Before long, Orcs appeared.

Among them was a familiar face.

It was Grak.

He looked at the Protagonist with a surprised expression.

The Protagonist was also surprised.

The opponent showed no killing intent.

If he had almost died by the Protagonist’s hand, he should have held a grudge. But there was no agitation, only a look of unexpectedness.

A moment ago, a very large Orc asked.

“Did this human child really defeat the Chieftains?”

“I guarantee it on my name.”

Grak asserted.

But the opponent seemed displeased. He scrunched up his face.

“I cannot accept that.”

“Are you saying I’m wrong?”

“The Humans I’ve seen were weak. He must be the same. So your words are wrong.”

The large Orc shouted to the surroundings and charged at Grak.

The Orc swung a fist.

Grak didn’t stand idly by either.

In an instant, the two Orcs fought with punches. They exchanged blows, and each time, it was the larger Orc who staggered.

The Orcs took seven hits and then knelt.

“Your fists are fierce.”

“Do you now accept what I said?”

“You are strong. I will accept what you said.”

The Orcs nodded obediently.

It was surprising.

I didn’t expect the Orcs, who had been stubbornly disagreeing just a moment ago, to concede so easily. Even the Orcs who had been siding with them fell silent once Grak won the fight.

The Orcs would settle disagreements with fisticuffs.

The winner was right.

It was like the Trial by Combat that Knights were said to perform.

“Humans, it’s good to see you.”

“You too.”

“What have you been doing all this time?”

Grak asked how I had been.

His tone was calm.

It was so calm that I wondered if our life-or-death battle from before was just my imagination. From his voice alone, it felt like meeting an old acquaintance.

“I was in battle.”

“Who did you fight? Was it someone great?”

Grak showed interest. Orcs loved to fight. They seemed to enjoy tales of valor even more than mercenaries did.

When the Protagonist told him about defeating a large Salamander, he looked incredibly eager to hear more.

When I mentioned it was even more difficult than the Troll the Protagonist had defeated, he insisted I tell him all the details later.

He also said he couldn’t hear it alone. He asked me to tell it when his kin gathered, but I felt it would become troublesome if I did.

Even now, the Orcs were perking up their ears and watching.

They had few pleasures.

At most, alcohol, women, and battle. Listening to someone’s story was just as entertaining as those things.

Hearing the stories was stimulating.

It gave me more strength for the battles ahead. A story about defeating a Salamander would be incredibly stimulating for the Warriors.

“How is the war going?”

“It’s not going very well.”

Grak’s expression was grim.

As a Chieftain, he was in a position to lead his kin.

Dying honorably in battle was a joyous thing, but there was also an unavoidable sadness. Grak, now a Chieftain, felt conflicting emotions.

“Why do you ask that?”

“I thought you might be angry with me.”

“I don’t know why.”

“I killed a lot of Orcs. Like the battle we encountered last time. I thought you might hold a grudge against me.”

The Orcs wanted land to live on. Not only did the Protagonist hinder them, but he also made them lose battles they could have won.

The Protagonist had defeated many Chieftains alone.

The number of Chieftains was small. Ordinary Chieftains were even fewer. With those Chieftains gone, the war must have become more difficult.

I also remembered killing the Chieftain who was with Grak.

At that time, Grak was filled with rage when his kin died.

It was because the Protagonist had killed his precious comrade.

It would be strange if Humans didn’t hold a grudge.

But Orcs were different from Humans.

Grak stared intently at me. Then he spoke.

“Everyone does their best on the Battlefield. It is natural for someone to die in the process. The same goes for Omar. He fought you honorably. He died at the end of it. There is no reason to hold a grudge or be sad about that.”

“…”

“At first, his death saddened me, but later I was happy. Because he died fighting a Mage like you, he surely went to the Warrior’s Hill.”

Grak snorted as he spoke.

He also said he envied Omar.

It was difficult for a Warrior to find a suitable place to die. Meeting such an opponent was a Blessing in itself.

It sounded as if the Protagonist was thanking him for killing him. He didn’t understand.

But his heart felt at ease.

Even if he was killed, if it was a satisfying end for him, it didn’t seem bad.

He also thought it would be good if there was a place called Warrior’s Hill. That way, he wouldn’t feel guilty about the blood on the Protagonist’s hands.

