It was deep in the night before the four Rangers had arrived at the nearest bunker with their sleeping captives. It wasn't easy to establish hidden resting areas in something like the Black Mountain forest, but the Ranger Guild had been putting in steady efforts for generations.

  Hidden under the foliage was a thick rope disguised as a tree root. Pulling up on this root opened up a trap door with stairs descending into the earth. Inside was a simple rectangular room. The walls were dull and gray, and dust lingered in the air. It wasn't a pleasant or accommodating place, but it was an invaluable safe haven from monsters: sound proof, smell proof, and magic resistant.

  The girl and the half Elf were laid down upon a pair of sparse beds tucked up along the back wall. The grey and green clothed Ranger, who had used an antidote to fight off the half Elf’s alchemy, began to prepare some ingredients that would wake them up for interrogation. The brown and black clothed Ranger watched the procedure and looked over their sleeping guests. A frown formed beneath his mask.

  “The girl had glasses,” he stated, then glared coldly at Runa and the fourth Ranger. “It wouldn't be that you left them behind, right?”

  Runa and the second gray and green Ranger stiffened. Their companion who had resisted the sleeping potion had been tasked with lookout duty, thus, the duty to clean up the site had been theirs. However, being drowsy from the drug… they had completely forgotten to do so.

  The brown and black clothed man sighed. And pinched the bridge of his nose. “Runa is necessary for the interrogation, and Paula can't leave while the alchemist is awake. Tyre, quickly retrieve the girl’s glasses and return.

  The second grey and green clothed Ranger nodded stiffly and quickly left the bunker. Runa didn't feel particularly lucky to be staying inside, since the black and brown clothed man’s cold aura was directly pressing down on her.

  ”Alright, wake them up,” he ordered the alchemically-skilled Ranger called Paula. Everyone’s faces were properly covered. It was the first step to self preservation, and also to intimidate the people being interrogated.

  Paula uncorked a bottle filled with yellow powder. The three Rangers endured the sharp smell for a moment before the cap was replaced. The two adventurers slowly had their eyes flutter open.

  The half elf was the first one to try to get his bearings. His supplies had been taken. The dagger he kept hidden for emergencies had been removed. He saw those and Elly’s staff sitting on a table in the middle of the room. There was no chance of taking them though, since that table was guarded by three Rangers.

  He didn't say anything or move suspiciously. He just sat on the bed and watched his captors. Soon, the Mage had gotten her bearings as well, and the interrogation could begin.

  “When you arrived at that place, you said something had disappeared,” the brown and black clothed man started bluntly. “To what extent were you familiar with the Orc village that used to exist there?”

  “I don't know what you’re talking about. Today was my first time going to that place,” Patch answered.

  “Um, I was just looking for something I dropped around that area. I don't know anything about a village.” Elly’s lie was decent, but she herself was a terrible liar. Her “innocent” smile wouldn't stop twitching.

  The black and brown clothed man turned his eyes to a short woman in black clothes. Although her physique seemed somewhat harmless, something about a Ranger in all-black was intimidating.

  “What does the name Vyra mean to you?” Runa asked them.

  Of course, they feigned ignorance, so she took a tanish-white feather, about six inches long, out from her clothes. “Have you seen her since she evolved? I was given this as a symbol of friendship.”

  It was obvious that these two were on good terms with the Holy Orc. Abusing that fact was the sole reason Runa was assisting the interrogation in person.

  Elianora’s eyes unintentionally went wide upon seeing the feather, and Runa knew that she recognized it.

  “So what were you two doing skulking around? What do you want with Miss Vyra?”

  “Th-that’s!” the Mage had suddenly become talkative. “There’s been a misunderstanding! We’re her friends too! Chief Vyra saved my life!”

  “Prove it. She should have given you a symbol, no?”

  “A, ahh.” Tears welled up in the girl’s eyes. Runa quickly changed the demand.

  “Then tell me something only a friend of the chief would know.”

  “That’s, hmm,” the girl thought. “Um, d-did you know? Even though Chief Vyra looks like that, she’s was born at the start of this summer.”

  “Eh-?” Runa unintentionally made a small sound at the unexpected answer.

  “It, it’s true! Also, the first person to evolve in Miss Vyra’s village was her best friend, and my study partner, Fiara!”

  “Hum, that’s true. So you really aren't enemies of the Chief?”

  “Of course not! Oh, today, I came to thank her properly for saving my life. Patch came with me to finally meet her himself.”

  “But her village is gone,” Runa muttered sadly. “Both of us came out here for nothing, it seems.”

