WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Natty
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
◈ The Regressor and the Blind Saintess ◈
Chapter 147: Land of the Fighters - 3
──────
A week passed without anything unusual happening.
Surprisingly, despite the party being far from easygoing, a week had passed without anything unusual happening.
It was not how anyone had expected things to go.
Not Norn, who had expected them to start brawling at any moment. Not Vera, who had expected the twins to become a headache. Not Rene, who had expected Miller to sit in the carriage and chatter all day.
None of them had expected this outcome.
“...We’re here.”
It was Miller who spoke in a voice that sounded as though he might die at any moment as the Gainex Plains came into view.
Miller's appearance matched the voice. Deep dark circles hung beneath Miller's eyes, Miller's cheeks had grown hollow, and his shoulders sagged.
Needless to say, the twins were responsible.
No matter what Miller said, the twins answered with utter nonsense. Miller had grown sick of explaining things.
Vera found it astonishing.
Did human compatibility truly exist? Only a few days ago, Miller had been all smiles, yet now the twins’ presence had worn him down to this state.
Vera recalled the conversations the three had shared over the past few days.
First, Marek’s “miraculous syllogism,” which had saddened Miller.
“Professor’s hair is dick hair. Dick hair grows on a dick. So Professor’s head is a dick.”
Vera could still vividly picture Miller clutching the back of the professor's neck as though Miller's blood pressure had shot up the moment Miller heard it.
Then came Krek’s barrage of “Why?”
“Orcs form societies organized around tribes.”
“Krek is curious. Why is that?”
“Pardon? Ah, well... there are many reasons. The plains themselves are suited to herding and hunting, and orcs are such a combative race that too many of them cannot stay together at once. So they divide into tribal groups, and the orc king manages them directly by imposing unifying rules on those tribes...”
“Why is the land like that? Why are orcs so combative? Why does the orc king manage them personally?”
“Hmm, to explain that, I need to talk about something else first...”
“Why do you need to talk about something else?”
“...”
“Krek calming down. Professor’s face is red. Professor seems excited.”
Vera would never forget Miller’s expression at that moment.
And finally, the grand theory that Miller had a bizarre sexual fetish.
“Krek curious about Miller’s necklace. Why wear sparrow skull?”
“Pardon? Ah, it is not a sparrow. It is a rare bird. This is a spellcraft talisman...”
“Do sparrows arouse you?”
“Professor’s face is red. People’s faces turn red when aroused. Professor aroused by sparrow bones.”
“You fucking bastard?”
Vera could say with certainty that it was the first time he had ever seen Miller swear.
Thus, the argument between Miller, who wanted to explain everything, and the twins, who could not understand any explanation, ended with Miller developing a deep case of pent-up rage.
For some reason, Vera felt utterly refreshed.
For the first time, he thought he liked the twins.
After all, they had saved him from Miller’s hell of chatter.
“...Let’s go. We need to find the orc king first.”
After looking around, Miller returned looking like a defeated soldier whose country had fallen.
Vera briefly took in Miller's condition, then set it aside and turned to Rene.
“Saintess, we will soon arrive at the king’s tribe. Please bear with it a little longer.”
“I’m fine. Sir Norn and Hella are the ones who had it hard.”
“Even so, you are the most delicate among us. You must be exhausted.”
“Are you worried about me?”
A faint laugh slipped from Rene’s lips.
She had had the easiest journey of anyone, yet Vera was still only worried about her. The thought was both pleasing and amusing.
“Of course. I am always concerned for you, Saintess.”
“Really? Then would you massage my shoulders?”
“...Pardon?”
“I’ve been sitting for so long that they feel a little stiff. Please?”
Rene turned her back to Vera.
Vera made an odd face in surprise, but then noticed Rene’s trembling shoulders and narrowed his eyes.
Only then did he realize it.
Rene was trying to tease him. She wanted him to say something like, “I apologize,” again.
Naturally, she would tease him afterward.
Not wanting to play along with Rene’s intentions, Vera placed his hands on both her shoulders.
Jolt.
Rene’s body jerked sharply.
“As you command.”
“Y, yes, yes, yes?”
“It may hurt a little.”
Squeeze!
When Vera gripped Rene’s shoulders, the nape of her neck turned bright red. Her slightly bent back began to straighten.
“G, ngh, yes, yes!”
A crooked smile appeared on Vera’s lips.
It was proof that he was no longer the same person who only took such treatment.
Of course.
‘...They’re small.’
He was still just as busy forcing away improper thoughts brought on by the feel of Rene’s small, soft shoulders.
Miller, seated across from them, let out a hollow laugh at the ridiculous sight.
‘For fuck’s sake.’
A week had passed since the journey began.
For some reason, Miller was beginning to understand the logic of pessimists who insisted that everything in the world was meaningless.
* * *
There was always a phrase attached to any explanation of the orc race.
The race of struggle.
It was an expression born from the combativeness engraved into their instincts.
Once their blood began to boil, they did not know how to control themselves. They never backed down from a duel. Furthermore, when choosing an opponent, they did not spare even parents or children.
For that reason, orcs could not form large groups.
They were a race certain to destroy itself if too many gathered together, because the instincts engraved in their blood were too strong for them to unite as one.
They scattered apart and relieved their battle aura by waging tribal wars.
Another notable trait born of these tendencies was their level of civilization. Orc society was more primitive and backward than that of any other race on the continent.
