—————————————————————–
Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Cyno
—————————————————————–
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
“Zenbe, huh? Never heard the name before.”
“And yours?”
“Kao-Yan Anukin.”
“Strange name.”
“Not exactly heartwarming.”
Zenbe placed sizzling meat on a tray of bread and stewed vegetables, then slid it toward me. The perfectly seared texture made me swallow instinctively.
I sliced the bread horizontally, stuffed it with meat and vegetables, and pressed it into a compact sandwich before taking a big bite.
Zenbe side-eyed me.
“Why eat like that?”
“Saves time. Easier, too.”
“Taste good?”
“Amazing.”
“Yeah? Then give me a piece. Let’s see how it is.”
I stared at him.
“Usually, you’d have to risk your life to steal my food.”
“Cheap human. Fine, I’ll make my own.”
Zenbe pulled out a massive slab of meat and began slicing. His cleaver moved so fast it blurred. I licked stew broth off my fingers, watching him with interest.
“Uncle Orc, nice knife skills. How’d you learn that?”
“Can’t explain it.”
“Guess if words could teach mastery, even dogs would be masters.”
Zenbe studied me with a sidelong glance.
“What’s a Master like you doing here?”
“Eating.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know. And I’m telling you to drop it.”
Zenbe coughed awkwardly.
“Ahem. Sorry. Just curious.”
“About what?”
“You’re the second Master customer I’ve had.”
I tilted my head. Two Masters visiting a dingy stall in tiny Kara? Odd. Masters could live in luxury anywhere.
“There was another? Who?”
“Don’t know details. Said he’d abandoned himself to wander fate’s pull.”
I smirked. Kara was the perfect place for drifters—no prying eyes, plenty of odd jobs. If you had skills, nowhere else compared.
“Pathetic guy.”
“No. A true warrior who understood honor.”
“Sure. Heh.”
Zenbe shook his head, baffled by me.
Just then, a large troop marched down the street. Their gleaming scale armor and camels marked them as Kara’s soldiers—yet they hauled siege weapons: ballistae, catapults, even massive eight-camel-pulled heavy ballistae.
“A war or something?”
“Probably hunting monsters. Rumors say something powerful appeared near the Utz River mines. A whole merc band got wiped out trying to clear it.”
“Oh? What kind?”
“Unknown. Six legs, about six meters tall.”
“Six legs? Snout sunk in, forehead bulging?”
“Now that you mention it, yeah.”
Likely Fraykers. Danger Level 70 monsters—deadly fast, with explosive charges from their steel-like hides.
“How many?”
“Six, they say.”
I whistled. One was bad enough. Most of these soldiers wouldn’t return.
“Six? They’ll get slaughtered.”
“You know these things?”
“Yeah. Fraykers. Fast and tough. Danger Level 70s.”
Zenbe groaned. Even in his prime, he’d never faced Level 70s—monsters on par with entry-level Masters.
“That dangerous?”
“Yep. Only Master-tier swordsmen can handle them. Their hides are tougher than steel—normal attacks barely scratch ’em.”
“Siege weapons?”
“Effective if they hit. But Fraykers dodge arrows. Good luck.”
“Huh.”
I wiped my hands and stood.
“So, uncle. Gonna pretend you didn’t hear this?”
Zenbe hesitated, then turned away.
“Enough. I swore never to wield a blade again.”
“Pfft. That cleaver in your hand isn’t a blade?”
“I swore not to meddle in worldly affairs with a sword.”
“Breathing is meddling. Me eating? Worldly. You chopping meat? Worldly. You think I’m chasing those soldiers for world peace? Please. I’d never.”
Zenbe stared silently.
“Then why go?”
“Business. Same reason you grill meat.”
Zenbe’s jaw clenched before he exploded.
“Each walks their own path! Mine differs from yours!”
“Who likes working? We do what we must. Or—wait—are you clinging to this stall just to keep holding a blade?”
“NO!”
“Then come. Earn enough to never touch a sword again. Or admit you’re lying to yourself. The chance to quit is here, and you’re refusing.”
Zenbe trembled. Angry, but I wasn’t wrong. A cleaver is a blade. Selling meat is worldly.
Even orcs need full bellies to uphold honor.
“You’re not tricking me with smooth talk?”
“Worried I’ll skim your cut? Please. I scam selectively. Cheating a powerhouse like you? Not worth the beating.”
