Chapter 20.3: A Girl's Humiliation

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Last part of chapter 20.

“Wait! Wait…! Just…”

Bash stopped in his tracks.

But he didn’t get his hopes up.

The Orc wasn’t the most intelligent man around, but he still had his warrior’s wisdom.

A good warrior was a warrior that doesn’t make the same mistake twice.

“Haa…I’ll ask you once again. Would you be my warrior?”

Bash’s face scrunched up, perplexed, as he heard her request.

He could easily conclude that for this girl, a warrior and a spouse were two different things.

And she definitely wasn’t asking him for his hand in marriage…

So, what did it mean to be “her warrior”?

“What does being someone’s… “warrior”, mean in the first place?”

It was Zell who had interjected herself into the conversation with this question.

She had inquired about the same information Bash wanted to know, saving himself from any further embarrassment.

It was the kind of thinking on one’s feet (or wings, in this case) that only the Faerie, who was adept at reading the atmosphere, could do.

“Ah, that’s a long story… where should I begin…”

The girl nodded to herself, willing herself to her feet, before grabbing her cloak that was crumpled up at her feet and throwing it around her shoulders.

Throwing a sideways glance at Bash’s eyes, she spoke.

“I guess I’ll start at the beginning.”

And she began her story.

In Dwarven city of Do Banga’s Pit, a grand celebration called the “Armament Festival” is held once every year.

This celebration took the form of a tournament, meant to honor the brave warriors and pay tribute to the armors and weapons that aided them in battle during the war.

It was formatted just like any other tournament would be – participants would fight each other one-on-one and advance in their bracket, the final survivor being crowned the winner.

It was important to note the “pay tribute to the armors and weapons” part of the festival.

During the tournament, the participating warriors would don armor and wield weapons made by a single blacksmith.

Of course, when a warrior died or was otherwise unable to continue, he would be considered defeated – but the peculiarity of this tournament was in its rules concerning equipment: if the weapon or armor worn by a warrior was broken or became otherwise unusable, the warrior would also be considered as having lost.

At the festival’s inception, the tournament’s participants were mainly Dwarves who both forged their own armor and fought wearing it.

However, as the war progressed, a new doctrine appeared among the Dwarves, first proposed by the famous Dwarven merchant Ah Dams Myth: division of labour. To maximise efficiency, the Dwarves decided to concentrate on the task they were best at, whether it be fighting or crafting.

Hence, the tournament’s format changed, allowing warrior-blacksmith pairs to participate together.

Of course, a Dwarf who was skilled at both smithing and fighting could also participate alone if he or she so desired.

One example of such an individual was Doradora Do Banga, the “War Fiend”.

He had singlehandedly won the tournament ten times in a row and had been inducted into the Hall of Fame.

But bar the exceptions, most would participate with a partner.

One warrior, one blacksmith.

The blacksmith would toil for hours on end to make the sturdiest armor and weapon they could, and the warrior would fight wearing said armor and wielding said weapon, trying to become the last one standing.

The Armament Festival was an event that celebrated both the blacksmith’s pride and the warrior’s honor and winning was the highest award a craftsman could ever hope for.

But more importantly, nobody would ever dare to ridicule a victor of the Armament Festival or call them a half-wit.

“So that’s why I was thinking of joining…but they…”

“They?”

“My sisters. They’ve been sabotaging me and telling every warrior in the country to not pair up with me. They want to make sure I can’t participate.”

“…Why would they do that?”

“They’re afraid. They’re scared that I’ll beat them.”

The girl declared as the spread her arms to emphasize her words.

Her disproportionately generous breast swung from left to right, and Bash’s heart swayed in unison.

It was too bad he had to give up on this woman.

“They’ve always made fun of me. Always mocked me, calling me a half-wit half-breed.”

“A half-wi – …? You? Why?”

“Oh, well as you can see, I’ve got Human blood in me. My mother was a Human. I’m half-Human.”

Hearing this, Bash carefully observed the girl once more.

To begin, her looks were way too suited to his sensibilities for a Dwarven woman.

Furthermore, though she had some muscle on her, her body was way to lithe and delicate to be a Dwarf’s.

Yet she had some Dwarven characteristics, like her fiery-red hair.

It would make sense for the Orc to be attracted to her if she was the offspring of a Human-Dwarf union.