Naturally, there were no unusual individuals patient enough to sit still and become scholars.
This applied even to the king’s tribe, which managed all the other tribes. Before they reached it, Miller explained one last time that, were it not for their prolific fertility, orcs would have destroyed themselves and vanished from the continent long ago.
...It was an explanation delivered in a dying voice.
“So... the method for taking part in their ritual is connected to this as well. You simply need to prove yourself according to their ways.”
Prove one’s battle aura according to the orcs’ ways.
Miller was explaining that this was how they could negotiate with the king and enter the Cradle of the Dead.
Listening from across the carriage with his arms folded, Vera recalled events from the previous iteration with a reflective expression.
‘...Balak.’
He had met the orc king, that berserker, in the previous iteration.
At this age in the previous iteration, Vera had come to the Gainex Plains by chance and proven his battle aura to Balak.
Needless to say, the [Crushing Fist] Vera had used against Gilly in the Great Forest earlier had been Balak’s signature ultimate technique.
Recalling Balak, the orc king he had fought in the previous iteration, Vera assessed their chances in his mind.
‘If I fight Balak now...’
What form would the battle take this time?
As Vera ran simulations in his mind, a small smile suddenly appeared on his lips.
‘...There’s no need to think about it.’
A hundred battles, a hundred victories.
He would win without question.
Vera looked out over the vast plains through the carriage window.
‘This will be easy.’
It seemed there would be no great hardship before they reached the Cradle of the Dead.
* * *
“It is a village like an encampment surrounded by a wooden palisade. The structures that appear to be homes are all light-colored tents, and animal skulls hang from tall wooden poles scattered throughout. Those are likely symbols of the tribe. I can sense a little over twenty presences. Even including those who have gone hunting, there do not seem to be many of them.”
They had stopped the carriage some distance from Balak’s village and were walking toward it when Vera told Rene this.
Rene nodded and moved her staff.
“Can you sense the king?”
“I can sense a powerful presence inside, but it is too insignificant to be the king’s. The king is likely away.”
The Holy Sword had already been drawn in Vera’s hand as he answered.
There was only one reason. He was certain the orcs would charge at them the moment they spotted them.
Not only Vera, who had already fought orcs, but Miller, Norn, and even Hella were certain of it.
There had been too many examples.
Once the distance between them grew close enough, they would surely come rushing out to pick a fight.
Amid that certainty, the twins spoke.
“There are skulls hanging from the poles. They look like the professor.”
“Orcs get excited by bones. Professor also gets excited by bones. Professor is an orc.”
“Would you two shut your mouths? You are seriously starting to annoy me.”
“Professor is excited. Sparrow bones are dangerous.”
The argument continued, with only one side suffering.
Norn, who had silently followed behind the party, felt troubled by it and stepped in to mediate.
“Now, please do not fight. Let us all calm down...”
Norn felt as though tears might fall. The thought that he must preserve his dignity as a mature middle-aged man and an adult was the only thing sustaining him.
As chaos and tension mixed together, Vera raised a hand.
“They noticed us.”
The group stopped at once.
Vera looked at around thirteen figures visible beyond the slowly opening palisade in the distance, then moved Rene behind him.
“I will finish this quickly.”
“Do not hurt them too badly, all right? We came here to ask them for something.”
“If I hold back, they will only grow angrier. They do not understand moderation.”
An awkward smile appeared on Rene’s face.
“Um... all right. Oh, Aisha, come over here too.”
“Huh? I was going to fight too.”
“You have to protect me.”
“Oh, right.”
Aisha, dagger already drawn, had been preparing to charge out when she hurried to Rene’s side.
Rene gently stroked Aisha’s head and prayed only that the orcs would not be badly hurt.
There was no need to worry about the party.
‘...We are too strong.’
The difference in strength was simply too overwhelming.
The moment the thought crossed her mind, the ground trembled.
Rumble, rumble, rumble.
The sound of dozens of footsteps struck Rene’s ears.
What followed were pained screams from those she assumed were orcs, and Aisha’s impressed, “Oh.”
* * *
Vera counted the orcs sprawled across the ground as he continued thinking.
‘Fourteen, and the ones left inside must be young orcs.’
He did not consider the possibility that they were old orcs.
Orcs were a race with nearly no chance of surviving long enough to grow old, and not one that would withdraw from battle just because they had aged.
‘Balak...’
Vera spread his senses wider and examined the surroundings.
‘...Is Balak coming?’
From a little way to the east, he sensed a familiar presence. It was an aura that could be described as the heat of a blazing furnace.
In their terms, battle aura.
Feeling it prick at his senses, Vera turned toward the direction Balak was approaching from.
“Balak is coming.”
He sheathed the Holy Sword.
“Wait here. I will deal with Balak.”
“Huh? You are going alone?”
“There is something I need to confirm.”
Giving Miller that vague answer, Vera stepped forward and unleashed his divine power.
‘There should be more than just the Crushing Fist...’
As he clenched and unclenched his fists, his thoughts turned to Balak’s signature ultimate techniques that he had not been able to take advantage of in the previous iteration.
Feeling Balak’s presence rapidly draw nearer, Vera continued his thoughts.
‘I should take everything I can.’
No one on the continent could match Balak’s skill in fist and kicking arts. Since he was here, Vera thought it would be best to steal every technique he could.
Join our discord at https://dsc.gg/wetried
