Ch.196196. Kagan (4)

When I first, for the first time, beheld Kagan El-Temur with my naked eyes. Though it may sound cliché, I was utterly astonished.

‘What the… is that?’

The current distance between El-Temur and me was about several kilometers. There was even an artificial valley formed by man-made earthquakes, hundreds of meters wide, between us, but…

El-Temur leaped across that vast distance so lightly that the word “hop” would be an appropriate description.

Stripped of all flowery language, he crossed a distance of at least several kilometers in a single bound.

Rather than considering him a member of the human race, it would be more fitting to compare him to a meteor falling from the sky.

El-Temur, who had made me think such thoughts despite my supposedly broadened perspective, closed the distance in an instant, as if flaunting why he was considered the apostle of the three-headed god, the Orc deity.

Though it seemed far, by superior standards, it was practically right next to me. Landing just over 100 meters away, he… instead of charging immediately, opened his mouth.

“Let me ask you. Are you the human shamans who killed Yesukhei?”

“And what if… we are?”

While outwardly running my mouth, I was considering whether there might be some trick, but at this point with the distance so narrow, he would notice too easily if I tried anything.

Knowing well that a superior warrior’s senses far exceed those of ordinary intelligent beings, I therefore boldly stepped forward while gradually warming up the magical power within my body.

“…I was merely curious about who killed Yesukhei. He was the greatest rival of my life.”

“That guy?”

For me too, that orc called Yesukhei was by no means an easy opponent, but such factual details weren’t really important.

Since it was nothing more than provocation to buy time, I deliberately tried to irritate him and provoke his anger by rubbing against his character, but…

“What crude provocation. You need to learn more about malice.”

“…Huh, was it that obvious?”

Unlike ordinary orcs who would rage and rampage even without provocation, this orc calmly deflected my taunt with a voice that exuded dignity.

“When someone trying to provoke lacks malice in their voice, it’s obviously going to show.”

“Oh… I see. So that’s how it is.”

While calmly exchanging words, El-Temur and I were carefully preparing to kill each other, teetering on the edge of crossing the line.

Magical power stirred within each of us, preparing to attack. We were simply not chanting or taking stances yet, but I suspected that as soon as one of us initiated an attack, the other would respond almost simultaneously.

And then…

“Puh, tch. As expected… this doesn’t suit my taste.”

Suddenly, his face took on an expression so gentle and dignified it was hard to believe it belonged to an orc.

Ordinary orcs are born with genes that make them aggressive, challenging, barbaric, and violent by nature.

Considering that their usual expressions resemble those of hunters eyeing their prey, or those excited with anticipation for battle and slaughter…

‘Is the apostle of the Orc deity actually the least orc-like of them all?’

In this ironic situation, I couldn’t help but smile slightly as I addressed him.

“You don’t look like you want to fight very much. Unlike your kinsmen.”

“…Kinsmen. Yes, kinsmen. The ones I love the most, but also despise the most. …How funny that I’m rambling about this in front of someone I’ve just met.”

An expression that could only be described as love-hate, a uniquely profound and subtle emotion, the anguish and burden emerging from within him, faintly appeared on his face.

It was a demeanor that could hardly be described as befitting an apostle or Kagan of the orcs, but paradoxically, I could deeply empathize with El-Temur.

Born as the chosen one of the Orc god yet innately possessing a mindset distant from orcs, a man who was “chosen” for the path of Kagan due to external pressure and social expectations rather than desires or motivations stemming from his own heart.

Having to live in orc society with a mind almost closer to that of a modern human, he resembled my past self—once a modern person who had fallen into a medieval fantasy world, though he had now adapted.

But… sympathy and empathy couldn’t be the solution.

“I really, really don’t want to fight.”

“…But we can’t turn back now.”

“True. I’d like to share a drink with you, but that’s out of the question.”

“You are an invader, and I am in a position to stop you.”

Perhaps if he and I had met in another world, I might have become quite good friends with him.

But since we can’t turn back time at this point. Kagan El-Temur looked at me with firm resolve—

—Whoosh!

[—Cut!]

The next moment, a green flash extended toward me.

※ ※ ※

The Green Prophet, Apostle of the Three-Headed God. El-Temur, who bore the grand titles of the Chosen One of the Orc deity, was the strongest warrior of the great plains who had risen to the position of Kagan of the orcs.

And this El-Temur was, surprisingly, a warrior of orthodox form.

A warrior who covered his entire body in solid armor, wielded a weapon, displayed superhuman physical abilities using aura, and faced enemies with martial arts.

However, throughout my life, I had never faced a warrior powerful enough to give me a hard time, and perhaps because of that, I had an underlying psychology of underestimating such orthodox warriors, but…

“…Kugh!”

—KWAAANG!!!

Now that I was actually facing him, I was painfully realizing why this man, El-Temur, was considered the strongest warrior of the great plains.

Currently, in terms of overall physical abilities, I was in a state of soul resonance with Robo, one of my animal friends at the highest level, which is by no means a level to be underestimated despite its apparent simplicity.

No matter how capable I am of close combat in my normal state, that’s just a stopgap measure. In this state of soul resonance with Robo, I can engage in close combat on equal terms with an aura user of the same rank.

But…

‘…So heavy!’

Unable to use my broken ice greatsword, and despite not wearing armor, I had currently gained strength capable of handling even a decent superior warrior.

It’s just that this great orc warrior before my eyes was beyond the category of “decent.”

His attack using a green greatsword, said to be crafted from a whole meteorite, was so powerful that the arm receiving it creaked, and his sword strikes were so swift and smooth they were invisible unless at the moment of impact.

From a rigid body came an unbelievable smoothness and delicacy, and while barely withstanding his attacks, I inwardly clicked my tongue at the disadvantageous situation.

‘Sophia is… over there.’

Sophia couldn’t help me as she was dealing with the superior boar monster summoned by this prophet of the orcs, but even with the support I was receiving from the rear, my situation was gradually becoming unfavorable.

In this world, there exists a magical ritual called a “choir.”

It involves at least dozens of people who share a devout faith in the same belief, singing hymns with the same will to amplify magical effects, typically employed during large-scale ceremonies in temples.

Anyone with a sincere heart can become a member of such a choir, making it useful for amplifying the magical power of divine magic cast by a specific priest when many people gather.

Even in moderately large cities, this collaboration between the choir and priests distributes healing power to citizens every week, greatly contributing to reducing the mortality rate of people dying for various reasons.

And now, I was receiving concentrated buffs through a temporary choir hastily organized by priests.

If even a choir composed of ordinary citizens who don’t know how to handle magic can produce that level of power, how powerful would the magic from a choir composed of priests be?

But despite all this, despite receiving all this assistance, I was still struggling to gain the upper hand in close combat.

He’s strong. Really, really damn strong. Stronger than me, faster, tougher, with quicker reactions, better weapon handling…

In short, considering all conditions, the complete absence of any element that could give me an advantage forced me to use a “somewhat extreme” method.

That is, even if it meant pushing myself a bit, I needed to change the situation somehow.

Even though I was in a position to win if I could hold out until reinforcements arrived, at this rate, I might collapse before I could buy enough time.

Therefore, to reverse this unfavorable situation, I needed to use some kind of tactic…

‘…Robo!’

[Yes, I’m coming!]

As part of that effort, I didn’t miss the opportunity that was coincidentally detected and deployed an otherworld centered on Robo’s mystery, drawing El-Temur into it.