins? I haven’t seen one, but I have seen goblin wolf riders several times. Those creatures are so cunning—”
Dorne humored the boy enough to pass the time. The lively, adorable child had a talent for stealing the attention of anyone he spoke with. Dorne emptied his limited store of labyrinth-exploration stories, from goblin wolf riders all the way to the laundry-obsessed banshee of the western labyrinth.
He ordered cup after cup of tea and several desserts, lingering until evening, then returned to Logan’s house in time for supper. Out of conscience he ate a great deal, contributing to the household expenses. If he missed the promised mealtime, mountains of food would go to waste.
The dinner table was warm and cheerful. Thanks to Logan’s decision not to tell his family exactly what horrific deeds Dorne had committed, the giant was treated as nothing more than an unusually large guest. Dorne emptied every generous bowl prepared for him, then walked the village streets alone.
Free at last of the persistent Erik, he savored the evening glow and the cooling air.
The sunset looked just like this when I left Bellone Castle…
The wound he had inflicted on himself that day had not yet fully healed. A wound of the heart was something even Inoi could not mend.
Dorne stepped into a nearby tavern.
“Wahaha!”
“Cheers!”
The noisy clamor washed away his gloomy thoughts. He had visited the tavern several nights in a row hoping to get drunk, yet ordinary beer could scarcely affect him. He guessed that while Iron Man did not strengthen the liver, the enlarged body granted by Giant and the overlapping Mana Core that supported his internal organs made it difficult for alcohol to take hold.
He did not bother closing his eyes in meditation. Dorne walked to the bar table where he always sat. Two stools had been removed to make space for the giant who had come several days running and produced a custom chair from his Inventory. He took out the oversized seat, settled onto it, and spoke to the bartender.
“Innkeeper, did you clear those stools because of me?”
“Haha. I thought you would come again today. The usual beer?”
“For now.”
Five mugs of beer were placed before him. The experienced bartender did not press the brooding giant for conversation. Other customers called out orders; in the brief lulls the staff wiped glasses with white cloths. Lanterns fueled by magic stones lit the tavern after sunset.
—Creak.
A rather late hour—after the sun had completely set—a single late customer entered the tavern. She scanned the room with curious, burning eyes as the patrons stared back at her, then walked straight toward the giant at the bar.
—Scrape.
Dorne turned his head toward the woman who sat down right beside him.
“Nice to meet you. You know who I am, right?”
She was the milk-delivery woman he had been stealing glances at through the teahouse window.
“Nice to meet you. Did you come looking for me?”
“…Yes.”
Dorne slid one of the untouched beer mugs in front of her.
“This one’s on me.”
“Thank you.”
The woman with the long straight hair tucked a strand behind her ear and accepted the mug. She had asked around until she found the tavern where he sat. Now she pressed close to his side, cheeks flushed, and merely sipped her beer.
Dorne spoke first.
“What’s your name? I’m Dorne.”
“I’m Lesia… I’m the daughter of the ranch house.”
“So delivering milk was helping with the family business?”
“That’s right.”
A ticklish silence settled between Dorne, who kept glancing at Lesia’s flushed profile, and Lesia, who stared straight ahead, swallowing dryly between sips of beer.
Dorne was interested in the attractive woman. He was not the type to approach first, and his heavy hips kept even mild interest from turning into action. For a woman of this era to come to a tavern at night and speak to him was the greatest signal she could give. The next move belonged to the man.
Once again Dorne broke the silence.
“Do you have any cocktails you’d recommend? This is my first time in Bellone Territory, so I don’t know what tastes good.”
Lesia, whose gaze had been tracing the wood grain of the bar, stole a quick look at Dorne’s face and recommended the territory’s famous drink.
“Bellone has been famous for honey gin since long ago. Our ranch makes honey too.”
“Have you tried it, Lesia?”
“I… no. I don’t really like alcohol.”
“Are you going to drink tonight?”
“Yes… Please order one for me too.”
Dorne asked the bartender for two honey gins. The man set two glasses garnished with lemon slices before them, then retreated to a polite distance and picked up his white cloth again.
Dorne and Lesia lifted their glasses and wet their lips. The distinctive aroma of gin, the bright tang of lemon, and the sweet honey that was Bellone’s specialty filled their noses and rode out again on every breath.
Bolstered by the alcohol, Lesia spoke.
“Dorne, you’re an explorer, aren’t you?”
“How did you know that, Lesia?”
“Erik has been bragging about it all over the neighborhood.”
A shy, pure smile lingered on Lesia’s face. It was the kind of smile only a simple, kind-hearted girl raised in a warm and peaceful home could wear. For the first time in days, Bellone seemed a little less hateful.