Orcs were just like people.

They grieved, got angry, and laughed just like people. They had emotions.

“He achieved perfection as a Warrior by meeting a glorious death. To bear a grudge against you because he died is an insult to his death.”

Grak crossed his arms.

The pressure was immense.

He seemed to have grown larger than before.

“Now, state your business here.”

“Well…”

When he actually tried to speak, the words wouldn’t come out.

Grak said he would arrange Quarters for him to stay in.

He seemed to have mistaken his hesitation for something else.

“If you help with the war, I will tell you.”

“I’m not an Orc, can I still fight with you?”

“You are not a Warrior, but you are strong. If there are any who speak as you just did, I will beat them with my fist.”

Grak said that not just anyone could fight with them.

For Orcs, battle was sacred. Unless they were of the same tribe, only those they recognized were allowed to stand shoulder to shoulder with them.

“Not long ago, Humans appeared and asked to fight with us. They were rude Humans.”

“Did you fight with them?”

“Their purpose in engaging in battle was impure, and I didn’t like it. I told them to get lost immediately. But you are different. If you are with us, our tribesmen will also be spurred on. They will say they cannot lose to a Human child.”

Grak was favorable towards him.

For them, the strong were right. That’s why they acknowledged the Protagonist who killed the Warriors. Since the Warriors died at the hands of a strong person, it was not a bad death.

If he had died miserably, I would have been resentful.

I thought I could speak a little more comfortably.

“Thank you for your words.”

“Is there another reason?”

He said the Orcs had a statue of the god the Protagonist believed in.

Grak didn’t quite understand.

The Orcs didn’t seem to have any statues.

They didn’t pray separately.

Battle was their prayer.

Still, it was conveyed that it was important to this side. He said he would try his best to find it. My mind felt at ease.

He also said he knew some Orcs who might have such a thing. We went there to find them.

It was a fairly large hut.

An Orc was sharpening an axe there. It was an old Orc.

“Norkin.”

“What brings you here?”

“This Human child needs something from you.”

The old Orc looked at him.

His eyes were sunken and his flesh was withered with age. His gaze held an indescribable power.

“What do I need?”

“I, I… I want the statue.”

“A statue?”

The old Orc picked up something placed on one side of the hut. It was the same kind of statue the Protagonist had.

“You want this?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

The old Orc shook his head.

It was a trophy obtained by killing a strong opponent.

It was an object that showed the path he had walked in life.

It was something precious that would make him reflect on his life.

He refused even when the Protagonist offered compensation.

There was nothing he could do.

It seemed that the Statue was that precious to the old Orcs.

It was troublesome.

The Protagonist had to obtain that Statue.

Only then could he restore the Goddess’s power. To use immense Magic, the Goddess’s care was necessary.

He thought about what he could do to make the Orcs give him the Statue.

He felt he needed to first figure out what the other party wanted. However, he couldn’t get a sense of what the old Orcs desired.

He wondered if Millia felt this way when she tried to learn GolemMagic. It was something absolutely necessary, but he couldn’t obtain it, which was incredibly frustrating.

He left the spot.

Grak offered him an empty hut to stay in. Animal Hide was spread on the floor. He lay down there.

Sleep didn’t come easily.

It seemed to be because it was his first time sleeping in an Orc Encampment. More than anything, groans coming from beyond the hut made it impossible to sleep.

He got up from his spot and headed towards the source of the sound.

There was a large hut right next to him.

Inside, Orcs were writhing in pain, each in their own way.

Every one of them looked like they were struggling. They couldn’t even sleep.

“A, Human?”

One of the Orcs turned his head towards him.

“Human. It’s dangerous here. Get out.”

“Why?”

“This is where the sick are. If you stay, you’ll get sick.”

The Orc spoke with difficulty.

He was breathing heavily, as if the pain was so bad he was breaking out in a cold sweat.

“Are you hurt?”

“The wound has festered.”

“I’ll heal you.”

The Protagonist could create Healing Water. It didn’t heal instantly like a Potion, but most wounds would be gone overnight.

He didn’t charge a fee.

If a little effort on his part could help the Protagonist sleep soundly, he was satisfied. His head already hurt, so he couldn’t afford to sleep uncomfortably.