  Elly lowered her head, muttering, “I-I guess so.”

  Patch was just watching the whole situation quietly with narrowed eyes.

  Then, the mage’s head raised up. She sucked in an excited breath, “Hah! Actually, I might know where she went! If she’s perhaps still fighting with the Fomors to the west, she might be staying in Chief Dagoran’s village!”

  “Chief Dagoran?” Runa tilted her head.

  “He’s a War Orc: the Chief of the village Miss Vyra’s older brother lives in.” Her face darkened, “I would have loved to help them fight, but I was too weak, so they sent me home.”

  “Do you know where that village is?” Runa asked.

  “Of course! I ran all the way there with the Chief and the others. She had to keep using healing spells on us so we could keep going.”

  “Even the other Orcs couldn't keep up?”

  “Aha, well, them too. I meant Rudan and me, though.”

  “Rudan?”

  “My comrade. Unfortunately, he died a little bit before Vyra found and saved me.”

  Runa narrowed her eyes. “He died before, but he was still running with you?”

  “No, no, how could that be? He had to be alive to run with us. Ah, but it is true that I only met up with the Chief after he died.”

  Patch watched this entire back and forth with eyes that gradually grew more fierce. This was exactly where his own lines of questioning had led him time and time again: to contradictory situations, both of which Elly would support as individual events, but which couldn't coexist.

  He looked over and saw that the black and brown clothed man seemed to have come to a similar conclusion. His eyes were deeply serious, instead of baffled like the other two Rangers.

  “But how--”

  “That’s enough,” the black and brown man interrupted. “As long as she can lead us to the Chief, it’s enough.” The man stood up--he was quite a tall and sturdy man--and bowed to the brown-haired Mage.

  “I'm sorry we treated you and your companion so roughly on a simple misunderstanding. Even so, would you be kind enough to help us find Chief Vyra?”

  Elly blushed slightly. “Y-yeah, of course. A friend of Miss Vyra is my friend too.”

  No, Patch thought quietly. These people aren't that Orc Chief’s friends. They're the same as me. Ah, Elly, sometimes you're far too trusting.

  The brown and black man looked to Patch next.

  “It will be nice to have competent Rangers traveling with us,” he said smoothly. “Our worthless companion has done nothing but philander around town or hole himself up inside for days. Although the first impression was bad, let’s get along from now on.”

  “Indeed. Then, we’ll leave once our remaining companion returns. Regrettably, we left your glasses behind, Miss, so he went to retrieve them.”

  “Aw, how sweet. He sounds like a polite guy.”

  “Yes.”

  No. They’re recovering the evidence. Elly, these people were seriously considering killing us. Sigh.

  But, since their goals were similar, it wasn't all bad.

  ***

  “You're choking it. Loosen up a little,” Durghan cautioned another Orc. Held tightly in that Orc’s arms was creature about the size of a coyote. It had a dog-like body, but the proportions were slightly strange. Its torso was slightly long, its legs slightly short, and it’s muzzle slightly narrow. It had long auburn fur growing over much of its body, and dark green scales covering its back, temples, elbows, and knees. Although, they were quite large and thick to be called scales. Perhaps bony plates was more accurate.

  This yellow-eyed, sharp-toothed, slobbering creature, with the furiously wagging shaggy tail, was a Kobold.

  “Alright, hold it still.” Durghan reached out and grabbed the monster’s hind legs, spreading them wide. “Male. Put it with the others.”

  They were keeping the males and females separated so they were easier to tally at a glance. It had been a day and a half since they left Babylon, and they had gathered a respectable stock of large, healthy Kobolds.

  It would take time to raise monsters like these as livestock. Each of the regions of the Black Mountain forest had a leading species, and that species would receive the mountain’s blessing. The hunting Ceremony that Orcs used to quickly mature could also be used by Fomors, Giants, and Harpies, but no other monsters had that privilege. Still, Kobolds reached full size after only two months, could breed after half a year, and went into heat three times a year. They had high birth rates to make up for being constantly preyed upon by stronger races. Even Gobs would steal Kobold pups.

  Despite their sharp fangs that screamed carnivore, Kobolds were actually omnivorous. They hunted ordinary small animals when they could, and ate wild mushrooms and nuts when they couldn't. For a livestock animal, it really wasn't bad. The only issues were it's violent temper and small body.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  The male Kobold was thrown into a cage with other male Kobolds, and Durghan sent some people into the cave to check for escape tunnels. These stupid creatures were annoyingly good at tunneling, and the females would flee from there when the cave was attacked. It was a considerable effort tracking them down for capture, especially because the Orcs themselves couldn't fit inside the tunnels. They had to do their best to follow from the surface.

