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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Cyno
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Adan had seen it coming. As the Freakers closed in, he waved the hand holding the flag with all his might.
“Fire!”
The taut ropes snapped, launching a volley of giant spears and boulders into the air. Adan smirked, tense with the expectation that the Freakers, at such close range, would have no way to dodge—only to widen his eyes in shock the next moment.
The Freakers spun like tops, then abruptly split to either side, evading the projectiles effortlessly. Adan’s mind went blank as he watched the spears and boulders crash and roll across the distant plain.
The battle was already over. The Freakers were faster than light cavalry, but it would take considerable time to reset the siege engines.
Skreeeek! Thud! Boom!
The siege engines shattered instantly under the Freakers’ frontal assault. As wooden debris rained down, Adan, at a loss, turned his camel’s head and fled.
No retreat order was even necessary. The siege operators, already panicked, were hastily mounting their camels to escape, while the camel archers scattered in all directions the moment a Freaker, enraged by their arrows, gave chase.
‘Ah, so this is how Karah fell in the first battle. Well, with soldiers like these, no wonder there’s no hope.’
I was speechless at the disgraceful spectacle Karah’s soldiers were putting on. Their command structure had collapsed, and no orders were being issued. Forget resisting monsters—they were too busy saving their own skins. At least casualties were minimal for now, but the future looked bleak.
Zenebe approached, furrowing his brow.
“What the hell are those warriors even doing?”
“Trying to survive first, think later.”
“Are all human warriors like that?”
“No. They’ve just been spoiled by peace. Peace turns warriors into docile sheep. At best, they become politicians.”
There were no hostile forces around Karah. The nearby Shika tribes revered Karah as their suzerain, and even the supposedly formidable army of Braam the Margrave lay beyond the demon-infested trade routes.
Sure, vicious desert bandits roamed those routes, but they had to tread carefully around Karah. If Karah cut off their smuggling and food trade, they’d be in deep trouble.
Thus, Karah had enjoyed an era of prolonged peace—and its military quality had plummeted accordingly. War makes warriors, but Karah had been too steeped in peace.
“Pathetic,” Zenebe muttered, gripping Titanica as he stood. I glanced at him sidelong.
“Not yet. They’re not desperate enough.”
Zenebe glared.
“Then when are you stepping in?”
“Dunno. That’s not my choice to make.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The choice of product is the customer’s prerogative. And the shopkeeper must wait at the counter. That’s just how the world works.”
“So they have to come to us?”
“Bingo.”
Zenebe’s nostrils flared. He clearly hated this. But there was no helping it. A shopkeeper forcing a customer to buy was just coercion.
“Gyaaaah!”
Finally, casualties appeared. A Karah soldier, fleeing on camelback, was kicked by a pursuing Freaker, spraying blood as he soared through the air. The way his neck and spine bent on impact left no doubt he was dead.
At least it was a quick death. Another soldier was crushed under a massive foot, his lower torso pulped before he could even scream properly.
I smirked faintly as I spotted a dust cloud in the distant wasteland. Adan and his commanders were galloping toward us in panic.
‘Hah. Incompetent, but at least they know where survival lies. Then again, nothing’s sharper than human instinct.’
Soon, Adan stumbled off his camel and rushed over.
“Master!”
“Well, look who’s here.”
“Please! Destroy those things!”
“Ah, but today’s my day off…”
“What?”
“I told you yesterday. I’m just tagging along on vacation. But well, given the situation…”
I pulled out an invoice from my pocket and handed it over.
Adan’s eyes bulged. The fee listed was 1,208 leaf gold—with the caveat that all spoils belonged to the hunter.
“Master? This isn’t what we agreed yesterday!”
“Ah, holiday rates are double. Didn’t you know? Guess not~.”
Adan and the commanders’ faces twisted beautifully.
Just then, a Freaker turned its head toward us. Deciding we were easier prey than the fleeing soldiers, it charged.
Zenebe slowly began gathering power. His green skin darkened, his eyes glowing crimson. A Berserker’s transformation—pushing strength and speed to the limit using mana. The only downside was its short duration.
‘This old man. So impatient. I said not yet.’
But Zenebe ignored me, dashing toward the Freaker. This was the problem with orcs—they couldn’t resist a challenge.
