Chapter 33
Chapter 33
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: If You're Upset, Become the Boss Yourself
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Armida stared at me blankly.
"I don't know, so figure it out with your little sister."
"What am I supposed to do? Shura's handling it herself. Anyway, I've got business to take care of, so I'm heading out."
As I turned to leave, Armida stopped me again.
"Wait! While you were gone, Shura asked me something like this."
I turned back to her.
"What'd she ask?"
"She said that if everyone just sticks stubbornly to their own path, conflicts and clashes will never end. So how do you solve that?"
I clicked my tongue. Shura's flaw was her lack of worldly experience.
"Jeez, she's worrying about pointless stuff... So what'd you tell her?"
"Since you said you'd handle the sword path stuff, I didn't say anything."
"Then go tell her this: If they bash heads and bruise each other up fighting, they'll eventually figure out mutual prosperity on their own. Otherwise, they all die."
Armida tilted her head at my response.
"But won't they just end up fighting tooth and nail again eventually?"
"Yeah, probably."
"Then what's the point?"
"What do you mean no point? There is one."
"What's that?"
"That itself is normal. Sis? You think true mutual prosperity opens the gates to paradise? Nah. That's when the real hell opens up. Why? Humans can't achieve true mutual prosperity unless hellish reality unfolds right in front of them."
Amusingly, I'd witnessed something like true mutual prosperity once before. Back in the era of annihilation. Humans had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with orcs they'd snarled at like mortal enemies, and high elves had clasped hands with their hated dark elf rivals in solid trust. All to survive the hell of humanity's extinction.
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Beats me. You handle it."
Armida waved me off and left. I stepped out the door.
What a ridiculous world. The utopia humans dream of can only come true when hell actually breaks loose. Who knows what the gods were thinking when they made the world like this.
Honestly, I figure they just slapped it together half-assed. You can tell just looking at orcs. They're clearly half-baked.
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Kara's streets were still bustling. The difference from a few days ago was that the Kara warriors on patrol were eyeing me with admiration.
It was probably from the Freyker hunt incident. Dressed in white robes, I stood out too much, and rumors spread faster than galloping horses.
Soon, arriving near the west gate, I spotted crowds filling the alleyways. Getting closer, I saw hundreds of orc mercenaries with their weapon tips planted on the ground, bowing their heads around a food cart.
It was a sign of respect toward Jenbe.
Jenbe, you're really suffering from all these stalkers, huh.
Among the orc mercenaries who'd come to Kara, plenty had crossed the great desert out of necessity after losing to rival tribes. Loaded with grudges and stories, Jenbe's legendary name was a beacon of light for them. The moment they entered his shadow, they weren't defeated outcasts anymore—they could return proudly to their northern orc plains as subordinates of a great hero.
I wormed through the clustered orc mercenaries and reached Jenbe's food cart. Ignoring their fierce glares, I plopped down in a chair.
"From food cart owner to alley boss... You just keep sinking lower every time I see you."
Jenbe narrowed his eyes sharply.
"Who do you think that's because of?"
"Your fault. Who else?"
"You gonna say that to my face?"
"Jeez. Who was it that spammed Titania's spells like crazy in that last fight? A Master Berserker with that build, plus chaining Titania magic? Even orcs could see that coming from a mile away. Sheesh. Tsk tsk tsk."
"Urgh."
Jenbe looked embarrassed. Fair enough—even he had to know he'd slipped up in that battle.
I ignored it and eyed the food laid out on the cart table. Piled high. Looked like he hadn't made a single sale even now, well past lunchtime. No wonder—no one had the guts to eat at a food cart swarmed by packs of intimidating orc mercenaries.
"Whatever. Just give me food."
"What'll it be?"
"Same as before."
Jenbe sliced bread with a knife and stuffed it with chopped meat, veggies, and fillings. The only difference was some weird new sauce. Probably a new menu item.
As he cooked, Jenbe glanced at me.
"So you here just to eat?"
"Kinda. You weren't coming to collect your pay, so I had to come here."
"Pay's out already? I figured it'd take longer."
"Why?"
"Kara's military bureaucracy is notoriously slow."
"Huh. Must be 'cause of all the mercenaries around you."
There were nearly seven hundred orc mercenaries gathered here. That was basically every orc merc operating in Kara. Give it time, and ones from other desert cities would swarm in on the rumors too—the numbers would be downright terrifying.
