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“Kyaaa!”
Suddenly, Bash heard a shrill, feminine scream.
Looking in the direction of the noise, he saw a Dwarven woman yelling her lungs out, eyes glued onto the arena.
The Hero, in his imnse wisdom and deep knowledge of social cues, imdiately realized that she was not screaming out in fear from the wide smile plastered on her face.
Yes, she was screaming out in joy.
In the arena, the next duel was already underway.
Once again, two Orcs were duking it out against one another.
The action this ti was even more intense than before.
While it remained a make-believe duel with no desire to win nor kill, it was much more entertaining.
One of the n, who was wielding a sword and shield, seed to be particularly skilled at avoiding strikes by a hair’s breadth and at feigning strenuous effort.
For anyone who wasn’t an Orc themselves, it would have truly looked like a heated exchange of blows.
As he kept on observing the battle, Bash could not help but feel like that man’s style and moves were familiar to him.
“Kyaaa! He’s so cool!”
“Take ! Take with your big strong arms!”
But what he was truly interested in was the Dwarven woman’s cheering.
Apparently, that shield-wielder was rather popular.
She even asked him to “take her”.
That was sothing Bash would love to hear at least once in his life.
Not to ntion that the shouting woman wasn’t bad looking.
“Whoa, looks like strong Orcs are popular with Dwarven won, doesn’t it?”
“Sure does.”
“Mister, maybe if you show won how strong you are, they’ll fall for you! Now we just need to figure out the best way to do that…”
“Hm…”
In conclusion, strong Orcs were popular among Dwarven won.
In other words, if Bash could show off his strength, it would increase his likeability with the won on his list.
Bash was the Orc Hero.
As far as strength was concerned, his dominance was guaranteed.
The loss of his virginity was on the horizon.
He could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.
“You’re talking about that arena groupie? Eh, wait, you’re an Orc, aren’t you?”
A drunkard on Bash’s left exclaid as he leaned in.
His face was flush red. He held a mug in each hand, and a small keg of liquor laid at his feat.
It was apparent to everyone that he was completely and utterly drunk.
“Hyuk, you really are an Orc! Listen, friend, I understand that you’d want a woman…but unfortunately, its useless! Useless, useless, useless! Waste of ti!”
“Waste of ti?! Mister here is really, really strong! He’s so strong he could beat up any of those guys down there with a hand tied behind his back! Those ladies will be falling head over heels begging for him to take them!”
“You’d think that, but no, you’re off the mark. Those groupies just want to see n busting each other up. They’re not cheering because they like that Orc down there and want to sleep with him. They’re cheering for the action! For the fighting! They’re in love with the violence!”
“Mu…so that’s how it is…”
And just like that, the tunnel beca dark once again.
Discouraged, Bash’s expression beca somber, but the Dwarf kept on speaking as if nothing happened.
“If you really want a woman, you’ll have to go to the Armant Festival!”
“…and then what?”
“And then you win! The winner of the tournant obtains the privilege of getting any one of his wishes granted!”
“Any wish…!?”
According to the Dwarf’s explanation, it went like so:
The Armant Festival was the largest Dwarven celebration, organised by the Dwarf King himself.
Its description was identical to what the girl had told Bash yesterday.
But she had omitted the fact that the tournant’s victor would have any one of his wishes granted, using the authority of the King himself.
Naturally, it would only go as far as the King’s authority could reach, but that in itself was quite a wide scope.
Take, for example, the War Fiend Doradora Do Banga.
When he erged victorious from his first tournant, he wished for Do Banga’s Pit and beca its lord.
On his next victory, he wished for more wealth than he could ever use.
On the next, he wished to beco a noble.
And on his last, he wished to have the Dwarven King’s daughter’s hand in marriage.
And thus, through sheer force of arms, a pauper who could do nothing but fight had obtained everything he could have ever desired.
“So that’s it! All you need to do is win, and you can just wish for a wife!”
Bash glanced over at Zell.
Win, and obtain whatever your heart desires.
And according to Doradora Do Banga, a wife was not out of bounds as a wish.
This was a perfect set-up for Bash.
“I see! So, this is must have been what Breeze was talking about!”
“Oh! Of course! Ah, I can’t thank him enough for that!”
Truth was, Breeze hadn’t ntioned anything in particular.
Nevertheless, Bash and Zell profusely thanked him in their hearts.
They were certain beyond any doubt that he had anticipated this exact situation and had led the pair here.
As a Human who was that well-inford, he deserved his “Breathless” nickna.
“Ah, so you want to join the festival, eh? That’s great! But…most of the famous blacksmiths in this town have already found themselves a fighter. It’s a real sha…”
Yes, if one wanted to participate in the tournant, they needed a blacksmith to partner up with.
“Mister! That’s it!”
“…Ah!”
The Orc and the Faerie were of the sa mind.
They thought back about the girl they had t the previous day.
Considering the facts they had just learned, their interests now aligned.
“We can’t just sit here and wait. Let’s go now!”
Zell took off at breakneck speed.
Her wings beca a blur as she darted away, leaving a gust of wind in her wake.
Bash followed closely behind, his strides sending shockwaves through the air.
The impact sent the surrounding drunkards flying, but they only laughed as they fell on their asses.
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