“…Fine. Wait here.”
Zenbe stormed off to gear up.
Watching him go, I clenched my fist. Got him. Six Fraykers were too much alone—but with Zenbe? Doable. Sure, I could call Armidia, but then I couldn’t skim profits.
Every man needs a secret stash.
—
Zenbe’s sword was massive. A hand-and-a-half wide, longer than his towering frame, and thicker than a finger. Its obsidian blade glittered with star-like silver points—Titania, the Giantblade of Holy Anointment. A mere third-tier divine artifact, but legendary in Zenbe’s hands.
From atop my Nethersteed, I smirked down at him.
“Swore you’d never wield a blade again, yet you kept it?”
Zenbe stroked Titania on his shoulder.
“This is a holy relic.”
“Blasphemy to discard it? Nice excuse. Heh.”
Zenbe scowled, eyeing my steed—a shadowy, smoke-formed nightmare wreathed in flame. No ordinary conjuration.
“That magic horse—what is it?”
“Nethersteed. Pulled it recently. Nice, right?”
Zenbe lost interest.
“Magic horses are all the same.”
Most were slower and tireder than real ones—decorative, not combat-worthy.
“Wow, rude. This one’s from Chronos, the Sky City.”
Zenbe’s eyes widened. Chronos was the Valkyries’ sacred realm. A steed from there was a divine relic.
“Seriously?”
“Yep. Can’t buy this.”
“Then… can I ride it?”
“No. I don’t let men ride my horse.”
Zenbe narrowed his eyes.
“So only women?”
“Hmm. I’d have to think about that.”
“Then who have you let ride?”
I patted Yozo at my waist.
“My sword.”
Zenbe clicked his tongue.
“Selfish bastard.”
“Won’t deny it.”
“Be careful. Treasure blinds men. Many will covet it.”
“I know. That’s why I usually walk.”
“Then why ride now?”
“Government offices respect flashiness. Snobs won’t deal with you otherwise. Trust me—I used to be one.”
Zenbe snorted.
“And how’d that turn out?”
“Traded it for freedom.”
“Profitable deal.”
“Thought so too. More time to train, more time to play. Only downside? No women. Back then, they tripped over themselves for me. Now? Poof. Gone. Heh.”
As I laughed, distant marching drew my eye. Kara’s troops approached—their commander, a haughty youth in ornate armor, glared our way.
“Who are you, following us like this?”
Annoyed by our tailing, they’d approached. Can’t blame them—a masked man on a nightmare steed and a hulking orc with a giant sword would itch the back of their necks.
I waved cheerfully.
“Heyo! Kao-Yan Anukin. This is Uncle Zenbe. We’re here on business. Your turn?”
“Insolence! How dare a commoner address Hassan Amir, third-rank noble and vassal to His Highness the Tuhuf of Kara! You seek death?”
Hassan flaunted his lineage. Absurd. Boasting bloodline to me?
I urged my steed closer.
“Buddy, my lineage isn’t one to scoff at either. If I revealed it, even your Tuhuf would tremble.”
Hassan eyed my Nethersteed warily. My clothes were plain, but the steed screamed nobility.
“T-Then state your rank properly!”
“Can’t. Hence the mask.”
“What?! Suspicious!”
Hassan and his men drew swords. I chuckled, unsheathing Yozo—its Aura Blade extending 10 centimeters.
“Sorry, but I don’t kneel to anyone.”
Hassan paled at the Aura Blade.
“A… Master?”
I pointed at Zenbe, standing dumbfounded beside me.
“And this orc’s stronger than me.”
“I-Is that so…?”
“Your move.”
Hassan sheathed his sword after a silent order to his men. Even nobles feared Masters.
Bowing stiffly, he asked,
“Masters, what brings you here?”
“Just worried about you.”
“Eh?”
“Those ‘strange monsters’ near Utz River mines? If I’m right, they’re Danger Level 70s. You’ve got nothing to stop them. It’ll be a slaughter.”
Hassan blanched. Six Level 70s would melt 800 soldiers in seconds.
“That strong?”
“Yep. Hunted a few myself.”
“Understood. Please wait—I’ll inform the commander.”
Hassan rushed back to his troops. If they charged in blindly, annihilation awaited. At the very least, they needed to rethink tactics.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
[Your Text Here]
