Meanwhile, Primera was patiently waiting for Bash at the arena’s entrance.
Leaning on a nearby pillar, arms crossed, she listened in to the passerby’s conversations all the while shaking her head in frustration.
“What do you think of that Orc? Number 556?”
“Oh man, he’s a piece of work.”
“We’re pretty far from him in the brackets…but what if we meet him in the main event?”
“I want to drop out…”
“Hey, seriously though, think about it. If you win here, you’d go down in history!”
“…Then maybe…maybe I’ll target his armor. Bash is tough. So tough that he’d probably win against ten Ogres and get out of there without even a scratch on his face. His equipment though… it looks pretty basic. And did you see his sword? It gets busted after every fight. Maybe, just maybe if I focus on it, I’d have a chance…”
“Yosh! Let’s show him that the Armament Festival isn’t just about killing each other!”
Bash’s armor – the armor that she made, with her sweat and tears, was “basic”.
Hearing those words made had her fuming, but she kept her composure at best she could.
In the past days, Primera had learned that Bash wasn’t just any ordinary Orc.
Five days, ten matches, ten wins – every single one of them easily won.
Many of the Hero’s opponent knew of his reputation and were prepared to lay their lives on the line.
Others broke down in tears, wetting themselves before the match even started.
Many well-known festival participants showed up every time Bash had a match to scout out their potential next adversary.
The crowd would grow in size every time the Hero was slated to fight.
While the audience was still sparse, there were still more viewers than usual.
“I doubted my ears when I first heard he was here but looks like the rumours were true!”
“Yeah! Isn’t the way he nonchalantly walks out of the arena after his wins amazing? Relaxed, as if everything was within his expectations.”
“He’s awesome!”
The audience was singing Bash’s praise as they left the Colosseum.
But mixed in with their awe at the Orc’s performance…
“Oh, but his weapons are kind of…bad, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, I saw. His sword was crooked today again.”
“I don’t think that’ll fly during the main event.”
“He’ll go far, but I don’t think he’ll win…”
…was criticism of Primera’s armor and weapon.
[He should just use my sword better…]
The young Dwarf grit her teeth.
Apparently, Bash was more than just a well-known warrior.
He was a fierce combatant that had left indelible marks on the hearts and minds of both his allies and enemies through his matchless martial prowess.
But if that was the case, then he should wield her weapons with more care.
It should be obvious that a sword would break if used like a club.
A bladed weapon, whether a saber or an axe, should be used to slice into the target by aligning the edge.
If instead the wielder were to haphazardly swing it with all their might, it was natural that the blade would chip and bend.
Even Primera, with her total of zero experience on the battlefield, knew as much.
Line the sharp side up with the target and slash. What kind of “famous warrior” were you if you couldn’t do as much?
“I kept you waiting.”
Primera raised her eyes in response to these words.
There stood the dumb Orc who didn’t seem to realize anything was wrong with the way he fought.
In his hands was the sword she painstakingly forged… or what remained of it.
She had seen the weapon’s poor condition from where she sat in the stands but observing the extent of damage from up close made her heart sink.
“Hand it over!”
Primera snatched the sword out of Bash’s hands, bringing the blade’s edge up to her eyes.
She grit her teeth even harder.
The originally straight sword had become a scimitar.
Once again.
And the direction in which it bent…
It curved along the thick, wide side of the blade instead of the weaker, thinner side.
And yet, it didn’t break.
What kind of usage could possibly make a blade arc in such a manner?
The girl had no idea.
Nor did she know how to remedy it.
And so, she took out her frustrations on the only other person around.
“You suck! How did this happen again!? How many times do I have to tell you to cut with the edge! It’s a sword! Not a club!”
“That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“Hah? Then stop trying and do it!”
Faced with Primera’s tirade, Bash seemed genuinely apologetic.
She knew for a fact that he was making an effort, so she relented.
Originally, she believed from the bottom of her heart that she could team up with any warrior and show her skills in the Armament Festival. That even the weakest of fighters could obtain victory if they wielded her weapons.
Therefore, it was wrong to blame it on Bash.
She was just frustrated at the thought that she might not be as skilled as the thought she was, but could not bring herself to admit it.
“I’m going home! The main event is about to start, and I have to reforge this thing all over again.”
Primera turned and walked away, anger in her step, Bash slowly following behind her.
Then, the Faerie whispered something in the Hero’s ear.
The Dwarf couldn’t make out what was being said, but she was more than sure than sure that Zell was badmouthing her.
“Damn it!”
She blurted out, no longer being able to hold back her irritation.
Three days later, the opening ceremony for the Armament Festival’s main event finally begun.
However, the proceedings were wrapped in a strange atmosphere.
The audience seats were packed to the brim, and their trepidation was palpable.
The fighters, on the other hand, stood silent and still.
Normally, these warriors would be clamouring to the crowd, raising their weapons to the sky, all the while listening to the Dwarven organisers announcing the beginning of the main attraction.
Inwardly, they’d be pumping themselves up, getting ready to lay it all on the line for honor and glory.
They would picture themselves standing victorious in the center of the arena, being granted their deepest wishes and desires.
