Unfair Heroes, Limb Shopping, and the Pursuer's Resolve
Isn't this bullshit too much? Some of us slaved away for over a decade—hell, I barely finished toddling when I got chased by bears, clawed up, nearly eaten, grinding my bones in the literal sense just to survive this goddamn world. And this chick gets summoned, grabs the holy swords after a few days, and one-shots the Demon King, the so-called strongest in this world? You think that makes any sense?
"This story doesn't make a lick of sense! I figured calling the holy sword's name would at best shoot a beam or something—thought it'd be like a Star Wars lightsaber at most!"
How the hell do you counter some random Spirit Bomb she throws out of nowhere?! And she blows away an entire castle like it's nothing—why bother building castles at all? Hell, the whole war's outcome hinges on who picks the better hero. No wonder there isn't a single human left around me now. The castle turned to dust, so they figured no one inside survived and all bugged out.
"This hero bitch owes the construction industry an apology."
Squelch squelch—
"At least I survived this mess, right? Came for treasure, nearly lost my life instead."
Why am I talking to myself so much? 'Cause right now, minus my right arm, all my other limbs are torn off—I'm in the middle of finding my legs and reattaching them. Being an orc has perks: drop on the ground, shake off the dirt, stick 'em back on. Easy peasy.
"But what about the left arm?"
I stuck it out like some energy blast-victim villain trying to block the hero's castle-busting Spirit Sword Bomb (holy sword + Spirit Bomb), so it got vaporized. Treating monster corpses on the ground as parts suppliers, I gently detach a left arm from one and slap it onto mine.
"Never thought I'd live to size-shop for arms like this—what kinda nonsense is my life?"
Some don't match my blood type and won't stick; others are too scrawny to be useful, so toss 'em. Rummaging through Demon King Castle rubble like a bum in a dumpster, scavenging decent parts from corpses—that's when...
"Urgh, heh heh heh, heh heh heh! So this is the power of a hero from another world...!"
A super creepy voice echoes out of nowhere. A survivor in this mess? Cock swinging as I waddle over to check.
"Oh... to think a warrior survived the hero's strike..."
Lower body's buried in debris, upper body's missing everything but left arm and head—some uncle with a weird crown smirks arrogantly at me.
Why the smug grin, you prick? Anyway, I shuffle closer, and this weirdo drops a bombshell.
"Heh heh, summoning a hero from another world... I didn't see that coming, but neither did they."
"What?"
"I'm talking about how they trusted the legendary holy sword's power alone and failed to finish me off at the end!"
This rambling psycho wags his finger at me.
"Nameless orc warrior, fetch my sword."
"And who the hell are you to talk down to me like that?"
First time meeting and he's already too mouthy. About to chew him out more, but he wants his sword, so I trot over jingling along. In the direction he points...
"Whoa."
A dark, ominous sword screaming "I'm expensive" stands tall amid the rubble. Sharp as hell, anyone can see. I grab it and bring it back.
"Ooh, that's my demonic sword, Gram! Yes... hand it to me, and I'll grant you glory. What are you waiting for?"
"Uncle, your left arm looks like a perfect size match for me."
"You, you bastard—surely you're not thinking of using that sword to sever my left arm?!"
"Yep."
Good eye. Sliced it off nice and clean.
"Gaaahhh!! Aaaahhh!! Grk, you, you bastard! Do you know who I am—do you know who I am and still do this shit?!"
"Oh! Perfect fit. My body's left arm now!!"
I'm amazed at how this prosthetic—originally his—moves like my own just seconds after attaching. As crown-uncle bleeds out from the stump, I approach.
"I won't forgive you—never!"
"Uncle, I'm low on blood right now, so since you already gave me your left arm, mind if I take your heart too?"
"What?! Stop—stooop!!"
The remaining heart? Orc solo loot. ☆
Anyway, after looting Demon King Castle, I emerge from the rubble with a mysterious leather pouch stuffed with treasure—size unchanged, magic as hell. Time to head home.
"You get the gist from here, right?"
