The Ace Adventurer

Impetia 5th, 542 F.A

One minute.

Since departing his homeland, none of his battles had ever lasted longer than a single minute. Despite his size, he was a master at dismantling his opponents by overwhelming them with speed. Perhaps that was the source of the townsfolk’s shock during the invasion.

It was in Egelhorn, a small town near the north-eastern edge of the country, where the Orc Champion had made his latest declaration. The monster had already ravaged two communities prior to making his final stop on the way to the Swordsman Capital, Dawn’s Rock. Vendors whose items of specialty ranged from dried meat to small trinkets at their wooden stalls had been too petrified to move.

Travelers and residents alike backed up far away from the monster to allow him enough room to pass. Children ran into their homes in a state of panic. The once bustling excitement of the market area had all but been stifled by the gravity of the orc’s presence.

Were it only that he was twice the size of an average man that so terrified the townsfolk, then perhaps the mood might have been different. Were it only the thick muscles whose unmistakable indentations in his red skin glistened in the sunlight like freshly forged steel. Were it just his worn leather armor or his unkempt, brunette mohawk laced with dirt. Were it even the jet-black iron club three times the size of your average weapon, its protruding spikes inadvertently digging a makeshift ditch into the barren, cracked path as he dragged it carelessly through the town center.

No, it was his scarred face that had sent shivers down their spines. A face, whether it belongs to a man or a monster, can tell you a lot about someone at a particular moment in time. And to the various onlookers who were drawn in by the sight of a monster strolling through a human town, there was no unnecessary tension in the expression of that orc no matter how you spun it. Like a fish in water. They had subconsciously recognized that this creature did not feel the least bit threatened or out of place in passing through their home, and his daunting figure’s casual stride only accentuated his air of nonchalance.

The same questions drifted through everyone’s mind. Where were the guards, exactly? Why hadn’t they stopped this creature from entering our community? And just what, due to their failure, was this thing about to do to us?

Trailing behind the creature was a boy whose unimposing stature had come up to about the orc’s knee. His hunched posture as he twiddled his thumbs and followed his leader was of concern to the onlookers, who had assumed him to be the creature’s captive. However, none of them dared to engage in the suicidal act of stepping forward for his sake, nor did they even bother to look upon the two of them directly. After a few minutes of traversing through the sea of nervous onlookers, the orc and his companion eventually arrived at the town center where the mayor’s empty podium stood.

The creature let out an indecipherable mixture of roars, groans, and snarls the second he climbed to the top of the stage and faced the town. A large crowd formed a great distance away to look on out of a desperate desire for it to leave peacefully. Once his tantrum was finished, the boy walked forward with his eyes at his feet and began to speak.

“Y-you are in the presence of… of Akendorf, Orc Champion of the Mezereth tribe…” The title of Orc Champion didn’t mean much to the people of the town, but the Mezereth tribe were an infamous group of orcs who regularly attacked humans within the east of The Baening. They were arguably the greatest threat to humanity within this side of the country, and their reign of terror was only being held at bay due to their own strange customs. Namely, their pride that prevented them from attacking with too large of a force.

Should they ever decide to abandon their culture, then every town on this side of the country might be in grave danger. And for the champion of said tribe to simply stroll into this town was a terrible sign for the townsfolk. After all, the average person might make the argument that this orc was the most powerful monster currently residing within The Baening.

“Akendorf requests that you send forward y-your own champions to meet him in s-single combat. If no one can manage to d-defeat him, he will up-end your town, a-and…”

The antsy orc, unwilling to sit through much more of his translator’s stammering, hopped down from the stage. The thunderous thud of his entire weight crashing onto the ground had not only caused a considerable amount of dirt to leap up in what might have been mistaken for panic, as it had also inspired the tepid crowd to withdraw even further from the monster before them.

Unphased by their sudden withdrawal, Akendorf took the time to drag his club through the empty space before him. Everyone looked on in fear as he drew a clumsy rectangle the size of a large building into the dirt by simply taking a stroll with his club in hand. With a satisfied nod once it was completed, he turned back to the child he had left at the podium.

“T-then, please send your first champion to the ring…”

There were murmurs, along with the occasional sprinkled-in scream of terror from the far-off crowd. However, no matter who it was you eavesdropped on, the consensus was clear: we’re all going to die. Who would challenge a machine like that orc to single combat? To begin with, the town wasn’t particularly known for its ability to produce powerful fighters. If the guards, who could be presumed dead or at the very least injured in the face of this champion, couldn’t defeat him together, then what hope could there be for the average warrior that lived in this town?

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The orc’s eyes shifted about. His grunting grew heavier. He had the look of a madman losing himself to his own impatience, which only caused the crowd to grow more frantic. Should we run? Abandon our homes and our shops and head over to Dawn’s Rock for protection? It was a prospect that made no one happy, but there may not have been much of a choice left. Dawn’s Rock was the city of the sword, so at least if they made the journey then they could possibly be safe.

“Fear not, everyone. I’ll accept the Orc’s challenge.”

But thankfully for them, it hadn’t come to that. A lanky male in a white swordsman Gi fastened at the waist by a black belt of cloth stepped forward from the crowd. His barefooted stride displayed an air of grace that could not be mistaken, even in the face of such a daunting foe. It was clear that he was a swordsman who took great pride in his craft.

