Chapter 3
Chapter 3
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 003
Chapter Title: It Sounds Crazy, But It's All True
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Like the emptiness that follows intense lovemaking, Shan felt not excitement but hollowness when he opened his eyes after collapsing from exhaustion.
A sensation as if all strength had drained from his body.
Judging by the sunlight filtering through the leaves and tickling his face, the sun was already high in the sky.
"Urgh..."
He'd never been lazy about physical labor, but last night's frenzy had been too extreme—every muscle in his body ached like it might snap.
A few attacks had grazed him too, leaving stinging pains here and there.
At least he hadn't been devoured by wolves or monsters during the night. That had to be thanks to the village hunters patrolling the woods periodically and driving off the beasts.
Offering silent thanks that would never reach them now, Shan staggered toward the dead bandits.
Even seeing entrails spilled out and bugs crawling over them didn't turn his stomach—though the stench was foul enough.
'Just like looking at a fresh kill from a hunt.'
Was it because he'd realized these hulking brutes, who had terrified him just yesterday, were ridiculously slow and weak in reality?
Or because the events of the previous night—the massacre he'd committed—didn't feel real?
As his mind wandered, his body moved on instinct, rifling through the corpses, stripping clothes, and looting gear. Just like butchering game the hunters had brought in long ago.
First up: the bandit leader's sword—his inaugural trophy—and its matching sheath.
He stripped the leather pants off the shortest archer from last night and strapped it on. It actually looked pretty decent.
Added a short spear that was easy to handle, a dagger perfect for concealing, and that trusty iron mace that had felt so good in his hand.
But that was the end of any real gains.
The clothes were all too big or torn to wear, and there wasn't a single valuable like coin, jewels, or trinkets—easy to carry, high in worth.
Even the leader was no exception.
'Maybe they turned to banditry because they went broke buying weapons?'
Impressed by his own sharp deduction, Shan made do with rations scavenged from a few bodies for his meal.
Stuffing his mouth with dried grains, meat, and some veggies, then chugging water from a stinky leather flask—it was tolerable enough.
"Gulp."
Not food you'd call tasty even as a joke, but to Shan right now, it was ambrosia.
Starving as he was, and after burning so much energy, he might've gnawed on bandit flesh without this.
Savoring the unfamiliar fullness for a blissful moment, he turned to packing whatever usable loot he could carry.
Tore some clothes into strips, tied them into a bundle, stuffed in the decent weapons and a few leather armors. A makeshift sack was born.
"Ngh."
Clanking along with his load for about fifteen minutes, the ruined village finally came into view.
Most wooden buildings had burned to skeletons.
'No survivors, huh.'
Makes sense—even if any had lived, they'd have fled far away, not stuck around risking the bandits' return.
Shan circled the area searching for life, then returned to the square and gazed down at the sprawled corpses.
"Priest Ador..."
One of the few in the village who hadn't scorned the sinful Altoin orphan boy, but pitied him instead.
Shan wondered how the priest would've judged him wielding demonic power to fend off the bandits.
Would he say it was fine to use evil strength for good deeds? Or that meekly dying by the blade was the Goddess's will?
Moments later, Shan found a shovel untouched by the flames and dug a grave for the priest in the churchyard.
He couldn't read, so no proper headstone, but he could pray as he'd been taught—beseeching the Goddess's temple to welcome his soul.
As he prayed with eyes shut, a lesson the priest had left with regretful sorrow resurfaced.
'I really was the child of a demon.'
The thrill of killing and violence from last night—the euphoric rush that had filled his head to bursting—was still vivid.
Could deriving pleasure from slaughter not be demonic?
Now he understood why people shunned Altoin so fiercely.
A tangle of self-loathing and relief churning inside, Shan prayed long at the grave.
After the funeral, he scoured the village like he'd done the bandits' bodies, hunting for anything worth taking.
He left the villagers' corpses be—no urge to tend them.
Not much luck here either. Real wealth like grain sacks or dried lumber had long turned to ash.
A few stuck gold and silver scraps from the chief's and elders' homes, plus silver candlesticks and plates from the church for rituals—those were his solid hauls.
'Sorry, Priest Ador. But if I left 'em, someone'd steal them anyway.'
With atonement prayers to the Goddess and priest, Shan shouldered his bulging bundle and left the village.
A free man, unbound by anyone.
To confess: Shan had never once left the village in his life.
As a kid, he'd been the unwanted runt at the chief's house. Once he grew a bit and matured, he'd been tied down as an unpaid laborer working tirelessly for the village.
In short: he knew nothing of the outside.
Not even where the neighboring villages people traded with were, or how to get there—or what lay beyond.
At best, tales from Selina of elephant-filled southern continents, or lands of monsters far east that Priest Ador had mentioned. Useless without knowing south from east.
So Shan followed the dirt path at the village edge—trodden into existence by frequent travelers.
While walking, his mind pondered the next destination.
'Maybe go find Selina.'
The only person he knew outside the village—worth considering.
Sure, to her, he was just a ragged orphan kid listening to her boasts...
How long had he walked lost in thought? The sun began to set, darkness creeping in.
He'd slept in late, and funerals plus village looting had eaten time.
Shan pressed on a bit, then decided to camp by the path.
Night didn't hinder his vision much, but no village would welcome a late visitor anyway.
Muscle soreness lingered, making walking tough.
Lucky the season edged toward summer.
In cold weather, he'd need fire—something he didn't know how to make.
He knew you struck stones and rubbed sticks, but his tries always failed.
Wrapping himself in the bandit leader's cloak (his bedroll now), he leaned against a sturdy tree and dozed for hours.
Deep in sleep, a chill ran down his spine—he snapped awake.
