Give Me Some Water (1)
Desert. An endless horizon stretched out before them, blanketed entirely in white salt. Craters pockmarked the ground here and there, filled with blackened barnacles and corals scorched to a crisp.
"Whoa... everything burned nice and crisp, nyaang~~"
Hotse chuckled with a throaty huh-huh as she spoke. Roin glanced around. This salt desert had once been a vast ocean—until Unicef's rage had cleaved it apart. A colossal blaze that devoured the entire sea whole. Just thinking about it sent chills down her spine again. It was a miracle no one had died or been gravely injured.
"How angry were you, exactly?"
Roin asked, and Unicef leaned in with a bright smile, whispering into her ear.
"Ho ho ho. It's a secret, but before I met Lord Cliche, I was always angry."
"Why?"
To evaporate an entire ocean and turn it into a desert? That must have been some monumental fury. But Unicef just tilted her head at Roin's question, looking genuinely puzzled.
"Hmm? Who knows? I can't even remember why I was mad. I just vaguely recall feeling stuffy... and down in the dumps..."
Hotse, kukri blade at the ready, sneered.
"Took off yer mask... and turned into a total airhead, nyaang..."
"Ho ho ho. You reek of old man—why don't you shut it?"
"Shh, punk? Lil' missy... talkin' big without the chops..."
"Ho ho ho. I'm a great demon too. I've eaten my share."
Hotse and Unicef butted heads, veins bulging on their foreheads. Inevitably so, given they were both apex predators from the same era. But—
"Knock it off."
Their squabble ended with a single word from Cliche. They'd learned the hard way what happened if they ignored his warnings—blood had been spilled before.
"......"
Cliche stared sternly toward the horizon. But he still just looked like an adorable boy.
How's a kid this pretty?
Roin barely suppressed the urge to scoop him up in a hug. Instead, she flashed a warm smile.
"Cliche. What're you thinking?"
He answered flatly.
"That distant place. Smells like home. Wanna get back quick."
A scent wafting from faraway lands. The smell of home—a place she couldn't yet find her way back to. Her kin who abandoned her, her mother she longed to see... Roin took Cliche's hand with a pitying look.
"The moment I become queen, I'll open the warehouse for you."
"Can't just force it open?"
"It's enchanted. Probably won't work. Unless you've got royal blood, the warehouse burns the instant the door opens."
Cliche nodded.
"To get to your homeland, we gotta cross this desert first, right?"
"Yeah. Straight ahead, and it'll pop up soon. One desert and one kingdom over—that's our country."
"Good. Let's head out."
But the world doesn't always play nice.
Roin cautioned Cliche, who was already raring to go.
"Don't underestimate the desert. Run out of water mid-crossing, and you're dead."
"Oh yeah? Where do we get water?"
Opinions flew fast at Cliche's question.
"Ho ho ho. Squeeze the salt hard—water might come out? It was the sea once."
"Mineral water... on the beach... bound to be some~~ Walk far enough... and it'll show~~"
"Unicef, salt doesn't give water when you squeeze it. It just gets... saltier. And Hotse, lay off the booze."
As Roin scolded them—
"Huh?"
Cliche spotted something. Stumbling toward them from the desert's edge. At a glance, it looked human—muscular build and all—but distinctive features set it apart. Like skin entirely green all over. Or a pig's head.
"Oink!"
It snorted now and then, making weird noises. A massive club gripped in its hand.
"Orc."
Roin said warily. Orcs: spirits corrupted by dark powers, twisted into monsters of immense strength and stamina. Pushed deep into the western wilds by human might, yet each one could overpower three grown men. Savage, ferocious—truly dangerous.
But Cliche just shrugged at the sight.
"Weird-lookin' traveler."
"No, Cliche. That's an orc. Not human, not traveling."
Hotse snickered.
"Humans or~ orcs or~ in my eyes... yer faces all look... pretty damn... similar, nyaang~~ Weren't you the one... nitpickin' Crowman before~~?"
"Maybe from an elf's view, but... they're nothing alike! Skin color alone's different!"
Unicef jumped in with a jab.
"Ho ho ho. Oh? Discriminating by skin color now? Barbarian. Skin can be black, white, yellow, green! Maybe he just overdid the green juice!"