But the Orc shook his head.

“No. Healing is for the weak. It will heal if I just leave it alone.”

“What kind of crazy talk is that?”

“It’s not crazy. That’s what a Warrior is. A Warrior overcomes injuries. Only then do they become a true Warrior.”

It was absurd.

The Orc’s stomach was rotting.

Sometimes, when cut by a blade, it ended up like this.

The Mercenaries said that if a wound got this bad, you’d die.

The Orc was in that situation.

The rotting area was also unfortunate. If it had been his arm, he could have cut it off.

It was a big problem.

He said that if things continued like this, he would die.

Still, the Orc shook his head.

He was very stubborn.

Nearby was a wooden basin. A towel was also hanging there.

He took it outside and poured out the water that was in it.

In its place, he created and poured in water that healed wounds. It was made by chanting a spell.

“What is that?”

“It’s water that heals wounds.”

“Humans. Could it be a Shaman?”

The Orcs, forgetting their pain, looked over.

It was a Gnoll’s face.

After realizing that this person was a Shaman, they didn’t say much.

They said Warriors must obey Shamans.

“Thank you, Humans.”

The Orcs smiled, even as they sweated coldly.

They said it was also a Warrior’s duty to express gratitude if they received help.

I couldn’t fathom what kind of Warrior they were talking about.

My heart felt heavy.

Even after pouring water on the wound, it didn’t improve as much as expected.

The next day, as soon as morning broke, I went back.

The Orc who had been lying there was gone.

When I asked the Orc next to him, he said they had disposed of him.

He had stopped breathing last night.

I felt depressed.

Even though the Protagonist hadn’t killed him, I felt uncomfortable.

It was even more so because I remembered the Orc’s smiling face.

Groans were heard every day. The Orcs constantly had casualties. They fought almost every day.

Even if I tried to ignore it and sleep, the death of the Orc kept coming to mind. I sighed and headed to the hut where the injured were gathered.

Fewer people were injured than I expected.

The Orcs lacked any Great Book, to the point where they would just apply saliva and ignore a knife wound to the stomach. If they were sick enough to lie down, they would likely die soon.

Perhaps that was why there were few injured in the hut.

Instead, there were many Orcs afflicted with Plague. If it was Plague, I could cure it.

Remembering the mana that the previously seen herbs were shedding, he created water. This time too, he poured water into a nearby basin and scooped it with his hands to give to the orcs.

He didn’t know why the protagonist was doing this.

It wasn’t out of pity for the orcs. They were unrelated to the protagonist. It didn’t matter if they died.

Still, he made herbal water for them and gave it to them. It was because the protagonist’s dreams were troubled by the orcs he couldn’t save.

He wondered if helping other orcs would make things better.

Perhaps it was a struggle to alleviate his guilt. It was a miraculous act.

The orcs didn’t resist much.

That’s because he created water right before their eyes. Just as children follow adults, warriors followed the shaman’s words.

Some didn’t want to drink it.

All the warriors who had contracted the plague had died so far.

They wouldn’t survive by drinking water given by humans.

Even those orcs eventually drank the water.

The orcs recovered and got up within a few days.

They felt awkward and grateful.

They even praised the humans, saying they had accomplished something even the shaman couldn’t. Watching them, he didn’t have any particular thoughts.

Instead, his mind became complicated.

Every day was precious, but he was wasting time on strange things. If he had trained instead, there would have been at least some progress.

He still hadn’t found a clue.

He thought it would be faster to just wait for the orcs to die of old age.

It was then.

The next day, an orc holding a staff came to visit.

It was the shaman.

He looked older than the orcs he had met a few days ago.

It seemed to be because of his smaller stature.

He was suddenly scared.

He remembered the warriors chattering, ‘Humans are greater than the shaman!’

If the Shaman had heard that, they would have come to Capital City to fight.

They might even have felt insulted.

It was then.

The Shaman grabbed their hand.

“Thank you.”

“Yes…?”

“I heard you healed the sick.”

“Ah… that’s right.”

They nodded.

The other person hadn’t come to pick a fight.

It wasn’t that the thief had a guilty conscience, but they had done a good deed and then flinched.

They realized they had worried for nothing.

“Why did you help? You have no reason to help the Orcs.”