“Oh, a black belt. That one’s a master,” one girl spoke quietly from inside a nearby building.

At a glance she appeared to be at least half a decade into adulthood. She was perched up on a long table that was resting up against the wall below a window, peering out from the shadows of the building while adjusting the silver tiara above the glossy bangs of red hair that had extended down to her equally crimson eyelashes. There were streaks of black in the gleaming follicles on her head, their pointed tips caressing her shoulders from the back of her head. The girl had been wearing a black and red dress whose frilly skirt loosely brushed against her upper thighs, and whose sleeveless shoulders were dressed in thin strips of silver cloth that acted as a makeshift cape and hung all the way down to her near knee-length black, leather boots.

“C’mon Dee, how can you be so sure that he’s a master? Did you train in a dojo somewhere when I wasn’t looking?”

The voice came from another girl who was almost a carbon copy of the first. And, in fact, were it not for the difference in their own personal sense of style, that might have been a fair assumption to make. Her similarly crimson hair, which was long enough to be tied into a neat ponytail above the back of her head, streamed down the side of her neck and to her chest. She had been garbed in black denim shorts and a red bra top that clung tightly to her skin. The assortment of black leather belts wrapped around her limbs and across her torso were decorated with holsters for tiny daggers, two near her waist and two resting on her thighs, whose blades didn’t appear large enough to kill a massive monster such as the orc before them. The leather on her legs extended down to the black sandals she’d been comfortably sitting on the table without worrying over the proper etiquette.

“Hmm, you’re right,” the first girl, Dee, said. “I could be wrong about it. How about this then? I’ll put 5 gold coins on him defeating the orc.” She produced the coins from her satchel and gently placed them on the table before them as she stared out of the window, studying the swordsman’s slow approach.

“Wait wait, are you trying to rip me off? Me? The WORLD’S GREATEST GAMBLER? No way, no way! I’ll give you two to one odds on him losing.”

Dee raised an eyebrow. “You want me to bet on the orc winning against a master? You must think me a fool, Vi.”

“Come on, don’t be a cheapskate,” the second girl, Vi, said while grinning.

“If you’re going to provoke me into making such an unfavorable bet, you’d have to give me at least three to one odds for me to consider it.”

“Heh, I can do that.” Vi poured 15 gold coins down onto the table. “Do we have a deal then?”

“Very well.”

Their hands joined to the sound of a firm clasp that preceded a shake of mutual understanding. Vi, having done the deed and wanting nothing more than to collect as soon as possible, then leaned over to the window where the swordsman had finally made his approach. His ponytail danced to the tune of the wind as if celebrating her sealing of the bet.

The man, who appeared to be an adult in his late twenties to early thirties, had his narrow gaze laser focused on the creature twice his size and potentially four times his strength. Sweat dripped down the side of his face as he ended his approach approximately twenty steps away from the orc, just on the inside edge of the drawn ring, and had placed his hand on his still sheathed blade’s grip.

“That sword is Paramunean, sis,” Vi said with a grin. “If he’s a master from the west, then I really might win after all! Heh, tough luck. Shouldn’t have caved so easily, huh?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Outside of it being farfetched that a western swordsman would loiter around in a dead-end town in this dead-end country, that man isn’t even a master.”

“I’m sorry?”

“He’s not a master.”

“What?”

“He’s not a…”

“STOP!! I get it, I get it! No, but… what do you mean he isn’t… I mean… I heard you say…”

“Oh? Did I say that? Hmm, that’s strange though? I don’t remember saying anything remotely like that. Are you certain that you’re not imagining things?”

Vi’s mouth hung agape. “You did. You absolutely did. You said it twice.”

Dee looked up at the ceiling and stroked her chin in thought.

“Did I now? But then sis, that does beg the question, doesn’t it? You wore the mantle of ‘world’s greatest gambler’ so proudly, and yet you acted in the manner of a proselyte. Why bet on information received from the person sitting on the opposite end of the table? Doesn’t that seem counterproductive?” She sighed. “Fine. I’ll explain it to you now that the bets are locked in. Do you see that black belt he’s wearing? The truth is, all it means is that he’s a step away from being a master. True masters wear black Gis, not white ones. Which, in other words, means that the man facing down the Orc is still an apprentice.”

Vi turned to the girl sitting next to her. “If this is true, then there’s a special place in hell for you, sis.”

Dee shifted her face away to conceal her crooked smile. “Guess I’ll see you there, sis. In the first place, there’s no guarantee that a master could even beat an Orc Champion, so I have no idea why you would give me such favorable odds. Are you actually terrible at gambling, perhaps?”

“You….” Vi made a fist and redirected her gaze to the window.

The swordsman had already entered the rectangular ring and had lowered his stance. His gaze was fixed onto the grinning Orc, who, when he’d cracked his shoulders, wound up forcing half the crowd to recoil at the crunch. Vi recognized from inside of the building that the difference between the spectators’ range of vision and their perceived field of safety had placed them into a contradictory position. They all wished to watch the fight that would determine the fate of their lives in this town, but not at a distance where they’d be easy pickings should the orc decide to attack them. It was a situation where only success on the swordsman’s part could rectify this.

However, unbeknownst to them, despite the air of confidence in both combatants, the fight had promised to be completely one-sided.

“Listen to me, Akendorf,” the swordsman said proudly. “In just a single minute, you’ll come to regret showing your ugly face here.”