Jenbe shot a sharp look at the orcs around us.
"Guess they come in handy sometimes."
"See? No one's useless in this world. Just some incompetent bosses who can't use their subordinates' talents right."
"They're not my subordinates!"
Jenbe bellowed, making the nearby orc mercenaries flinch.
"Who said they were? Just an example."
"Hmph."
Jenbe averted his eyes to dodge the conversation. I pulled out the jingling coin pouch from my pocket.
"Here. Three hundred gold leaves."
Jenbe eyed the heavy pouch suspiciously.
"Hey, human? I took down five, you got two. Why's mine only three hundred?"
"You're the part-timer, I'm the boss. Upset? Become the boss yourself. Plenty of mercs around now—you could hire 'em."
"Forget it!"
Jenbe snatched the pouch like a hawk. Honestly, three hundred gold leaves was enough to live luxuriously forever.
I watched him start cooking again.
"So that's your last dish?"
"Probably."
"Won't be that easy."
Jenbe gave me an odd look.
"What're you on about?"
"Money's like a fly stuck to shit on your forehead—it vanishes before you know it."
"Three hundred gold leaves is a fortune."
"It's also my one-month entertainment budget."
"That's just 'cause your life's so extravagant."
I shrugged in agreement. Facts were facts.
"But you'll blow through yours quick too."
"Me? How?"
"You don't know the value of money? It doesn't stick around people who don't appreciate it. I know—I am that guy. Heh heh."
Jenbe handed over the meat-stuffed bread, glaring at me.
"So what's your point?"
I took a big bite.
"Don't wanna starve later? Pick up some kind of work at least."
"No thanks. I swore never to pick up a blade again. Now that I've got money, no need even for a kitchen knife."
"Who said anything about blades? You think making a living means picking up a sword? You're overreacting."
"Well... Hm."
Jenbe looked awkward, at a loss. True—hauling goods was a living, running a trade shop was a living. Honestly, there were way more non-sword jobs in the world than sword ones.
I sucked the sauce off my fingers.
"You obsess too much over blades. That's why even when you try to put it down, your heart won't let go. If you really swore to set it aside, you'd start by sheathing your heart's blade first."
Jenbe glanced at me slyly.
"Heart's blade?"
"Yeah. Unless you discard your heart's blade, even if you drop the one in your hand right now, you won't keep your oath. You'll pick it up again eventually."
"Why?"
"Take this food cart gig. Plenty of other ways to earn, but you picked this? All because you haven't let go of your heart's blade."
Jenbe pondered silently, then nodded. Fair point—no need to grab a kitchen knife when there were other jobs.
"You're right. I admit there's a gap in my heart."
"I get it. Sword wielders don't quit easy. Do it half-heartedly, and you end up with a half-assed oath like yours."
"So what do I do?"
"One way only. Go home right now, eat, swing a blade. Until you discard your heart's sword."
Jenbe glared at me. I'd promised to teach him how to put it down, then told him to pick it up. No wonder he was baffled.
"You messing with me?"
"For real. I can tell—you're obsessed with blades 'cause of ugly human desires. That desire becomes your heart's blade, keeping the hand one glued to you. Push away the physical blade here, and the heart's one creeps closer, gets sharper. Desires are like that."
"Huh."
"Yeah. Like needing the bathroom. You're about to burst, swear you won't go? Your head fills with nothing but toilets. Go relieve yourself, and poof—back to normal life, like it never happened. That's how the world works. Why act like you don't get it?"
Jenbe rested his chin, thinking. Crude example, but relatable enough.
"Makes sense."
"So choose. Drop just the hand's blade? Or the heart's too? First one's half-baked oath. Second adds noble perfection. I won't judge the first—even I know ditching your heart's blade ain't easy. Better a half-oath than none."
I emphasized "half" hard. Hoping he'd pick the second. Reliable part-timers like him were rare.
Jenbe stared at me quietly.
"You're not scheming something, are you?"
"Pure advice. What do I care if you swing a sword or not? You swore one thing but went another way, so I got curious."
"Fair enough. I'll think on it seriously."
I smirked slyly. This guy's a total sucker. Dangle a fancy excuse as bait, and he bites.
Sure, he might actually ditch his heart's blade someday. But easy? Desires have no limits.
Case in point—no one goes to the bathroom just once in life. You go forever while alive. The day you quit for good? That's your last moment.