But for those who forgot, polite recap: This war was humanity's all-out extermination of monsters. Northern continent monsters? Mostly wiped out, near-extinct. Some species fully gone—like my kin, orcs. Post-war, I roamed north for years: no orcs anywhere. Peaceful ranch orcs? Villages burned. Volcano orcs? Craters and lava left. Orc-friendly spots? Obliterated. Demon King army orcs? No need to say—my 400 maniacs aside, the rest died or fled the alliance.
Three years post-war, I'm in a remote forest, waiting for someone I once met.
~~~
The war ended in human alliance victory. Southern continent wives and kids who sent husbands/sons to the front weep joyfully at returns—or mourn the lost. Most humans, though, celebrate victory, hugging and toasting.
But not everyone just sent husbands or sons.
"...You did well."
"Yes, Mother."
Isis Territory's famed knight house lady and current head, Veronica Isis, welcomes her daughter back from war.
Silveryia, embraced briefly by her silver-haired, ruby-eyed mother (vs. her own sapphire blues), coughs awkwardly under servants' gazes.
"Pardon me."
"What? Still doing that, Silbi...?"
"D-don't call me Silbi! I'm not a child!"
At her age, still babying her! Blushing at her stiff mother's casual "Silbi," Veronica's faint smile fades to a stern face.
"Silbi, about the hero in the capital..."
Hero—the title once Silveryia's, for leading charges, seemed hers forever—now a relic.
Poor thing. That glory went to the black-haired otherworld bitch.
Who bled and sweated most on the northwest front?! Who broke through that hell?! Knowing her daughter's efforts best, Veronica watches Silveryia carefully saying "hero."
"I know. It was too much for me anyway. Honestly, relieved now."
Knights live for glory—stolen by that bitch, yet she smiles carefree? Veronica hugs her again, proud of her growth.
"My girl, let's see how much you've grown~"
"M-Mother!"
Escaping her mother's sly butt-grope, Silveryia turns serious.
"I want to go north."
"...Heard from Sir Kandor. Hunting that orc?"
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"Yes. It's personal."
Plus, I owe him.
As mother, no—as soldier, Veronica asks:
"North is vast."
"Yes."
"Demon King remnants lurk too."
"I'll cut them down."
Silveryia's eyes burn firm. This north trip would hone her knighthood, but north remained unknown wilds.
"Take minimal troops?"
"Could take years. Can't drag homecoming soldiers back to hell for my debt."
Not worried about skill—her daughter would surpass her someday. But sending a fresh-returned child back to hell? No parent rests easy. Knight Veronica approved; Mother Veronica? Hurt and worried her daughter leaves right after reunion.
"Silbi, reports say orcs went extinct to that black-haired bitch..."
"He's alive."
"What?"
"Alive. I feel him. He's out there, seeking his kin."
"..."
What happened with that orc for such obsession? Ironically, Veronica saw her younger self in those mad eyes.
Yeah, back then—at Silveryia's age—sword-obsessed, burning to beat an unbeatable foe. Blood tells.
Veronica chuckles dryly.
"When do you leave?"
"In a year."
One year—not short, not long. Mother eyes her dubiously; Silveryia explains:
"Wanted sooner, but need training to beat him."
"I see..."
My daughter, but no need to inherit this from me. What the hell's so special about that orc!
Sighing at Silveryia—who resembled her late husband not one bit sans eye color—Veronica says:
"Ah, Silbi?"
"Yes?"
"That, a dagger?"
"Huh?"
Silveryia's resolve cracks to panic.
"No, just now groping your butt, felt something hard."
"Ah, ha, hahaha! Nothing!"
Can't tell Mom "Got something awkward plugged in my ass." Silveryia grins sheepishly, sidles out.
Kandor, used to such from the war, shrugs; Veronica eyes her exit suspiciously.
"Who'd she get that firmness from..."
"...?"
"Sir Kandor."
"Yes."
"What're you staring at?"
"..."
Thus, as the orc sets north to find kin, Silveryia returns home.
Bzzzummm!
"Hngh♥"
Carrying her unspoken secret from Mother, time begins to flow.