"No way. And it's not just skin. Look at that thing sticking out his butt where nothing should be. That curly pig tail!"
"Humans got... stuff that should be on heads... missin' sometimes too~~"
"Baldness is different! Why're you so desperate to lump orcs with humans!?"
Right then, the orc spoke up.
"Oink! I'm an orc!"
Roin crowed triumphantly.
"See? Not human!"
But the orc's next words froze her face again.
"Oink! Human. Eat."
Clearer declaration than that? None.
"......"
Cliche nodded a few times at the orc's stance, then pointed.
"Harmful monster."
Hotse stepped up quick.
"Orcs were... originally... same as elves~~ Spirit kin... corrupted by dark power... but could've been kin... so I'll... purify it good, nyaang."
"Ho ho ho. Dark power that corrupts even spirits! So scary and awful."
"Weird hearing you say that, Unicef. Anyway, she's got this."
Hotse lumbered forward amid high expectations.
"Oink!"
The orc gripped its club tight. Whoosh! It swung wildly—power to shatter boulders in one blow! But—
Clack.
It didn't faze Hotse. She swatted it away like a nuisance, snatched the club, and ripped it in two with bare hands.
???
The orc tilted its head as the club tore like paper. Too surreal. But this was stone-cold reality.
Crack!
Hotse grabbed its hair the moment she closed in.
"Yer hair... this long... what's the deal?"
"Oink, oink? Ow, hurts!"
"Ears... pierced too? Clothes skimpy, huh? Sniff sniff—this ain't... cig smoke?"
Hotse pummeled it with her other fist.
"Purify! Be clean! Purify! Be clean!"
"Oink!? Gah! Oiiiink! M-mercy...!"
Each punch drew pitiful squeals. That's not purification—that's just scolding... Roin pitied the orc more than anything.
* * *
Soon, the orc knelt before Cliche, body swollen in lumps.
"Oink. Mercy, please."
Cliche peered down, then asked abruptly.
"Why the oinking? Annoying."
"Oink. Huh? Oh, habit. Like nose-blowing. Got rhinitis bad. Others don't do it."
It cleared its throat a few times and went quiet. No more oinks.
Cliche pressed on.
"You said you'd eat us earlier?"
"Huh? Oh, that. Just means rob ya. Not literally eat."
"Rob what?"
"Water, duh."
Hotse's "purification" had worked wonders, apparently.
"Sea turned to desert outta nowhere—headache city. Nowhere to get water. No clue why..."
Unicef turned away guiltily.
"Whaddya mean 'nowhere'! If ya wanted water that bad, dig a well! Catch rain! You young punks these days! Complainin' without liftin' a finger—back in my day~~"
"We tried! What're we supposed to do when it doesn't work!"
"Tried ain't effort—it's EEEEFFFFORT! Droughts like this? Great life lessons—!!"
Ignoring Hotse's rant, Cliche asked again.
"So how do you survive without water?"
"Well......"
The orc started glancing around slyly. Hotse raised her fist.
"Spit it out... or one drop gets ya one punch..."
"N-no water here! For real!"
"Other... fluids'll... do fine~~"
Faced with Hotse's brutal threat, the orc grimaced.
"Oink! I'm tellin' my sisters!"
Roin swallowed hard. Sisters...? Whatever. Time for her to step in—she was the only one with real negotiation skills here.
"Alright, orc. What's your name?"
"Max. Nickname 'Mad'."
Hotse smacked his head again.
"Orc like you... fancy civilized name... thought it'd be... Boom-Boom or Lump-Lump~~"
"Huh? Oink. Orientalism? That's discriminatory."
As Hotse reared back again, thwack—Cliche blocked her fist.
"Fine. Orc. Your home's got sisters, right?"
"......Yeah."
"Bet there's water there."
Max hesitated. Risky—might lose it all. But these foes? Bad news.
"Lil' punk actin' all grown-up... answer quick when kids talk—chop chop~~!!"
"Ho ho ho. Orc village? Water for sure. Blood or tears..."
With Hotse and Unicef radiating menace, Max threw up his hands.
"There is one spot with water..."
Cliche's eyes lit up.
"Lead the way."