Victory

Lesser Damage used vast numbers of tiny, razor-sharp Aether Energy blades vibrating at high frequency on a molecular-scale microscopic level, greatly enhancing their sharpness. Tens of thousands of such blades instantaneously shifted through space into a designated area, indiscriminately cutting everything within a seventy-centimeter diameter from both inside and out, thus delivering tremendous damage in an instant. (Note: This Curse Spell could be intercepted by various defensive measures, including spatial defenses.) Such an attack was more than enough against an ogre that had never considered dodging or defending from beginning to end.

The ogre had only charged three or four steps when the little sphere of Lesser Damage in Punk's hand had just vanished. The brightness of the small area occupied by the ogre's head suddenly dimmed, as though something had cast a shadow over it. Though it lasted only an instant, it meant the ogre had taken the Lesser Damage head-on without any defense.

Yet the ogre still used its last bit of strength, relying on its body's instincts to hurl the massive club savagely at Punk.

The huge club whistled toward Punk, and the mugwort beneath its path, a meter above the ground, was flattened to either side by the fierce Wind Pressure.

The moment he saw signs that the ogre was about to throw its club, Punk unhesitatingly activated the Journeyman Level Abjuration Spell on his robe, usable twice a day—Lesser Deflection Field.

An invisible field expanded around him. Punk felt every foreign substance that touched the field, whether air or dust, alter its trajectory and deflect away in different directions. For a moment, even the air within the field became much thinner, but Punk's physique as a professional allowed him to remain unaffected.

When the club struck the field, it was as if an invisible giant hand had pushed it aside. It abruptly veered away and swept past Punk's right side. Yet neither his face nor his heart showed the slightest hint of joy, because... that direction... was where the little donkey was...

The ogre staggered another two steps on sheer momentum before crashing heavily to the ground. Its entire head looked as if it had just been pulled from a meat grinder. The skin and flesh had nearly been minced by the countless vibrating Aether Energy blades, and such dense wounds filled every part of the ogre's head—inside and out, bone, brain, and flesh alike. With the bones that supported its shape completely shredded, the ogre's head was no longer recognizable.

The ogre lay on the wasteland with a head reduced to pulp, with only the tips of its limbs, such as its fingers, twitching from time to time. The muscles swollen by its berserk state had also shrunk back to normal. At this point, Punk could be certain without even casting Lesser Life Detection—the ogre was truly, thoroughly dead. With its thinking organ—its brain—turned to pulp, even a troll's vitality would not save it from death. And given the ogre's Soul Level, its soul should already have been devoured by the River of Fate!

Only after even the ogre's twitching had stopped did Punk turn and head toward the little donkey. He ignored the ogre's hide. Although its magic-resistant skin could be processed into an Apprentice Level magical material, Punk had no processing equipment with him. Without magical stabilization, material such as ogre hide, which was low-grade and lost magic quickly, would become ordinary, fragile leather before Punk even left the wasteland.

What Punk cared about now was the safety of his means of transportation—the little donkey. He hoped he would not see the worst possible outcome...

At this time, Kane also climbed out of the crater, filthy and disheveled, carrying his warped shield. He first glanced at the ogre whose head had nearly become pulp, a trace of wariness flashing through his eyes, before returning to his carefree manner.

"Say, Brother Punk, do you have some kind of torture fetish? Why did you make it so~ gruesome? Or were you planning to change up your taste tonight and try some ogre stew?"

As Kane spoke, he too walked toward the little donkey.

But halfway there, both men stopped at the same time...

A massive club was embedded diagonally in the ground. Around it lay scattered, bloodstained fragments of the cart, while the poor little donkey had only its upper half left.

Its lower half, along with countless cart fragments, was... everywhere...

"Maybe it was a good thing that we wouldn't have to keep enduring the stench of that 'walking pile of dung' all the way to Konola City."

Punk's first thought was actually one of faint relief.

"...What the hell? I worked my ass off fighting that mountain of flesh, even sacrificed my shield—what the hell was it all for?!"

Kane jumped about in fury, waving the smashed and twisted shield.

"At least your shield can still be used, more or less," Punk teased Kane, then casually picked up a small sack of Moke Village specialty wheat bread from the scattered goods and headed toward Konola City.

"Damn it, of course you don't care when it isn't your stuff! Oh! My poor little donkey, I can still see the red fur on his ears trembling!"

Kane spoke in an exaggeratedly "sorrowful" tone to express his "grief" over the little donkey's death while hoisting a large bag of jerky onto his shoulder.

"The red fur on your donkey is definitely mixed into that meaty sludge over there." Punk pointed at the crimson slurry mixed with chunks of flesh beside the club. "If you're worried he'll be cold, eating him would be more effective than spouting such irrelevant nonsense."

With that, Punk walked toward the wasteland without looking back.

"This is called kindness, this is called remembrance! You tasteless bastard will never pick up a girl in your life..."

Kane slung his shield onto his back again, then dashing tossed the blood-and-flesh-smeared lance over his shoulder and strode after Punk.

By then, the larger red sun, Chikasa, had risen above the horizon, bathing the entire wasteland in light. Plants grew quickly during Greenleaf Season. The grassland damaged by the battle would grow back within less than a month, while the flesh strewn across the ground and the corpses left to rot by their "companion" would all become nourishment for newly sprouted grass.

After a seven-day "long journey," Punk and Kane finally reached their destination—Konola City. Fortunately, they had not encountered the Forest of Undead mentioned by the baron, nor had they run into that death-seeking merchant "friend." Still, Punk vaguely had a premonition—this wasteland and that Forest of Undead, whether it truly existed or not, would one day cross paths with him again.

"Oh~~ Konola City, here I come~~~"

Standing atop a small hill from which Konola City's imposing walls could already be seen, Kane raised his lance high and shouted. He actually looked somewhat like a knight with lofty dreams, but if anyone heard the latter half of his words, those who faithfully upheld the knightly code would surely be unable to resist beating him up.

"Beautiful ladies, wait for the handsome, dashing, romantic Great Knight Kane to come save you! Ohohohoho~~"

Punk, meanwhile, wore an expression that said I don't know this guy as he walked down the hill.

"Konola City, huh? I hope I can gain some useful knowledge..." Before he realized it, blue magical radiance had once again begun to swirl in Punk's eyes!