Chapter 23.2 - Armament Festival Preliminaries – Main Round, Opening Ceremony

Another one! Will try for one more release today and conclude chapter 23.

“…what is it?”

“It’s an honor to meet your sir! My name is Tydonile, warrior of the Piles River Gecko Tribe!”

“I see.”

The Hero recalled neither his face, nor his name.

Looking at Tydonile’s positive attitude, it didn’t seem like he was a previous enemy either.

“Do I know you?”

Bash, concluding that it would be rude to blow off a possible acquaintance, decided to inform himself further before blowing off this Lizardkin, to which the latter happily nodded.

“Yes! You saved my life when I was a mere hatchling. It was during the Battle of the Piles River.”

“Ah, that battle. I remember it well.”

The Battle of the Piles River – a fight that had left a lasting mark on the Orc Hero.

It began when a Succubus company found itself isolated after being outmanoeuvered by the Elven Army’s tactics.

The Elves struck at the Succubae relentlessly, coordinating with the Dwarves in an effort to completely eradicate them.

The natural move for the Succubae would have been to break through and retreat, even at the cost of few of their lives.

And yet, they stood their ground, resolute to fight until the last.

They had no other choice…

…because a small riverside Lizardkin village was located nearby and would become the next victims if the Alliance troops weren’t stopped here.

The able-bodied men and women of the village had already left. All that remained were the young, sick and elderly.

Refusing to abandon the non-combatants to a fate likely worse than death, the Succubus company made their last stand.

Luckily for them, a messenger had been dispatched right before the Elves and Dwarves surrounded the village, and the request for help had reached Bash in the nick of time.

When the Hero finally reached the village, the Succubae were nearly all dead, the Lizardkin’s homes had been looted and ransacked, and the Lizardkin themselves bound and shackled.

The Orc rushed straight into the fray as soon as he assessed the situation, saving what remained of the Succubus company and rescuing the prisoners.

There were indeed many youths among the captives – Tydonile must have been one of them.

“Yes. If it weren’t for you, Sir Bash, I might be fighting in this very arena as a slave rather than a free man today… No, I might not even be alive…”

“I see.”

The sight he encountered upon arriving at the Lizardkin village that day would forever be engraved in Bash’s mind…

…that sight…

…was the exposed skin and generous bosoms of the injured Succubae…

“I heard that a powerful Orc had come to attend this year’s tournament. My curiosity got the better of me, and I couldn’t help but inquire about your identity. That’s when your Faerie companion told me it was you, Sir Bash! I am beyond honored to meet my life’s savior, sir!”

It was then that a voice rang out from outside the waiting room’s entrance.

“Next, number 409!”

Turning towards the sound, Tydonile raised his hand in acknowledgement.

“Oh, that’s me.”

As he begun to leave, he suddenly stopped, turning back towards Bash.

“Sir… I do not mean to be impertinent, but can… can I shake your hand?”

“Sure.”

“Incredible! Such strong and powerful palms! Such thick fingers! Oh, how I aspire to be a man of your caliber. I will devote myself to become a warrior like you, sir!”

With that final statement, the Lizardkin rushed out towards the arena.

“What a kind young man. So, he’s training to become a strong warrior, huh? Choosing mister as his idol…great decision!”

Zell, who was floating next to Bash’s head, nodded in satisfaction.

“So, mister, what’s next? You’ve already fought your two mandatories. Are you gonna go for a third finally?”

“No. My sword is…not doing great. Let’s back off for today.”

As soon as Bash uttered those words, he was suddenly surrounded by muscular men, their mouths tightly knit and their eyes full of resolve.

Humans, Beastkin, Dwarves… all of them rugged, rough, and bearing deep battle scars.

“What do you want?”

Of course, they wanted a fight, thought the Orc.

But even if he knew what their answer would be, Bash asked just to be sure.

When he thought about it, he’s been tangled up in a lot of strange trouble since arriving in Do Banga’s Pit.

Nowadays, whenever he went to a bar, all the strong-looking Dwarves would step over each other trying to reach the exit, screaming things like “withdraw!” and “shit, run!” and “my wife is waiting for me at home, sorry boys I needa’ go!”.

Even if he wasn’t actively looking for a brawl, it was frustrating, even for a calm, level-headed Orc like Bash.

He thought that Dwarven warriors would be more hot-blooded, but the truth was disappointing.

Now, however, they were in the arena’s waiting room.

Fights between participants within the arena’s premises outside of officially sanctioned matches were explicitly forbidden.

They would have to leave before throwing down…

“Bash! Hero of the Orcs!”

A Dwarf standing at the head of the group shouted.

Bash’s eyes narrowed in anticipation.

“Would you…”

The Hero tensed, preparing himself for a potential surprise attack.

“Would you… please shake my hand as well!”

“Is it true that you defeated the dragon in the decisive battle at the Lemium Highlands? Please, tell me about it!”

“Could you please take a look at this sword that I made? Please? Oh, and if you would be so kind to give me your impressions of it…”

The group of men began to squirm like little girls in embarrassment as they each made their pleas to the Orc Hero.

“Yes, yes, mister is amazing, yes, yes… Now all of you, line up! Mister Bash doesn’t have all day!”

As soon as those order left Zell’s lips, the burly fighters, who would in any other circumstances beat each other black and blue to obtain what they desired, hurried formed a neat, double-file line in front of the Hero.

“…”

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