Gratitude because I came to her rescue when she didn’t want to let this guy kiss her hand but decided to oblige him because she was guided by etiquette.
Surprised and annoyed because I called her my woman.
Frightened because I more or less told a mithril ranked adventurer to fuck off.
And I can even see a tinge swelling pride in her eyes; not many men would be brave enough to stand up and oppose a person this much stronger than themselves.
Yeah, this action of mine is closer to stupidity than bravery, I know.
But I just couldn’t help myself. My father always told me that there are times when a man has to stand up for his beliefs, no matter the situation.
Well, it was absolutely necessary this time, as far as I’m concerned.
Blossom also notices the unexpected tension and moves to grab her dagger.
Now, there’s something I haven’t had the chance to explain about myself. I’m a possessive-obsessive guy. I don’t like it when people eye things I want or consider mine. Yes, I’m a jealous person and an especially jealous lover. I have an urge to commit mass murder just at the idea of getting cucked.
I hear a loud bang and I snap my head just in time to see Marjorie dash forth with enough force to create a miniature explosion in her wake and smack the still bowing Broderick on the back of his head with so much power that he creates a small crater in the ground with his face.
“Baby! Stop doing that!” She admonishes him rather harshly before turning towards me. “I’m so sorry! He didn’t mean anything bad by that, I promise you. His mother has taught him etiquette as a boy, and this stubborn man refuses to not follow her teachings… Teachings which took place over fifty years ago.
No matter how much I tell him that times have changed, he refuses to listen…” She looks at me gingerly, having clearly been through much hardships thanks to her mother-in-law.
“As long as he keeps his hands off my women, I honestly don’t care. I know it was a polite gesture, but we are not in a situation where such a greeting is appropriate at all. Furthermore, even if it were the ‘right setting’, I would still not be happy about it.”
“Quinlan…!” Ayame tries to speak up but no further words come out of her delicate lips because I quickly raise a hand to silence her.
Yeah, I know I’m being too much right now, but it is what it is. I don’t expect a woman- or even most men to understand my feelings regarding this matter, so she will just have to bear with me on this one.
“Bahaha! Bro, I’m so sorry. I just cherish my mother’s memory too much to throw her teachings away.” Broderick speaks up with a muffled voice as he is still planted firmly face-first into the ground. He finally raises his body up and stands. “Hana has a certain regal aura around her and I thought that anything less would just be straight up rude on my part.
It appears I achieved the exact opposite result. Forgive this fool this once, would you?”
“*Sigh* It should be me who apologizes for my strong reaction, but please bear with me on this one.”
“Great! And you don’t have to worry about conflicts between the two of us regarding your girls, they are way too thin for my liking! I prefer it when they have a bit of meat on their bones I can grab onto! Bahahaha!” He erupts into a boisterous laughter once again while clutching at his stomach.
I chuckle wryly at his antics. What ‘bit of meat’ you weird fucker? If the rest of your wives are similar in size, your harem alone could stop African children from starving for a week straight should you decide to make a noble sacrifice.
I honestly think I like this guy. I’m not exactly ‘normal’ either at the end of the day, so we might just get along nicely.
“Well then. I’m still worried about my carriage and the wares on it, so I would prefer to get back to it as soon as possible, but first we should check their camp.” I suggest, hoping to get a chunk of the wealth these monsters have stockpiled.
Marjorie nods, “you are right. Let’s get on with the job. It is going to be a rather gruesome sight I suspect, so anyone with a weak heart may want to stay here.”
We all move together as we carefully pick our way through the battlefield, the ground slick with orc blood and scattered with their grotesque remains. The air is heavy with the stench of death, a sickly, sweet odor that clings to everything. Their stench is absolutely horrid, but none of us even gags.
I glance towards Blossom with great worry, after all, with her amazing sense of smell she must be suffering, but I’m surprised to see that she isn’t even flinching or grimacing.
Does she have a built-in filter or something? I will make sure to ask later, but I don’t want to appear as an incompetent party leader in front of my new acquaintance and his wife by asking such basic questions from my companion.
Marjorie leads us toward the orc camp, nestled at the edge of the clearing. As we approach, a sense of foreboding hangs in the air, the silence oppressive and unnatural. The camp itself is a sprawling mess of crude tents and makeshift structures, hastily erected and poorly maintained.
We enter the first large tent, and the scene inside is a testament to the orcs’ barbarity. Human bodies are strewn about like discarded toys, their faces frozen in expressions of terror and pain. The orcs had left nothing behind- no survivors, no mercy. Just an empty husk of what once were lives.
“Blo- Luna senses no signs of life.” Blossom comments, confirming my thoughts, her voice devoid of emotion.
Ayame moves further into the camp, her eyes scanning the area with a cold, calculating gaze. There’s nothing to find but the grisly remnants of the orcs’ innately destructive nature.
“They’ve been here a while,” Marjorie observes, noting the number of bodies and the signs of long-term habitation. “Long enough to grow comfortable.”
I nod, stepping over a broken piece of furniture to explore the other side of the tent. “Let’s check their treasury,” I suggest. “There might be something of value they’ve taken from their victims.”
We move through the camp, checking every corner for hidden caches. But the tents reveal nothing but weapons, armor, and the bones of those who had tried to fight back.
Finally, I voice the question that’s been bothering me. “Where’s their stash? There’s got to be something.”
Ayame shakes her head, she grins at me with a mocking expression. “Orcs don’t care about treasure. Unlike goblins, they’re not interested in ‘shinies.'” Fuck. She knew I was here for the loot, not the survivors.
“Then what do they want? They don’t even have a breeding chamber with captive women.” I whimper, frustration creeping into my voice.
“They mate with orc women, their species is not defunct like the goblins’. As for what they want, food, weapons, armor,” she explains. “Anything that helps them kill and fight. They’re not hoarders of gold or gems. They only take what they need to satisfy their bloodlust.”
“Of course,” I sigh, realizing the futility of our search. The orcs’ desires are as crude as their methods- nothing but a relentless hunger for destruction. They kidnapped all these people and didn’t bother to loot their belongings. What a nightmare of a horrible situation.
I, for one, officially hate orcs more than goblins from this moment onwards.