  Fortunately, one of the Orcs who had come along had learned the

  skill. It was similar to or , except that it focused on detecting weaker creatures.

  “They below us here,” the stout Orc pointed at the soil.

  A male High Orc used

  to force the Kobold women to the surface. From there it was just a quick scramble to grab them. They were properly caged, and Durghan nodded with a satisfied snort.

  “That should be enough. We can start heading back.”

  As he said that, he took a look around, realizing how close they were to their old village site.

  We ended up wandering pretty far.

  He could faintly see a large patch of brown through small gaps in the thick foliage. And then, something on the ground caught the sunlight. The ex Orc Chieftain crouched down and gingerly pinched a pair of clear lenses with a metal frame, which had been half-buried in a shrub.

  These are… like that thing the Human magic caster wore on her face.

  He found himself frowning at what finding these here might mean, but he saw no signs of people when he stood up to look around. wasn't picking up any allies or enemies either. With a snort, he turned around to catch up with the others.

  Suddenly, declared urgently that an enemy was directly behind him.

  Without a second thought, the armored Orc spun around and swung his axe. It barely missed the grey and green clothed Human that sidestepped away. In his hand was a dagger that was clearly tainted with poison.

  “Dodoran! Gethar! Mogul!”

  The Orc and two High Orcs he called came running and were immediately by his side. They understood the situation just with that one call and the scene they saw before them. The earth, plant, and dark attributes were all fairly good at live capture, and here was a quick-looking human wielding poisoned weapons.

  , and were all cast almost simultaneously. The Human noticed that magic was being activated, and made to flee, but a wall of soil shot up behind him. A shadowy tentacle grabbed his ankle when he tried to run to the side, and then vines crept all over his body, sealing his movements.

  “We will take him back to Babylon for interrogation. I want to know what a Human skilled with poisons was doing so close to our old village site.” And if he knows anything about the person whose glasses I found.

  Durghan checked once more and then reissued the order to move out. After half a day, they arrived at Dagoran’s Village. Thanks to Vyra’s influence, they made a habit of running from place to place, and they had built up quite a bit of stamina.

  The wagons and cages full of Kobolds were left off to the side with some Orcs to guard them, along with a human who was completely bound from his mouth to his ankles. Meanwhile, everyone else gathered around the fire for a nice dinner.

  “You want to travel at night? Sounds dangerous. You sure about that, Durghan?” Chief Dagoran asked with concern.

  “How can you call it night? The sky will still be red if we leave immediately after eating. Besides, I won't feel at ease until those things are locked up in the city. They need to be fed soon too.”

  “And that human?”

  “Of course, he'll need to be thoroughly questioned.”

  Chief Dagoran grimaced and took a large bite of meat to excuse himself from speaking.

  “Oh yes, I have a message from Lord Vyra.”

  The War Orc swallowed the food in his mouth hastily. “For me? I'm listening.”

  “First, the war is going well. Half a dozen Fomor villages have been destroyed, probably almost a dozen of them by now. Second, you can join us anytime starting eight days from now. Sooner, if there’s an emergency.”

  “Is that so?” Dagoran tapped his chin and made a request. “Is there any chance we could borrow some of your wagons eight days from now? They seem convenient.”

  Durghan nodded, “That shouldn't be a problem. I'll let Lord Vyra know.”

  ***

  [[Request is invalid.]]

  The spirits didn't answer me. I dejectedly returned to the ground, ate dinner, and received Durghan’s returning group.

  They succeeded in gathering the live Kobolds I had requested. I had to run around and transport them to the facilities I had prepared. I posted two Fomor slaves there as guards, hoping the Kobolds would be frightened by them and behaved themselves.

  There were also a few… other things Durghan brought back. First, a suspicious assassin-like Human. Second, a pair of glasses that look a lot like the ones Elianora wears.

  Durghan suggested that momma help interrogate the Human, so she and I will stay in the city tomorrow while Durghan, Varoon, and Irsha lead my war band. I warned momma repeatedly that we won't be killing the Human, or harming him excessively. I'm not worried, exactly, it’s just… she was smiling so brightly when the topic came up.

  About the glasses, even if they were Elianora’s, she can just buy new ones. I decided to give this pair to Fiara, since her eyes looked pretty sore and dry. I told her to enchant them with . Though, the lenses were bothering her, so we removed them. The frames look cute on her.

  She wasn't entirely happy to receive them, though.