Anticipation in their hearts and glory in their minds.
This year, however, that didn’t happen.
More than half of them had a dozen Dwarven anvils in the pit of their stomach – nervous beyond belief.
They stood quietly, like a frightened mouse hiding from a cat.
Some were even quivering, their fear having gotten the better of them.
Others were so pale they looked like they might pass out at any moment.
Others were also shaking, but not from fear.
These warriors were breathing heavily, the corner of their lips turned up in a restrained smile.
They had not worry in their souls, but joy – overwhelming happiness and pride for being able to stand on the same stage as him.
Some of them were so overcome with emotion that they could barely hold back their tears.
All these warriors cared about only a single thing.
At the back of the file stood a single man.
A single Orc, generously exposing his muscular physique for all to see.
The Armament Festival was a celebration of martial prowess.
Many may participate, but only the strongest of warriors made it through to the main event.
And among them, there was nobody who didn’t know of his identity.
Even those who rose to prominence after the end of the war or were lucky enough to have never faced Orcs on the battlefield knew of his reputation.
The Mad Warrior, The Destroyer, Slayer of Men, Raging Bull, Strong Arm, The Nightmare of Siwanasi Forest, The Green Calamity, The Dragon Decapitator…
Those who didn’t know of his appearance would, at the very least, know of his reputation.
Hero of the Orcs, Bash.
With the air heavy with both fright and excitement, the opening ceremony proceeded without a hitch and eventually came to an end.
None of the participants dared to even utter a word as they slowly returned to the waiting rooms.
In contrast to the solemn fighters, the audience was positively buzzing with anticipation.
“They’re so quiet this year. Did the rules change or something?”
“Haven’t you heard? That Orc over there, at the back of the line. They say he singlehandedly killed more than 100 000 enemy soldiers during the war…”
“What?! Nonsense.”
“Hey, I’m not saying it’s a fact. That’s just what I heard. Anyways…”
Rumours went around fast, and soon, everyone in Do Banga’s Pit, whether they be affluent mining oligarchs or destitute beggars knew of Bash’s presence in the city.
But all were left wondering – why was he here?
“Shit… is this about that thing?”
“I guess it is. I knew the Orcs wouldn’t let is fly forever, but…”
“To think they’d send the Hero… The Great Merchants have gone too far.”
“This year’s tournament is going to be a disaster…”
But some among them had a hunch, although they were powerless to act upon it.
All they could do is knowingly nod at each other while nervously waiting for the first match to begin.
Of course, nobody knew the true reason behind Bash’s presence in Do Banga’s Pit.
Meanwhile, Primera was patiently waiting for Bash at the arena’s entrance.
Leaning on a nearby pillar, arms crossed, she listened in to the passerby’s conversations all the while shaking her head in frustration.
“What do you think of that Orc? Number 556?”
“Oh man, he’s a piece of work.”
“We’re pretty far from him in the brackets…but what if we meet him in the main event?”
“I want to drop out…”
“Hey, seriously though, think about it. If you win here, you’d go down in history!”
“…Then maybe…maybe I’ll target his armor. Bash is tough. So tough that he’d probably win against ten Ogres and get out of there without even a scratch on his face. His equipment though… it looks pretty basic. And did you see his sword? It gets busted after every fight. Maybe, just maybe if I focus on it, I’d have a chance…”
“Yosh! Let’s show him that the Armament Festival isn’t just about killing each other!”
Bash’s armor – the armor that she made, with her sweat and tears, was “basic”.
Hearing those words made had her fuming, but she kept her composure at best she could.
In the past days, Primera had learned that Bash wasn’t just any ordinary Orc.
Five days, ten matches, ten wins – every single one of them easily won.
Many of the Hero’s opponent knew of his reputation and were prepared to lay their lives on the line.
Others broke down in tears, wetting themselves before the match even started.
Many well-known festival participants showed up every time Bash had a match to scout out their potential next adversary.
The crowd would grow in size every time the Hero was slated to fight.
While the audience was still sparse, there were still more viewers than usual.
“I doubted my ears when I first heard he was here but looks like the rumours were true!”
“Yeah! Isn’t the way he nonchalantly walks out of the arena after his wins amazing? Relaxed, as if everything was within his expectations.”
“He’s awesome!”
The audience was singing Bash’s praise as they left the Colosseum.
But mixed in with their awe at the Orc’s performance…
“Oh, but his weapons are kind of…bad, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, I saw. His sword was crooked today again.”
“I don’t think that’ll fly during the main event.”
“He’ll go far, but I don’t think he’ll win…”
…was criticism of Primera’s armor and weapon.
[He should just use my sword better…]
The young Dwarf grit her teeth.
Apparently, Bash was more than just a well-known warrior.
He was a fierce combatant that had left indelible marks on the hearts and minds of both his allies and enemies through his matchless martial prowess.
But if that was the case, then he should wield her weapons with more care.
It should be obvious that a sword would break if used like a club.
A bladed weapon, whether a saber or an axe, should be used to slice into the target by aligning the edge.
If instead the wielder were to haphazardly swing it with all their might, it was natural that the blade would chip and bend.
