Chapter 22.1 - Swirling Conspiracies

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The very next morning, Bash made his way out to the outskirts of Do Banga’s Pit – into the forest surrounding the dormant volcano.

A square section of the surrounding woods had been cleared out, revealing the bare soil that would usually be hidden under thick foliage.

Strewn about were what appeared to be unfinished and crude weapons and armors.

This was a Dwarven garbage dump.

Most Dwarves would reuse the materials from their failed attempts by melting them down, but as the craftsmen created way more junk than their smelters could process, the leftovers were thrown out here, for anyone to use.

Primera stood at the centre of the clearing, her hands on her hips and her chin up high.

She looked up at Bash, her face full of enthusiasm.

“I’m really going out there to try and win.”

“Mhm.”

Bash, on the other hand, replied distractedly.

It couldn’t be helped – from where he stood, he was treated with an eyeful of cleavage, making thinking rather difficult.

“Any good blacksmith known that there is no perfect weapon, only a weapon that best suits the warrior it’s made for. So, I’m going to try to make a weapon that fits you.”

Said Primera as she held out a sword, pointing the hilt towards Bash.

It was a wide, thick, double-edged blade.

At around a meter and a half long, its surface shone with a barely noticeable red glow, most likely due to the special alloys used in its making.

A Human would need both hands to wield it, but for an Orc, one would be more than sufficient.

“This isn’t the best sword I’ve ever made, but it’s up there. Here, try it out.”

Bash reached out to grasp the weapon.

Right then, his skin brushed up against Primera’s, sending shivers down his spine.

Images of the half-Dwarf’s pale, bare shoulders flashed through his mind as he was reminded of how soft they were when he had grabbed her the other day.

Despite already having been rejected, she was still a beautiful girl. The Hero couldn’t help but feel aroused.

Right now, she was wearing a thick dark cloak, hiding her figure, but just knowing her muscular yet slender and feminine limbs behind just a piece of cloth sent the Orc’s imagination into a frenzy.

Primera, on the other hand, was still unfamiliar with Orcs and was unable to read Bash’s emotions.

She was thus utterly oblivious to his thoughts.

“Fortunately, there’s plenty of armor around here for us to use.”

Declared Primera as she lifted a rusty breastplate and set it on a stand she had brought with her.

“Alright, first, just give it a swing and give me your honest opinion on it.”

“Okay.”

When Bash had confirmed that Primera had moved back to a safe distance, he raised the sword…

And he swung.

It was a simple vertical slash.

Bring the weapon up and bring the weapon down.

A technique the Hero had practiced thousands upon thousands of times.

The Orc struck the armor the same way he had always had, driving the edge into the thickest portion of the steel with overwhelming power.

The blade whistled as it cut through the air.

And when it finally reached its destination, a loud bang echoed out, more akin to the detonation of Dwarven explosives than the ring of metal hitting metal.

Primera could not even see the sword move.

“Ah…”

In the blink of an eye, the armor had been shattered into pieces, shards of metal strewn about everywhere.

If anyone had seen this demonstration and knew of Bash’s identity, it would reinforce their image of him, and confirm that the rumours they had heard.

And even if they did no know who he was, anyone with a modicum of skill would have shuddered at the shockwave created by the attack, understanding the damage it could cause.

Even wild beasts would have admitted defeat in front of such a feat of strength.

That was the magnitude of this blow.

But the girl did not run away, neither was she afraid.

“You idiot!”

She angrily shouted at the Hero as she ran towards him.

“Why would you hit it like that?! Why would anyone hit it like that?! It’s a sword! Not a stick!”

She promptly ripped the weapon out of Bash’s hands before bringing it up to her eyes to examine the damage.

The blade was now sporting a pronounced bend at its center, as if someone had used it as a level to move stones from a quarry.

“Ah… look at this…you bent it…”

“Muu…”

“What kind of reta-…ahem, absurd power is this…”

Primera complained as she stroked the now curved blade with the tip of her index, sighing loudly.

But she quickly regained her composure, shaking her heard before looking straight at the Orc.

“Okay, I see what I need to do now. This is going to be a challenge. You’re thick-headed, and your skills with a sword aren’t that great. I’m going to aim for durability rather than sharpness.”

“What?!”

Hearing Primera’s assertions, Zell’s eyes nearly burst out of their sockets.

That was inconceivable to her.

