With Blossom leading the way, we move silently through the forest, relying on her senses to locate the stragglers. Her affinity with the wild allows her to detect their presence long before they’re aware of ours.
We find our first target: a lone orc that has strayed too far from its group, its eyes scanning the forest for any sign of us. Blossom signals, and we move into position.
Ayame leaps into action first, her blade flashing as she strikes with the precision of a seasoned swordsman. The orc has no time to react before her sword finds its mark, a clean, swift strike that drops it to the forest floor.
Another orc stumbles upon us, drawn by the noise. I dart forward, my spear aimed low, and catch the creature off guard. It howls in pain, but the sound is quickly silenced as Blossom emerges from the shadows, her dagger slicing through the air to deliver the finishing blow.
And just like this, the hunter has become the hunted.
We continue in this pattern, using the cover of the forest and our stealth to pick off the orcs one by one. Each encounter is swift and efficient, our teamwork honed to perfection as we adapt to the chaos around us.
The forest becomes our ally, thanks to my beautiful dog-kin, as we whittle down the orc numbers, turning their initial advantage into a vulnerability. With each successful ambush, the horde’s strength wanes, and we regain more of the upper hand.
We utilize our rudimentary but extremely successful strategy as such for an entire two hours before Blossom runs out of scents to pursue and ambush. I’ve lost count of how many greenskins we killed, but it must be at least fifty, if not more.
Since we are still in a good condition to continue farming- I mean fighting, we head to the clearing where the weirdo duo commenced their battle of epic proportions, only to see the aftermath of a complete bloodbath.
The scene is a testament to the raw power and relentless savagery of the two mithril-ranked adventurers. The ground is littered with the bodies of fallen orcs, the earth stained a dark, visceral red with weapons and armor discarded in the mud, shattered by the ferocity their opponents.
The air is thick with the metallic scent of blood, mingling with the acrid tang of smoke from the still-smoldering fires that dot the battlefield.
As I survey this crazy sight, my eyes are drawn to the giant frame of Marjorie kneeling amidst the wreckage. Her fierce demeanor has softened, replaced by an overwhelming sorrow. Tears flow freely down her cheeks as she cradles a person lying on the ground, Broderick’s massive form motionless in her arms.
The sight of the weeping giantess is jarring, a stark contrast to the violence that had erupted around her. I step closer, my heart heavy with the realization that even the mightiest among us can be brought low by the frailty of life. The rotund woman’s tears fall onto Broderick’s still face, mingling with the blood that stains his skin.
Rest in peace.
…
Broderick suddenly sputters and coughs, spitting out a mouthful of blood that arcs through the air before landing unceremoniously on the woman’s face. His eyes snap open, revealing a twinkle of irritation mixed with amusement.
“For crying out loud, Marjorie,” he rasps, his voice rough but unmistakably alive. “You should know by now that I’m not going to die that easily.”
Marjorie’s face lights up with a mixture of relief and embarrassment. Her sobs transform into hiccuping laughter, her cheeks still wet with tears. “I can’t help it, Brody,” she sniffs, trying to compose herself but failing miserably. “I just love you so much!”
Broderick lets out a chuckle that quickly turns into a grimace as he clutches his ribs. “And I love you even more, you gorgeous woman.” With a playful groan, he hauls himself upright, wraps his muscled arms around Marjorie, and pulls her into a kiss.
The scene which should be a touching one, straight from a hollywood drama is utterly ridiculous in this case. Broderick, the epitome of a heroic figure with his chiseled physique and commanding presence, locks lips with Marjorie, whose enormous bulk threatens to overshadow him entirely.
The kiss isn’t tender or passionate; it’s more like a comedic clash of titans, with Marjorie’s cheeks puffing out and Broderick’s face completely disappearing against her mass.
Ayame and I share a glance, our expressions perfectly mirrored in our disgusted grimaces. Ayame raises an eyebrow and shakes her head slightly, as if questioning all of her life choices that led her to this moment. I can’t help but snicker at the absurdity of it all.
Blossom, however, is unfazed by the bizarre spectacle. Her eyes are wide with curiosity as she studies the kissing techniques, seemingly taking mental notes for future reference. Her intense focus on the couple is almost unnerving, as if she’s ready to spring into action and try it out herself the moment the opportunity arises.
“Uh, Blossom,” I whisper, trying to snap her out of her reverie. “Maybe focus on something else for now.”
She blinks at me, a sly grin spreading across her face. “Master, Bloss-”
“Khm!!!”
She gasps and snaps her hand to her mouth, before she hurriedly looks at the pair to see that they didn’t pay attention to her slip of the tongue as they are way too busy with their own activity and continues after a relaxed sigh leaves her lips; “Luna sees that the husband likes his wife very much, so she must be doing things well! Luna has to learn from the best!”
I hear a rather loud slurping sound, which forces me to shudder from head to toe. Is this what Ayame feels like when she overhears me devouring Blossom? I hope not.
Broderick finally breaks away from Marjorie’s embrace and looks me in the eye. “Apologies for the public display of affection, my friend! I know a lot of people don’t like it, thinking it indecent!” He then laughs boisterously.