In truth, Patrick and Turanta were quite surprised as they looked at each other. 'He's quite something. I'd heard about the warrior race and all that, but I didn't expect this much.
He's far stronger than Red, isn't he?' From Patrick's perspective, the Chieftain of the Orc tribe named Turanta was a considerable powerhouse. Strong enough to overwhelmingly defeat Red, the Master of the thieves' guild, in a one-on-one fight.
First of all, his physique was so fantastic that one might say it was insane. All the members of the Orc tribe he had seen on the way had physiques far superior to humans, but the Chieftain Turanta was a level above even them.
It was a body that seemed as if it had been deliberately crafted for learning martial arts. The aura that flowed naturally from that perfectly trained body was also considerable.
'Strong. He's impressive.'
Patrick purely acknowledged Turanta's ability. However, Patrick's honest admiration was nothing compared to the shock Turanta was feeling. 'How can that be?'
Turanta was not sensitive to energy like Patrick, nor did he have knowledge and insight into the martial ways. But his insight, forged through countless real battles and innate instinct, sensed danger the moment he saw Patrick. From that young human who showed no hostility whatsoever.
A herbivore knows instinctively, without being taught, the danger of a carnivore that considers it prey. Turanta felt as if he had become the overwhelmingly weaker one. It had been decades since he had felt this way.
It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in decades, except for when he was still a young warrior facing his father, the former Chieftain. Turanta looked Patrick straight in the eyes and spoke.
"I welcome the visit of a great warrior. Patrick."
"Ahem, thank you for the welcome. By the way, Chieftain. Have you heard the reason why I came here?"
Was it because he was acknowledged? A tiny bit of courtesy seeped into Patrick's otherwise crooked and rude attitude. Then, Turanta said.
"I heard you would help in the decisive battle against the King Ogre."
"That's right. I heard from Tutan earlier that the Orc tribe intends to fight the King Ogre, but that you have no chance of winning."
"We fight even if there is no chance of victory. A warrior does not run away."
"Well, setting aside that frustrating belief..."
Patrick wanted to say, 'Warrior my foot, you should run when it's dangerous. Does a warrior have two or three lives?' but he didn't. This was because he knew well how hard and difficult it is to persuade people armed with their own convictions. And in truth, Patrick's purpose for coming all this way was not persuasion.
"We have settled a little way from here, but we are also neighbors who live on the same land as the Red Rock Tribe."
"I know. If you go to the outskirts, there is a country of humans. Are you a king?"
"No, not a king..."
"Then are you a king's vassal?"
"Well, strictly speaking, it's not me but my father who is the king's vassal."
Patrick's social status gradually declined. 'Come to think of it, our young master is a social nobody.' 'He has no power.
He's just the young son of a noble family, right?' 'He hasn't even had his coming-of-age ceremony, so he's just a brat...' The soldiers chattering behind him hastily averted their gazes when Patrick turned around.
'I'll deal with you lot later.' After warning the soldiers with his eyes, Patrick spoke to Turanta.
"Now, what does it mean to be a neighbor? Isn't a neighbor someone who helps and stands together in times of difficulty?"
"Is that so?"
"Of course. And when I heard from Tutan that a great disaster had befallen the Red Rock Tribe, I resolved to come and help at once."
"You will help us?"
"Yes. That is correct."
"Hmm..."
Turanta considered.
That human named Patrick seemed incredibly strong. Though he couldn't gauge the extent, it was certain that he was at least stronger than himself. Although the humans behind him were nothing special, it seemed that a small hope would arise in this desperate war if just that one young monster joined the fight.
However...
"As I understand it, I've heard that humans do not act without compensation."
"Well, it's not necessarily like that..."
"We do not have the gold that you humans desire. We have nothing to offer as compensation."
"Hahaha. If you say it like that, it sounds like I'm a person who only cares about money."
'Isn't that true?' 'That Orc knows how to judge a person.' 'A very smart Orc.'
The soldiers admired Turanta's insight. It seems the wisdom of the aged, whether human or Orc, is not to be taken lightly. And Patrick cleared his throat and said.
"I don't particularly want money. Should I say, in exchange for that? I have one small favor to ask."
"A favor?"
"Yes. If we defeat the King Ogre with my help... ah, first of all, we will be taking all their hides, sinews, and pretty much anything that might be worth money."
"That doesn't matter. Is that the favor?"
"No, that's a given. My favor is something else."
"What is it?"
"Please become our neighbor."
"... Neighbor?"
"Yes. We are neighbors now, in fact, but we don't visit each other and are too far apart, so we can't even help when an emergency like this happens, can we? I hope we can become truly close neighbors, not distant ones like this."
At Patrick's words, Turanta frowned and said.
"Patrick, great warrior, do you wish to make us your slaves?"
Slaves.
Once, in the various nations of this continent, the ideology of human supremacy was widespread, and it became commonplace to enslave and work other races. Dwarves, beastmen, elves, sirens, many races were captured by humans and forced into slavery. However, during that tragic period, the one race that humans could not enslave was the Orcs.
The warrior race. A race of struggle that does not fear death and resists to the very last person. Even imposing restraints by carving a seal was useless.
For if obedience and death were placed on a scale, the Orcs were those who would choose death without a second's hesitation. That is why humans of the past also concluded that it was impossible to enslave the Orc tribe. However, the amount of Orc blood spilled upon this land in that process was immense.