The Faerie had never in her storied career as a soldier heard anyone who had seen Bash’s strikes and remain unconvinced of his skill.

Any doubters were put either put down before they could speak, or gave up, looking up at the Hero as they kneeled, their faces filled with terror.

“What? Am I wrong?”

“…No, you’re not.”

Bash, on the other hand, didn’t care.

This wasn’t the first time he had been told that his skills with the sword were lacking.

As a matter of fact, he himself knew numerous warriors who were better at him at wielding a blade.

So, he knew firsthand that his own expertise was nothing to brag about.

“That’s why I’m using this guy here.”

“Hmm… better for you to wield something big, hard and sturdy than a half-baked conventional weapon…alright.”

Concluded Primera as glanced over at the sword attached to Bash’s back.

“I’ve got an understanding of what kind of weapon I need to craft now. I’ll be spending time in my workshop, so meanwhile, you guys can go and have fun in the city.”

“Do you mind if I watch you while you smith?”

“Huh?! No! No, absolutely not!”

The Orc Hero raised an eyebrow, slightly taken aback by the intensity of her rejection.

“Why not?”

“What? What do you mean why not?! I’m going to be smithing! Smithing using secret Dwarven techniques! “

The half-Dwarf took a step backwards, hugging her own shoulders.

It was then that Zell flew over, having realised what was going on.

The Faerie could be strangely perceptive at times, which is why some even called her Zell, “the Telepath”.

(Mister, I think she’s wary of you because you tried to assault her yesterday.”

(Is that so?)

(This isn’t limited to Dwarves, but I’ve heard that blacksmithing is a craft that is performed while nearly naked. Even though it was a misunderstanding, it can’t be helped that she thinks that you might attack her again.)

As soon as the words “nearly naked” passed Zell’s lips, Bash’s desire to observe Primera as she worked, which was at first just pure curiosity, increased tenfold.

How could he not want to look at her?

Nonetheless, he could not push the issue any further after his request was denied – after all, non-consensual sexual intercourse with other races was prohibited in the name of the Orc King.

“Okay, we’ll head to town.”

“I’ll be done with the prototype at…nightfall, probably. You can come over when the clock reads seven. You know how to read a clock, right?”

“I’ll be fine.”

In this underground Dwarven city, there was no way to see the sun.

Thus, it became of utmost importance that time-keeping tools be installed in various parts of the settlement.

This was a cultural practice unique to Dwarf Country, and very few other races, especially within the Federation, could read the time from a clock.

Luckily, Zell could – she had picked up the knowledge during her time as an intelligence officer, as it was essential for spying on the Dwarven army.

“Okay! I’m off to work then! Just watch, I’ll make you an amazing, never seen before masterpiece. Just you wait!”

And with that, Primera ran off towards Do Banga’s Pit.

Bash watched as her back disappeared into the distance, before turning towards Zell.

The Faerie had her hands on her hips and pouted.

“…I can’t believe the gall of that shorty.”

“What is it?”

“What is it?! That girl said that mister’s sword skills weren’t that big a deal! She called you an idiot! She said that to the Orc Hero! The same Orc Hero who has slaughtered countless enemies with that same sword!”

“She’s right, you know. My sword arm isn’t that great. The man who gave me this sword right here told me the same thing.

Bash stated solemnly as he drew the enormous sword he carried on his back.

It was too big to be called a sword. Massive, thick, heavy, and far too rough. Indeed, it was a heap of raw iron.

Back when the Daemon General had first gifted this sword to a younger Bash, who kept breaking his weapons, he told him that “this was the right sword for a warrior like you”.

“There were better swordsmen than myself even among us Orcs.”

“Really mister? For real? Don’t you have a little too low of an opinion of yourself, mister? You’ve never seen yourself in a fight, have you? To me, you’re the best Orc in the world!”

“Victory is not determined by just a warrior’s skill with his weapon.”

“I guess that’s true! You can’t be truly strong if you’re just good at fighting!”

Zell were more aware than anyone that there was more to survival in the battlefield than just a soldier’s ability with a weapon, or their prowess in battle.

Strength and power were multifaceted affairs, in which weapon proficiency was just a factor among others.

History had no lack of matchless warriors who were handily killed by ordinary folks or who had died from one circumstance or another.

“Now then, let’s hit the town! If we don’t find someone who meet’s mister’s standards, you might not have anyone to select when you win!”

“Yosh!”

Bash nodded in agreement as the pair began returning to the city.

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