“They keep telling everyone that a child between a Human and a Dwarf won’t ever be able to become a proper blacksmith.”

“Hm? Really? Why?”

His question was genuine.

Nearly all Orcs grow up never knowing they had a mother in the first place.

If the mother had high magical aptitude, a “colored” Orc would be born.

It was common knowledge among the older Orcs that choosing the mother of your children was important, as colored orcs were often innately stronger than ordinary green Orcs.

However, Bash had never heard of an Orc growing up to be a poor warrior due to his maternal lineage, thus his confusion towards blood-related prejudice.

“Yeah! Those bastards…they’re making fun of me and my mother!”

The girl exclaimed as she slammed her fist down onto the table, making it rattle on its rickety legs and sending a mug and two pliers airborne for a fraction of a second.

But from that outburst, Bash could now somewhat emphasize with her story.

In short, she most likely wanted revenge because she was made fun of.

Even within the relatively simple confines of Orc society, if you were insulted, it was only fair to strike back, whether verbally or with your fists.

“Then you should prove them wrong.”

“Hell yeah I should! That’s why I wanted to participate in the Armament Festival in the first place! It’d be a long shot for me to even think of winning the whole thing, but I don’t need to. I just want to beat one of the fighters wearing the gear they made…just one victory, and I could get even! Sure it would be humiliating for them to lose to me, but they went too far, trying to keep me out of the entire tournament!”

Tears were welling up in the corners of the girl’s eyes.

The shame and frustration she felt must have been overwhelming, thought the Hero.

“Then participate on your own.”

“Haa? With this arm?”

The girl raised her right arm and flexed her bicep.

While she was more than adequately muscular from a Human standpoint, for a Dwarf, she was as thin and brittle as a dead branch.

“I take after my mother, especially in my looks and body. I don’t have what it takes to make it as a warrior.”

“I see.”

“But when it comes to blacksmithing, I’ve got both talent and determination. I put in so much work and effort… which is why I though to look for a warrior outside of the country. My siblings have a lot of pull here, but their influence doesn’t extend to foreign nations. But they wouldn’t let that happen, so they chased me down to the border and caught me, telling me they wouldn’t allow me to go abroad… and then you came along.”

“Mhm.”

The girl raised her eyes, resolutely looking up at Bash.

“I need your help. Please. I want to win and show everyone that I’m not…not what they say I am! That my mother’s blood isn’t something I should be ashamed of!”

The Hero understood.

She wanted revenge.

She wanted to prove that her blacksmithing skills were up-to-par.

Which is why she was looking for a warrior that was not under her opponent’s grasp.

However, he had no intention of accepting her request.

He might be able to mate with this girl, but it wouldn’t truly be intercourse with consent, as the Orc King decreed.

Bash quickly came to a conclusion.

“I apologize, but I can’t help you. I came here looking for something.”

Bash wasn’t here for leisurely tourism.

Had he nothing better to do, he would have been more than happy to aid the girl.

Unfortunately for her, he had a separate and much more pressing objective – and time was running short.

Had she asked for his help before rejecting his advances, he would have been more than willing to lend a hand, if only to increase his chances at a successful proposal and her likeability towards him, but it was too late now.

“Ah, well… okay, I understand…”

The girl was unable to hide her disappointment, looking down at the floor.

But there was no way around it – Bash didn’t have any time to waste.

“Goodbye.”

The Hero briskly walked out of the house, leaving behind the sobbing girl.

Without looking back, he headed down the main street.

That girl was undoubtedly beautiful.

It was a shame he had to leave empty-handed, but gracefully giving up and leaving after being rejected was the right thing to do.

Had he persisted, he might have ended up having non-consensual intercourse.

“No” meant “no”, and a single “no” was enough.

Not to mention Bash’s deadline was approaching.

The Orc only had a couple of years left to avoid becoming a Magical Warrior.

He couldn’t let his defeats drag him down and waste his time.

“It’s too bad, huh…”

“Yes, it is.”

“But I’m sure there’s a reason Sir Breeze told you to come here! I’ll do my best and look for a perfect match for you, mister! Let’s find an inn and have our usual strategy meeting!”

“Yosh.”

Nodding to each other, Bash and Zell headed down the main street, in search of lodging.