  “Um, is Elianora alright?”

  That’s right, they were friends. “I don't know. Apparently, there wasn't any blood or bodies there, only the glasses. I'll tell you when I find out.”

  “Thank you, Chief.”

  “You know,” I searched the sky absently, “you don't have to call me Chief anymore. We’re sisters, right? You can just call me Vyra. In fact, the others have all taken to calling me Lord instead of Chief. You're the only one still calling me that.”

  “Eh? I-is that so. But, I think, I’d rather call you that way. Is it fine?”

  Persistent in odd places, as always. “Well, it’s fine, I guess.”

  “Thank you, Chief.”

  After that, I was dead tired, so I slept like a log until about three in the morning. At that point, I had had an idea while asleep. Indeed, not a dream: a conscious idea. The rude awakening had me covered in cold sweat. It must have been lingering in my brain for a while only to surface now.

  I used on myself to search for weapon preferences.

  Name: Vyra

  Weapon Preferences (Top 5):

  Short Lance (Dominance Orc, flying race)

  Mace (personal, Orc)

  Throwing Axe (personal)

  Clawed Greaves/Gauntlets (Dominance Orc, personal)

  Axe (Orc)

  See? The spirits will tell me if I just ask in the right way. It's all so clear now.

  … But what on earth is a Short Lance? I've never seen one before. I haven't even heard of a weapon like that.

  Thinking about it logically, a Lance is a long piercing weapon made for mounted combat, right? Could a Short Lance be a Lance that’s been shrunk down for infantry combat? Except, the power of a Lance comes from the speed of the mount. The cone-like shape and the handle are designed purely to keep the wielder from losing their grip at the impact force that’s beyond their own personal capacity.

  The cone-shaped body would be good for parrying blows, since blades will slide off naturally, but the front is so heavy that the wielder would likely drop their weapon if they tried. After all, the handle does it’s job best for keeping a strong grip while using piercing attacks. The grip is comparatively weaker when swinging such a weapon that isn't meant to be swung around.

  Hm? Do I actually know a considerable amount about this weapon? I don't recall learning any of this…

  It’s useful, so I don't care. More importantly, since I'm wide awake, should I start prototyping a weapon like that?

  While standing outside under a light spell, using , I created many, many prototypes of what I imagined a Short Lance to be like. Over twenty of them were crafted, tested, and reduced to dust. It was only when the sun was starting to taint the sky’s edge that the tingling need in my right hand had been satisfied.

  It had a thick and heavy cone-shaped body. Two thirds of the way down was a sharp decrease in circumference, where the cylindrical handle stretched for a good two and a half hand widths. Then, there was a shorter cone shape at the back, pointing the other direction. From tip to tip, it’s a weapon only a head shorter than myself, but all it is is a pathetically simple shortened Lance. The only thing good about it is that I managed to get the balance right. And yet, it feels unnaturally comfortable to hold.

  … I want to throw it.

  It’s stupid to want to throw a Lance. Javelins and Throwing Spears could be thrown, but Lances were too long and unwieldy, not to mention their balance which was unsuited to throwing. But somehow, I feel like it would be fine if I throw a Short Lance like this. I feel like it’s cone shape will spin like a *football and properly keep its balance.

  There’s a chance it’ll be noisy, so I climb on top of the wall and fly to the other side. I'm a mile away from the others who are still asleep, so it should be fine to be a little loud.

  I stop in place up in the air and hold my primitive Short Lance tightly. The confidence I have in wielding this weapon is based on absolutely nothing. That causes anxiety in the logical parts of myself. However, instinct has lead me from discovering this weapon to creating one. Would that same instinct fail me when it came to using it?

  Well, I'll find out.

  Arcing my body and pulling back my arm, aligning my fist with my cheek, and aiming with my remaining hand held forward, I set my sights at one spot on the ground. In one breath, I contracted my core muscles, pulled my right arm forward, and flicked my wrist. My right leg went out behind me to maintain my balance in the air. I felt the handle of my simple Short Lance leave my fingertips last, and it took on a spin. With a satisfying crash, it buried itself nose-first into the ground.

  It felt good. Really it did. Although it’s inefficient to carry around many Short Lances, so this is a one-use attack, I feel good about the prospect of raining hell from the sky.

  I bring myself down to retrieve my Short Lance, only to see that it broke from the impact.

  A clay weapon won't do, even with , huh?

  Quickly repairing it with earth magic, I perform my first running takeoff and fly back to the populated part of the city, admiring my currently pointless castle on the way back.