Black aura and white light erupted from Titanica, raining down like holy meteors upon the Freaker.
Adan gaped. There was only one known Berserker Master who wielded a giant sword and cast meteor showers.
“Th-the Saint of Carnage, Zenebe?!”
I sighed, mounting Obsidian Reaper.
“So don’t even think about skimping on the fee. If this old man snaps, Karah won’t last the week.”
“Y-yes.”
Adan accepted without another word.
Zenebe was a top-tier Berserker Master, the Orcish Great Hero. Once his name spread, thousands of orc mercenaries in the desert would flock to him. Orcs obeyed strength above all else.
If Zenebe turned his blade on Karah in wrath, the city would face a crisis unlike any before.
“Good. Contract confirmed.”
I flicked the reins, and Obsidian Reaper shot forward with an eerie shriek, its voice seeping into Adan and the commanders’ ears, planting deep fear.
I watched Zenebe engage the Freaker.
Black aura surged from Titanica as he cleaved through the Freaker’s flank, then mounted it and split its skull without hesitation.
‘Damn, he’s ruthless. Won’t listen to a word, but his skills are unreal.’
I turned my steed toward the remaining Freaker chasing soldiers and mercenaries. Taking it down would end this.
The distance closed in seconds. I tried flanking it, but its thrashing tail forced me to abort—one hit from that meant instant death.
I overtook the Freaker, blending into the fleeing mercenaries—and spotted a familiar face. Alron.
“Heya, nameless merc captain~”
At my call, Alron turned, pale-faced.
“Y-you?!”
“One’s down. Gotta deal with the other, so lend a hand. This mess is your fault, after all.”
“What the—GYAAAH!”
Alron was suddenly yanked off his camel and sent tumbling. I’d grabbed his collar and thrown him. As he scrambled up, sword drawn, the Freaker loomed behind him, jaws wide.
“You bastard!”
Alron cursed wildly, gripping his sword. Then, flames engulfed the Freaker’s head—Obsidian Reaper’s fire breath. While it recoiled, I leapt, carving a deep X across its back and severing a chunk of flesh.
The Freaker stiffened, then collapsed dead. Monsters died instantly once their Chaos Piece was removed.
Landing lightly, I wiped the blue blood off Requiem on my pants and picked up the fallen flesh.
‘This’ll fetch a good price.’
Inside was a Chaos Piece the size of a child’s fist—easily worth 700 units. A tidy profit. Even wholesale, it’d net at least 30 leaf gold.
Alron grabbed my collar.
“You! Are you deaf?!”
I shook him off, glaring coldly.
“I heard you. So what?”
“You used me as bait!”
“And you’re alive because of it.”
Alron gaped.
“What?!”
“If you hadn’t been bait, you’d be dead by my hand, not the Freaker’s. I forgive traitors, but never incompetents.”
“You little—!”
Alron’s tirade died as Requiem’s aura-blade pressed against his throat.
“Want me to kill you now?”
“N-no…”
Alron backed away. His mercs had regrouped but kept their distance, unwilling to help.
“Scram.”
Alron fled. Zenebe, watching, approached.
“Hey, human. Why provoke uselessly? Cowards like that bow in front but sharpen knives behind your back.”
“I know. That’s why I didn’t kill him.”
“Huh?”
I grinned.
“A merc captain wouldn’t come alone, right? He’ll bring his whole crew. Let’s rob them blind. How much do you think they’ve got? Heh.”
“You—you—”
I nudged Zenebe’s ribs as I walked past.
“Just say the word. I’ll cut you in.”
“Forget it!”
“Pouting again? It’s just business.”
“You’ll regret this. Even Masters can’t stop every ambush.”
“True. But I’m not a Master because I survived till the end. No—being a Master just put me at the front of the march toward death. What about you, old man? I wonder.”
“I—I…”
Under my gaze, Zenebe clenched his teeth and looked away.
Once, Zenebe—proud of his title as a top-tier Berserker Master and divine blessings—had waged war against the Red Tusk tribe led by Grolmog. He’d been crushed.
“Don’t mind me. Wasn’t a question needing an answer. Heh.”
I chuckled, passing Zenebe toward the Freaker corpse he’d butchered.
It was a mangled mess, but he’d forgotten the most crucial step—harvesting the Chaos Piece.
This orc, I swear—utterly clueless about money.
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