“I didn’t intend to from the start.”

“You didn’t?”

“I was sleeping in the hut and heard groaning from one side.”

“And?”

“I went to see what was going on. I was going to tell them to be quiet. But there were injured Orcs, so I was quite flustered and then healed them.”

“I see.”

The Shaman looked at them. Their gaze was slightly favorable.

“Have you trained in water magic?”

“Yes.”

“What a coincidence. I am also a Water Mage.”

He looked at the shaman.

He seemed old.

He seemed even older than the Old Man they had met in the City just now.

But he didn’t seem to have any skill.

Being old didn’t mean he was great.

The Old Man I met earlier was like that.

I was only disappointed when I saw him bragging, despite being worse than an Apprentice Mage.

“Are you interested in learning Magic from me?”

“Why?”

“Just as you helped your kind, I want to help you.”

I thought about it for a moment.

Perhaps because he was old, the Shaman looked shabby.

I didn’t think there was anything particularly useful to learn from him.

But you never know.

Talking to someone could help the Protagonist reflect.

Perhaps the Protagonist might even gain insights he didn’t know he had.

Anyway, there was nothing else to do.

I didn’t have high expectations.

The Protagonist’s skill was already gradually entering a plateau.

It was like that even after all the hard training.

I didn’t think there would be much progress just because an old, shabby Shaman taught me.

First, I nodded.

The Shaman said he needed to assess my level first.

The Protagonist listed the spells he knew one by one.

Water Ball. Water Spell Blast. Sleep. Freeze. Ice Bolt. Ice Golem. There didn’t seem to be much else.

The number of Magic spells I had learned was fewer than I expected.

“Show me your Magic too.”

“Do I have to?”

“The more impressive you are, the more I’ll have to teach you.”

“You can tell that just by looking at the magic?”

“The more skilled a mage, the shorter the casting time, and the stronger the power. Those whose spells are long but powerful are mediocre.”

“What about mages whose spells are long and weak?”

“They’re novices. At your age, most are novices.”

The shaman put more force into the poison at the word ‘novice.’ It was as if he was calling the protagonist a novice.

“I’m not a novice.”

“Just show me first.”

He pressed his lips together.

He took a deep breath. He wondered what to show first. Among the magic the protagonist had learned, the most powerful was Ice Bolt.

Intermediate magic was not for everyone.

He thought if he showed that, he could make him take back the word ‘novice.’

Perhaps he would be so surprised he’d faint.

He looked around. A tree was visible nearby. He decided to destroy it.

He chanted the spell.

He muttered faster than usual. He wanted to surprise the shaman who had called him a novice. If possible, he wanted to make it more powerful than usual.

As he chanted the spell with maximum concentration, ice slowly formed into the shape of an arrow. It seemed about two seconds faster than usual.

He felt like he could go faster if he pushed himself, but he didn’t.

Then he would have to suffer for several days.

He shot the Ice Arrow towards the nearby tree. The tree made a cracking sound, split apart, and instantly froze.

He looked at the shaman.

He wondered what kind of expression he would have.

It was an Ice Arrow that even chieftains wouldn’t want to be hit by. He thought the shaman would be surprised after seeing such a thing. But unexpectedly, the shaman’s expression remained unchanged.

It was disappointing.

“How is it?”

“It’s good. Your spellcasting speed is fast. But the power isn’t great.”

“The power isn’t much?”

“I’ll retract what I said about you being a novice. You seem to be an ordinary Mage.”

The Shaman praised him.

But he didn’t like it.

What the Protagonist wanted was not an ordinary Mage, but a great one. It wasn’t just about being beyond a novice.

He felt that the Shaman was lying.

Perhaps he was secretly very surprised but didn’t want to show it to the Protagonist, so he was hiding his expression.

There were many who would claim something great was nothing special to haggle or beat down the price. The Shaman seemed to be one of them.

The Shaman also asked to see the Golem.

He told him to follow immediately and started walking, a little quickly.

He thought that even the Shaman would be surprised to see the Golem.

He might even apologize for daring to try and teach him. Thinking that, he wanted to show him the Golem as soon as possible.

When the Shaman saw the Ice Golem, he seemed a little surprised.

Even he said he had never seen a Golem before.