A primitive stone axe—vines lashing stone to wood—was swinging at his head.
"Ugh!"
He jerked back, kicked off the cloak forward. A sharp cawk! pierced the air.
The attacker: waist-high to a man, noseless with punched-through nostrils, buckteeth, and long ears—a monster.
Black eyes gleaming without whites, they encircled and menaced Shan.
[Cawk! Kak! Karr-]
First encounter, but he'd heard descriptions—lowly forest and field pests: goblins.
They feared packs of sturdy men, but Shan was alone, fireless, small—they figured easy prey.
Scoffing at their brutish charge,
"Who do you think you're messing with?"
Yesterday? Maybe scared. But after felling bigger, stronger warriors? No fear.
They rushed with crude stone-and-wood weapons. Shan swung his sword lightly, bisecting two in a flash. The rest fled in terror.
"Oh."
In the process, he realized his first trophy—the bandit leader's sword—was even better than thought. An admiring gasp escaped.
Goblins were small and weak, but dog-sized—and they'd cleaved so easily.
Even a man's unarmored body would split with ease.
Though frequent bone-chopping would dull it quick—best to restrain.
Wiping blood on the dead goblins' rust-red skin and sheathing, Shan scanned around and clicked his tongue.
More beasts drawn: foxes, weasels, even wolves.
Hunters must've kept them from the village—these lurked nearby.
He tossed the two goblin corpses. Some snarled and claimed them; others whimpered into the woods.
Today's lesson: sleeping exposed in the night forest was insanely dangerous.
Next morning, after two more hours' walk, Shan reached another village.
Or rather, what had been one—a ruin.
"Ah..."
Like Willow Village—same bandits, probably.
Difference: a day more decay, bugs swarming, stench heavy.
Hit here first, then Willow two days later.
Was this where Selina married? Or farther?
No survivors to ask.
'Where to now, for real?'
Rations from bandits nearly gone—need to sell loot for food.
As he pondered, an exclamation from afar:
"There's someone!"
"Hey! You! Don't move a muscle!"
Men rushed over, half-armed proper, half with farm tools. Sixty strong.
"What? It's a kid?"
"You know about the raiders who hit this village?"
"Where'd you get those weapons?"
They swarmed to surround him. Shan thrust out his spear (walking stick now) to hold them off.
"Stay back."
Their eyes narrowed at his defensive stance.
"Blood-soaked clothes, kid loaded with weapons... Suspicious."
"Loot from the village?"
Irked by their murmurs, Shan drew a deep breath, summoning inner courage.
Or he'd crumple submissively right there.
"And who are you?"
Too cocky?
They bristled, but answered honestly—likely thanks to the spear aimed their way.
"We're the Leaf Village militia."
"Came to help after hearing Shadow Village got raided."
The apparent leader, a middle-aged man, stepped forward questioning.
"Your turn. Know anything about the raid?"
"Lower that damn spear first... Urk!"
A bearded brute nearby lunged to snatch it—screamed as Shan flicked his wrist, slashing the man's palm with the blade.
Blood drew fierce glares from the militia, but Shan stood firm, voice trembling slightly.
"I said stay back. Touch me, and I'll fight."
Flimsy scarecrows or not, disarmed he'd lose. Light build couldn't pack punch or kick power.
His arrogance irked them—they roared, weapons forward as one.
"Bandit brat for sure!"
"Grab him, chop his hands!"
"Stop! Calm down! What're you doing to a scared kid!?"
The leader intervened urgently—no clash erupted.
Whether fortunate, who knows.
Atmosphere cooling, the leader spoke with newfound respect.
"I'm Orgo, Leaf Village chief."
"Shan. From Willow Village."
"Willow... South of Shadow, right."
Orgo glanced back; one man asked:
"Willow hunter's name?"
"Mr. Bon."
"Jeksun the woodcutter's wife?"
"Mrs. Mary."
"All correct."
Proof he was local, not drifter—tension eased.
Briefly. The questioner gasped in realization.
"Wait, Shan... That Altoin they raised in Willow?"
"What? An Altoin? Got guts."
"Looks normal though. No horns."
Shan's eyes hid unless in dark—midday field, he passed for human.
Amid confusion, Orgo swiftly redirected.
"Alright, Shan. Can you tell us where that gear's from? Why you're out here alone instead of Willow?"
Tone soothing, like coaxing a child.
Shan hesitated, then spilled: sudden bandit raid, villagers dying helplessly, his fight and victory, then leaving.
Reactions as expected: disbelieving laughs, sneers.
"What nonsense."
"Lie better, kid."
Raiders hitting Willow too? Plausible.
But a mere dozen bandits slaughtering dozens of men without resistance? A scrawny boy of eleven or twelve doing it alone? Absurd.
Skinny limbs showing bone—no way, even with demonic magic tales. Altoin couldn't conquer the world if so.
"Don't have to believe me. But I didn't lie."
"Bullshit!"
The brute with the bandaged hand (staunched now) stomped forward.
"Rhodam, easy..."
"Easy my ass! How long we gonna get played? He hid in battle corners, snatched weapons!"
Turning to Shan:
"You! Drop the spear, kneel—or die! I don't spare brats!"
"Then that hand slash wasn't mercy?"
Sarcasm slipped out unbidden—panic flickered, but veins bulged on the brute's face.
He snatched a comrade's iron pitchfork, bellowing charge.
What now?
Warn lightly again? Risky if he barrels through pain.
Close quarters brawl? Strength and weight win over agility.
Decision instant: no mercy as the thrust screamed lethal intent.
Clang—spear and pitchfork locked, twisted. Shan's free hand gripped sword hilt smooth as silk.
"Gaaah!"
Scream echoed as the brute's arm flopped to the ground.