Patrick, too, had received a basic education after being born in this world, so he knew some of that history. Therefore, he now stood up straight and looked clearly at Turanta as he spoke.
"What I want are not slaves, but neighbors, and friends who can protect each other."
"How can I believe that?"
"I will swear upon the honor of what is most precious to me. I will never treat you as slaves."
Turanta stared blankly at Patrick. In truth, a human's oath cannot be trusted. For they are a race that can speak lies with a straight face.
Turanta looked straight into Patrick's eyes and said.
"Humans cannot be trusted. We Orcs are not wise, but we know that much."
"However, an oath spoken by a great warrior such as yourself might be worth believing."
"I, Turanta, Chieftain of the Red Rock Tribe, will try to believe in the human Patrick Schneider. Will you please lend us your strength?"
"You won't regret it."
Turanta extended his hand. And Patrick grinned as he took that large, thick hand.
The warriors of the Red Rock Tribe, facing a great battle, all made thorough preparations.
"We're short on weapons. Bring more."
"Go to the quarry and make more. We still don't have enough."
"Roast meat. We must eat well to have strength."
"Meat, meat, meat is always right."
In truth, their preparations consisted of little more than arming themselves sturdily and eating their fill. The weapons of the Orc tribe were of stone. Lacking the skill to smelt iron, they used stone implements, kin to chipped stone tools.
However, they use not ordinary stone, but a special type that is very heavy and hard. A stone material called Kalius, it is a rock that becomes a headache in mines or construction sites because it makes the work difficult. It is far harder and heavier than most metals.
Humans process it for use in the foundations of castle walls, but the only race that uses it as a weapon is the Orcs.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
"It's done."
Seeing an Orc warrior satisfyingly crafting his own weapon by striking it clang clang with a stone hammer made of Kalius, Patrick let out a snicker.
"Their strength is truly monstrous. Those guys in the martial world who boasted about being strongmen or champions were nothing."
In learning martial arts, what's important is physique and enlightenment. In that sense, it was no exaggeration to say that the Orcs, while their enlightenment was unknown, were truly blessed when it came to their physique. And there were said to be 200 of these warriors with such blessed physiques.
This was a force that could not be ignored. 'And yet, they think they have no chance against the King Ogre, is that it?' 'Just what kind of monster is it?'
To Patrick's question, Sanson, who was beside him, spoke.
"Do you remember the Saber Tiger the young master caught before?"
"I do. Why?"
"An ordinary Ogre is on a similar level to that Saber Tiger."
"Then it's no big deal?"
"However, a King Ogre is said to be several times stronger than an ordinary Ogre."
"Still doesn't sound like a big deal."
"And it is said to subjugate other Ogres and lead them as its underlings."
"Well, it's probably nothing."
"It is said that their numbers can sometimes reach the hundreds."
"... That does sound like a bit of a big deal."
"According to legend, there is even a story of a nation that fell due to a King Ogre whose horde swelled to several thousand."
"... What are you trying to say?"
To Patrick's question, Sanson spoke as if he had been waiting.
"We must stop this madness and go back."
"Hey, how can we do that now?"
"Young master!"
"Ah, don't shout..."
Patrick said to the serious-faced Sanson while picking his ear.
"Don't you trust me?"
"I trust you, young master. But even so, the opponent this time is too much."
"Well, hearing you talk, it does sound like a pretty fearsome existence."
"That's right. So..."
"So doesn't that mean we need to catch it quickly now?"
"Pardon?"
"You said if we leave it alone, it will gradually grow its horde and become a monster that even a nation would have trouble handling, right?"
"That is correct."
"In that case, wouldn't the damage be less if we eliminate it as early as possible upon discovery?"
"Um..."
"Besides, if we fight now, 200 powerful Orc warriors will fight alongside us, won't they? What if we run away now, and the King Ogre wipes out the Orc tribe, expands its territory, grows its horde even bigger, and then invades our fief?"
"When that time comes, can we stop it with the forces of our fief?"
After hearing Patrick's explanation, Sanson stood blankly for a moment before speaking.
"You thought that far ahead?"
"Of course. Did you really think I came all this way just thinking, 'Alright, an expensive monster. Let's go catch it'?"
'This bastard really thought so.' Slightly hurt, Patrick sighed and said.
"Hey. Sanson."
"Please speak."
"In the first place, why are we catching monsters?"
"That is..."
Sanson wore an expression of someone who had realized something. Then, Patrick spoke to the blushing Sanson.
"We catch monsters to clear the area around the fief so that the people of the fief can live safely. Well, the side income we earn from the byproducts of the monsters we catch is pretty sweet, too."
"Yes. That is correct."
"But now a disaster that could potentially annihilate a nation has appeared less than a five-day walk from our fief. Should we just leave it be?"
"......"
"Are you an idiot? Is your head not working?"
Sanson's face grew even redder. Patrick was vicious to the point where one would question if he was human or a demon, obsessed with money and with a rotten personality, but what he was saying now was all true.
The soldiers of the fief exist to protect the safety of its people, and they must do their best in that regard. Yet Sanson, appointed as the captain of the guard, had overlooked that very fact. 'And I want to become a knight, acting like this.
Acting like this...' Sanson could only bow his head in shame.