Seeing that look on his face made him feel incredibly good. It was even more so because he remembered that the Shaman hadn’t been surprised by the Ice Arrow.

“Do you want to learn?”

“I no longer have time to learn anything more.”

“Oh…”

“But I still have time to teach someone.”

“…”

“Don’t look at me like that. I still have days left to live. Is this all you can show me?”

“Yes.”

“For your age, this level is excellent. I’ll have to teach you something more amazing than I thought.”

The Shaman made a show of it.

He wondered how amazing a spell he would teach him.

He didn’t have high hopes.

At best, it seemed like an intermediate spell.

But when he actually learned the spell from him, it was harder than he expected.

It felt like a more powerful spell than Ice Bolt.

Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been this difficult.

Only then did he concentrate and cast the spell.

His mana would move, but then something would twist in the middle, breaking his concentration. He couldn’t cast it even once.

“It’s not working well.”

“It’s because you can’t do it.”

“Isn’t the spell strange?”

It didn’t seem like the Shaman would readily teach him a powerful spell.

Acquiring higher-level spellbooks was that difficult.

It made more sense that the spell he taught him was bogus.

The Shaman clicked his tongue in disapproval. He even said that this is why rookies are no good. His hands trembled.

“The reason you can’t use magic is simple. It’s because you lack a firm imagination.”

“Firm imagination?”

“Mages are divided into two types. One explores the essence through knowledge. The other focuses on the phenomenon itself and perceives it through their senses. You are the latter.”

“Senses…”

As the Shaman said, the Protagonist relied on his senses. Whenever he used magic, he would conjure an image. He had neglected proper theory.

“Usually, you combine the two to enhance understanding, but it’s much better for you to focus solely on the latter. What is water? What is ice? You must be able to answer those questions.”

“Ice is… just ice, isn’t it?”

The Shaman’s words were difficult to understand.

Ice was simply ice, as it appeared. But the other person spoke as if there should be something more to it.

“You still don’t know what ice is.”

The Shaman leaned on his staff and turned back. He threw in one more remark at the end. It was to imagine ice that freezes everything.

He didn’t know what he was talking about. But Firm Imagination seemed to make some sense.

Unmelting Ice was like that. If you imagined it very firmly, you could create something impossible. The problem was how firm that imagination was.

A week passed in an instant while receiving Magic lessons from the Shaman. Even when he chanted spells, he couldn’t easily continue.

He felt like he would go crazy if he could just memorize them, like building a Castle. Groans involuntarily escaped him.

“It’s difficult.”

“It’s hard to do even if you know it. Firmness must reside in the imagination you possess.”

“Imagination is easy, though.”

“That’s right. But it’s not easy to have conviction about something that’s originally impossible. Let’s say I have a knife in my hand. What would happen if I swung it at you?”

The Shaman raised his arm and mimed holding something. Then he “cut” his other arm. He wasn’t actually cutting it, but giving an example.

“My skin would split open and bleed.”

“That’s natural. This time, imagine the opposite: your skin is steel and the knife will break.”

“I can’t imagine that very well.”

“That’s because you consider it natural for your skin to bleed if you’re cut by a knife. People can’t easily shake off what they consider natural. Doing Firm Imagination is that difficult. That’s why the probability of failing a spell increases with more powerful Magic.”

“Then what should I do?”

“You must forget everything. That is the state you must reach.”

Forgetting everything.

Easier said than done.

The Shaman calmly asked him to do something difficult.

Perhaps it was nonsense. But he gritted his teeth and chanted the spell.

By this point, he was determined to master the Castle spell.

That day was a little different.

He chanted spells all day long.

The Shaman’s words echoed in his mind.

The spell he taught him first depleted his mental power.

Normally, he would have stopped the spell and turned back.

He couldn’t cast spells when his head hurt.

But he continued with the spell. As he focused solely on the spell, the physical discomfort slowly faded. The headache was the same.

The protagonist didn’t even know what he was doing.

By the time he was barely aware of his own mumbling, the protagonist realized that he had completed the entire spell.

Something had appeared before him. He stared at it, wondering what kind of magic could be so difficult.

Upon seeing it, he couldn’t help but gasp.

“Huh…?”

It was an Ice Spear.

The Ice Spear he had created when fighting the Goblins was floating there.