  A few people have started to wake up. I bide my time by practicing swinging and thrusting a Short Lance. Some of the women who woke up early were watching me. In an extremely unusual event, I was actually interrupted. It’s happened before, but I never expected the interruption to come from these fellows who always watched quietly.

  “Lord Vyra, do you have a moment?”

  “We see you’re trying a new weapon.”

  “Eh?” Sweating, I lower the tip of my clay Short Lance and face them. “Yes, I have. Is there something about it?”

  It was three Orc women with extra-swollen bellies that approached me. Forgive me for not knowing their names. This is the first time we’ve directly spoken. Analysis says that, from the left, it’s Turka, Morva, and Eulga. Morva is the biggest of the three, and she has a leather sack hung over her shoulder.

  “Well,” Morva muttered, “If the Lord-Chief is upgrading your weapon anyway, we made something for you.”

  A gift? It’s unexpected, but the sack is put to me to open.

  It’s obvious after just one look. They made me new armor. It’s still fur armor, like my current set, but this is made from Fomor hide. Demonic Wolf fur is naturally tough, but Fomor hide has the property of resisting bladed attacks while having above average strength to start with.

  That also means it’s obscenely hard to cut to size and sew, because the material itself resists against the crafter’s tools. I actually wanted new armor made of Fomor hide, but I had given up on it when I heard that. Receiving it so suddenly now is…

  “Lord Vyra, are you crying?!” Eulga started to fret.

  My eyes are only slightly moist! Don't exaggerate it!

  I'm touched. It’s nice to receive a gift. It’s infinitely better to find a useful gift that won't just be thrown away as soon as the sender isn't watching. People in my last life usually just gave me money because I was too hard to shop for.

  As much as I am touched, I also feel like a shitty person for not knowing the names of these three until now, to the point where I don't feel like I deserve to accept their present. Not to mention, I had just barely pulled my family out of debt in my last life; I still have the poor person mentality of not accepting things you can't afford to pay back, or being obligated to return any favors before they escalate into financial deficit.

  Well, presents have always been a really delicate topic for me.

  But this time, I can receive it. If it’s from my tribe, my family, the people I will devote myself to provide for and protect, I can receive it.

  “I'm touched, thank you. I can't wait to fight in it.”

  The three women relaxed and smiled, lightly snorting to indicate they were pleased. Morva nudged Turka with her elbow.

  “Turka worked the hardest. She cut the excess fur and wove it into thread for sewing.”

  Turka snorted cutely, but otherwise kept quiet, blushing while wringing her chubby hands.

  “Thank you, Turka,” I specially acknowledged her with a smile. She lowered her head, looking like steam was about to rise up from the top, and the rest of us chuckled at her.

  Well, without any more delay, I want to try it on.

  Going into the nearest empty building, I undo the leather ties on my Demonic Wolf jacket, and on the inside of the waistband of my leather pants. Slipping each one off. In turn. I'm leaving on my Holy Fox underwear, since a new pair wasn't included in this set.

  For the record, I have washed my armor. Frequently. My sworn sister is a water Mage, you know? There’s no way I wouldn't be bathing properly. Especially when I'm frequently getting showered in blood and gore.

  … I don't know why I'm defending myself. It’s not like there’s anyone here investigating the state of my underwear…

  Anyway, this armor fits quite well. It’s surprisingly flexible, and actually a pretty shade of gray. The materials for my last set were limited, but this time there was no such issue. Even though makes my body far tougher than it appears, I feel more secure with more of my vital organs covered.

  Well, more of them, at least. This new armor preserved a lot of the style of my old one. It opens up a bit in front, and fails to cover my chest or neck. It’s good in other ways, though. Like, there are leather straps that go around my wings to keep my pants up. My old pants kept getting pushed down by them--it was terrible. It also traded the animal head hat for a bandanna.

  Even if it’s slightly impractical, I have skills that cover for that, so I'll accept it for looking pretty darn good on me.

  I went outside and showed the three women how the armor they had made looked on me, and they were quite happy. As a finishing touch, I taught them how to braid, and had them fix my matted hair. I feel a little Valkyrie-like like this. How wonderful.

  “Really, thank you. I love it.”

  “No, no, Lord Vyra. It’s us who want to thank you,” Morva replied.

  “That’s right. Also, the other woman will die of jealousy when they see what we can do to their hair!” Eulga laughed conceitedly.

  Everyone seems to have come out happy, so it was a considerably good morning. Next is the practical test for my new weapon and armor.

  -------------------

  Author Note:

  *Vyra was an American. When she says ”a football”, she is referring to an American football.