Chapter 13 – Victory

The Minor Harm Spell operates by causing numerous minuscule yet razor-sharp ethereal energy blades to vibrate at high frequencies on a molecular scale, drastically enhancing their cutting power. Tens of thousands of such blades instantaneously phase-shift spatially into a designated area, simultaneously conducting indiscriminate internal and external slicing across a 70-centimeter diameter zone. This allows for immense damage output in an instant. (Note: This curse-type spell can be intercepted by various defenses, including spatial barriers.) Such an attack is more than sufficient against an ogre that never once considered evasion or defense.

Just as the ogre charged three or four steps forward, the orb of the Harm Spell in Punk’s hand vanished. A small area around the ogre’s head abruptly darkened, as if shadowed by some obstruction. Though fleeting, this indicated the ogre had taken the full brunt of the Minor Harm Spell with zero defense.

Yet, with its final ounce of strength, the ogre hurled its massive club toward Punk purely on instinct.

The club whistled through the air toward Punk. Sagebrush on the ground, swept by the club a meter above, was flattened sideways under intense wind pressure.

The moment Punk saw the ogre preparing to throw the club, he immediately activated the Minor Deflection Field—an Apprentice-Level Conjuration spell usable twice per day, enchanted into his mage robe.

An invisible field expanded around him. Punk felt all external matter contacting the field—be it air or dust—alter its trajectory, deflecting in various directions. The air within the field grew noticeably thinner, but Punk’s physique as a professional allowed him to remain unaffected.

When the club struck the field, it veered abruptly as if pushed by an unseen hand, swerving past Punk’s right side. However, neither his expression nor his heart held any triumph, for… that direction… was precisely where the little donkey stood…

Propelled by momentum alone, the ogre staggered two more steps before collapsing heavily. Its entire head resembled fresh mincemeat straight from a grinder, its flesh nearly pureed by the multitude of vibrating ethereal energy blades. These dense wounds permeated every part of the ogre’s head—inside and out, bone, brain, and tissue. With its structural bones completely shredded, the head was rendered unrecognizable.

The ogre lay fallen in the wasteland, its head reduced to pulp, only its fingers and extremities twitching sporadically. Muscles swollen from frenzy reverted to their original state. Without even casting “Minor Life Detection,” Punk could confirm—this ogre was truly dead. A fatal injury like having its thinking organ—the brain—turned to mush would be lethal even for a creature with troll-like vitality. Moreover, given the ogre’s soul level, its spirit had likely already been devoured by the River of Fate!After the ogre stopped twitching entirely, Punk turned and walked toward the donkey. He ignored the ogre’s hide—though its somewhat magic-resistant skin could, with some processing, become an Apprentice Rank magical material, Punk had no processing tools with him. Without magical solidification treatment, low-grade materials like ogre hide, which rapidly lose their magic, would turn into ordinary, fragile leather before Punk even left the Wasteland.

Right now, Punk was more concerned about his means of transportation and labor—the donkey’s well-being. He hoped he wouldn’t be faced with the worst outcome…

Kane, meanwhile, climbed out of the large pit covered in dust, holding his misshapen shield. He first glanced at the ogre, its head nearly pulped into mush, a flicker of wariness in his eyes, before quickly reverting to his usual carefree demeanor.

“Hey, Punk, old pal, you got some kinda slaughter fetish or what? Why’d you have to make it so… messy? Or are you planning to switch things up tonight and try some ogre stew?”

As he spoke, Kane also started walking toward the donkey.

But halfway there, both men stopped in their tracks simultaneously…

A massive club was slanted into the ground, surrounded by scattered fragments of the blood-stained cart. The poor donkey was now only half there—its lower body had been scattered everywhere, mixed in with the countless cart fragments…

“Not having to endure the stench of this ‘walking dung heap’ all the way to Konola City might actually be a good thing.”

Punk’s first thought was oddly one of relief.

“…………Holy crap! What the hell did I fight that mountain of meat for, and even wreck my shield in the process?!”

Kane waved his bent and twisted shield around, furious.

“At least your shield’s still somewhat usable, right?” Punk teased Kane, then casually picked up a small bag of “Moke Village Specialties” wheat bread from the scattered goods and started walking toward Konola City.

“Damn, of course you don’t care—it’s not your stuff! Oh, my poor little donkey! I can still see the red hair on its ears trembling!”

Kane put on an exaggerated display of “grief,” mourning the donkey’s death in a melodramatic tone, while hoisting a large bag of dried meat onto his shoulder.

“That red hair of your donkey is definitely mixed in with the meat paste over there,” Punk pointed at the blood-red, pulpy mess near the club, mixed with chunks of flesh. “If you’re worried it’s cold, eating it would be more effective than spouting all this nonsense.”

With that, Punk strode off into the Wasteland without looking back.

“Damn, this is called compassion, this is called remembrance! You heartless bastard, you’ll never score with a girl in the future…”

Kane slung his shield onto his back again, then stylishly hefted the blood-and-flesh-stained Lance over his shoulder, striding briskly to catch up with Punk.

By now, the larger red sun, “Chikasa,” had risen above the horizon, fully illuminating the Wasteland. Plants grew quickly during the tender season—the Prairie damaged in the fight would regrow within a month. The scattered flesh and blood, along with the rotting remains of their “companion,” would all become nourishment for the new sprouts.

————————Break———————After a seven-day “long journey,” Punk and Kane finally reached their destination—Konola City. Fortunately, they did not encounter the “Undead Forest” mentioned by the Baron, nor did they run into that death-seeking merchant “friend.” However, Punk had a vague premonition—that this wasteland and the possibly nonexistent “Undead Forest” would one day intersect with his path again.

“Ooh~~ Konola City, here I come”

Standing on a small hill from which the sturdy walls of Konola City were already visible, Kane raised his lance and cheered loudly. He almost resembled a knight with grand dreams, but anyone adhering to the knightly code would be tempted to punch him upon hearing his next words!

“Beautiful ladies, wait for your handsome, dashing, and charming Sir Kane to rescue you! Ohahahaha~~”

Punk, meanwhile, descended the hill with an expression that clearly said, “I don’t know this guy.”

“Konola City, huh… I hope to gain some useful knowledge here…” Unconsciously, a blue magical glow once again shimmered in Punk’s eyes!

(End of Chapter)