Even Primera, with her total of zero experience on the battlefield, knew as much.
Line the sharp side up with the target and slash. What kind of “famous warrior” were you if you couldn’t do as much?
“I kept you waiting.”
Primera raised her eyes in response to these words.
There stood the dumb Orc who didn’t seem to realize anything was wrong with the way he fought.
In his hands was the sword she painstakingly forged… or what remained of it.
She had seen the weapon’s poor condition from where she sat in the stands but observing the extent of damage from up close made her heart sink.
“Hand it over!”
Primera snatched the sword out of Bash’s hands, bringing the blade’s edge up to her eyes.
She grit her teeth even harder.
The originally straight sword had become a scimitar.
Once again.
And the direction in which it bent…
It curved along the thick, wide side of the blade instead of the weaker, thinner side.
And yet, it didn’t break.
What kind of usage could possibly make a blade arc in such a manner?
The girl had no idea.
Nor did she know how to remedy it.
And so, she took out her frustrations on the only other person around.
“You suck! How did this happen again!? How many times do I have to tell you to cut with the edge! It’s a sword! Not a club!”
“That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“Hah? Then stop trying and do it!”
Faced with Primera’s tirade, Bash seemed genuinely apologetic.
She knew for a fact that he was making an effort, so she relented.
Originally, she believed from the bottom of her heart that she could team up with any warrior and show her skills in the Armament Festival. That even the weakest of fighters could obtain victory if they wielded her weapons.
Therefore, it was wrong to blame it on Bash.
She was just frustrated at the thought that she might not be as skilled as the thought she was, but could not bring herself to admit it.
“I’m going home! The main event is about to start, and I have to reforge this thing all over again.”
Primera turned and walked away, anger in her step, Bash slowly following behind her.
Then, the Faerie whispered something in the Hero’s ear.
The Dwarf couldn’t make out what was being said, but she was more than sure than sure that Zell was badmouthing her.
“Damn it!”
She blurted out, no longer being able to hold back her irritation.
Three days later, the opening ceremony for the Armament Festival’s main event finally begun.
However, the proceedings were wrapped in a strange atmosphere.
The audience seats were packed to the brim, and their trepidation was palpable.
The fighters, on the other hand, stood silent and still.
Normally, these warriors would be clamouring to the crowd, raising their weapons to the sky, all the while listening to the Dwarven organisers announcing the beginning of the main attraction.
Inwardly, they’d be pumping themselves up, getting ready to lay it all on the line for honor and glory.
They would picture themselves standing victorious in the center of the arena, being granted their deepest wishes and desires.
Anticipation in their hearts and glory in their minds.
This year, however, that didn’t happen.
More than half of them had a dozen Dwarven anvils in the pit of their stomach – nervous beyond belief.
They stood quietly, like a frightened mouse hiding from a cat.
Some were even quivering, their fear having gotten the better of them.
Others were so pale they looked like they might pass out at any moment.
Others were also shaking, but not from fear.
These warriors were breathing heavily, the corner of their lips turned up in a restrained smile.
They had not worry in their souls, but joy – overwhelming happiness and pride for being able to stand on the same stage as him.
Some of them were so overcome with emotion that they could barely hold back their tears.
All these warriors cared about only a single thing.
At the back of the file stood a single man.
A single Orc, generously exposing his muscular physique for all to see.
The Armament Festival was a celebration of martial prowess.
Many may participate, but only the strongest of warriors made it through to the main event.
And among them, there was nobody who didn’t know of his identity.
Even those who rose to prominence after the end of the war or were lucky enough to have never faced Orcs on the battlefield knew of his reputation.
The Mad Warrior, The Destroyer, Slayer of Men, Raging Bull, Strong Arm, The Nightmare of Siwanasi Forest, The Green Calamity, The Dragon Decapitator…
Those who didn’t know of his appearance would, at the very least, know of his reputation.
Hero of the Orcs, Bash.
With the air heavy with both fright and excitement, the opening ceremony proceeded without a hitch and eventually came to an end.
None of the participants dared to even utter a word as they slowly returned to the waiting rooms.
In contrast to the solemn fighters, the audience was positively buzzing with anticipation.
“They’re so quiet this year. Did the rules change or something?”
“Haven’t you heard? That Orc over there, at the back of the line. They say he singlehandedly killed more than 100 000 enemy soldiers during the war…”
“What?! Nonsense.”
“Hey, I’m not saying it’s a fact. That’s just what I heard. Anyways…”
Rumours went around fast, and soon, everyone in Do Banga’s Pit, whether they be affluent mining oligarchs or destitute beggars knew of Bash’s presence in the city.
But all were left wondering – why was he here?
“Shit… is this about that thing?”
“I guess it is. I knew the Orcs wouldn’t let is fly forever, but…”
“To think they’d send the Hero… The Great Merchants have gone too far.”
“This year’s tournament is going to be a disaster…”
But some among them had a hunch, although they were powerless to act upon it.
All they could do is knowingly nod at each other while nervously waiting for the first match to begin.
Of course, nobody knew the true reason behind Bash’s presence in Do Banga’s Pit.
