Chapter 20

The wyvern meat was incredibly firm and chewy, yet not so tough that it became difficult to swallow; every bite was substantial, truly top-tier fare. Paired with the spices and strong spirits that the dwarf Duantie took such pride in, and roasted to absolute perfection, it left everyone's mouths glistening with grease. Even after finishing, the lingering, savory richness remained on the palate—a truly endless aftertaste.

Such a portion of roasted meat might sell for dozens of gold coins in a bustling metropolis. It was not only delicious but also possessed a certain nourishing quality for the body. If one could consume such food regularly, one's physique would become exceptionally strong without the need for special training.

The children of the great nobles were almost all raised in this manner.

"Delicious! Simply delicious!" After swallowing a mouthful of meat, Gerald couldn't help but exclaim in praise.

"Duantie's craft is truly getting better and better!" Old Soth nodded in approval. "When you grow old, this culinary skill will be the best heirloom you can pass down!"

Duantie was nearing fifty, which for a dwarf meant he was still young and promising, with perhaps another hundred years of life ahead of him. Hearing Soth's praise, the dwarf who had been adventuring with him for thirty years couldn't help but laugh. "Remember when we first met? I was roasting a wolf I'd hunted, and you snuck over. I thought you were trying to steal something, but then you just said, 'I'll trade you some strong spirits for your roast'..."

"Aye, thirty years have passed in the blink of an eye. Back then, I was just starting out, always dreaming of doing something big, making a fortune, and carving out a name for myself." Old Soth stroked his beard and smiled. "Now my son is a grown man. Just recently, he was complaining to me that little Parker refuses to settle down and learn the trade, wanting instead to follow in his grandfather's footsteps and roam the world..."

"Thirty years. We've all grown old."

"That 'all' isn't quite right. Only Soth and I are old; you, Duantie, are still young." The half-elf, who also sported a beard, shook his head with a smile. "Soth's energy isn't what it used to be, and in a few more years, I won't have the stamina to lead a caravan either. When the young ones take over, you'll have to help them out, Uncle."

Duantie immediately looked miserable. "I don't know the first thing about business! You want me to lead them on adventures, that's fine, but leading them in trade? Isn't that just waiting to go bankrupt?"

"Don't worry, we aren't retiring just yet; we'll be guiding them for a while longer." Soth's wrinkled face wore a gentle smile. "Besides... before I die, I want to visit the Ancient Elf Temple we went to back in the day one more time, and have a good chat with that immortal Elder."

"I'm in favor of that! The wine at that temple is excellent, and the Frog Elder is a kind soul." Duantie's spirits lifted instantly. "We'll go mooch some drinks together!"

As they were speaking, Sui Xiong suddenly sensed a wave of intense malice coming from afar. He hurriedly warned Gerald, who stood up to look and saw a group of orcs galloping toward them on dire wolves.

"Orc Wolf Rider Band! Everyone, defend!"

The Orc Wolf Rider Band was a notorious gang of bandits in the Four Northwest Towns region. These brigands hailed from the Northern Wasteland, boasting large numbers and ruthless tactics. Wherever they went, they left nothing behind, cruel to the extreme. The bounty for their extermination had long hung on the notice boards of the four towns, yet no one had ever succeeded. More than once, adventurers had sought to cause them trouble, only to never return.

For various reasons, the Four Northwest Towns had not established a standing army. This might have been to prevent war, but it also left them powerless to curb large-scale, swift-moving bandit groups like the Orc Wolf Rider Band.

Over time, the organization had grown increasingly powerful, eventually reaching the point where they dared to raid merchant caravans stationed on the outskirts of towns, and they succeeded time and again.

This time, they were clearly here to raid the caravan once more.

Seeing dozens of green-skinned orcs charging in on gray dire wolves, the merchants fell into a panic. The quick-witted ones didn't hesitate to abandon their goods and sprint toward the village, seeking a safe place to hide and hoping the bandits would leave once they'd looted enough so they could save their own lives. The brave ones drew their weapons and overturned their carriages to use as barricades, determined to fight to the death, even if it meant dying with dignity. As for the smartest ones, they ran straight toward "Lucky Coin," hoping to cooperate with them and grasp at a glimmer of survival.

The leaders of Lucky Coin were veteran adventurers, and the moment they spotted the bandits, they prepared for battle. Old Soth moved with astonishing agility, rushing a short distance away to begin setting traps. He was incredibly fast, completing a trap in roughly two or three breaths, fully displaying the exquisite handiwork of a seasoned thief. The bodyguards calmly donned their full gear and formed a defensive line behind the carriages. The dwarf who had just been busy roasting meat ducked into a carriage, emerging moments later clad in heavy plate armor that looked like a tortoise shell, transforming into a formidable heavy warrior. The half-elf stuck a quiver of arrows into the ground beside him for rapid firing. Even the assistants pulled leather armor and weapons from the carriages, ready for the fight.

"W-White brother, where is your w-weapon?" Perhaps because it was his first time facing such a scene, Palin appeared somewhat jittery. He clutched his crystal-embedded wand, nervously preparing to cast spells, but he couldn't seem to calm down. Perhaps to bolster his own confidence, he leaned toward the hulking Gerald and asked in a low voice.

Ever since he was reborn as a giant, Gerald had not used a weapon. He had buried his old battle-axe in the ruins of White Leaf Village, interred alongside those memories. At this moment, he was empty-handed, without even a single suitable tool.

Watching the enemy draw closer, he frowned, looking left and right, when his eyes suddenly lit up. He took a few long strides to a large tree with a trunk about a foot in diameter.

"Y-you... what are you d-doing?" A merchant standing by the tree, who was trembling as he put on his leather armor, was startled by his sudden approach and asked stutteringly.

Gerald ignored him, looking the tree up and down.

The trunk was straight, the wood dense, and the branches lush—it was perfect.

He bent down, hooked his left hand slightly, and wrapped his right arm around the trunk. Amidst the stunned silence of the nearby merchants, he gave a light shout and pulled it right out of the ground. The splashed mud fell like raindrops, some even landing in the mouth of the fellow nearby who had been standing there with his jaw hanging open.

He weighed the tree in his hand and looked at the messy roots, shaking his head in dissatisfaction.

The roots were a bit of a nuisance; they would easily hurt his comrades during the fight.

He rested the roots on the ground, stomped on them hard a few times, then picked it up and smoothed them out with his thick palms, clearing away the bothersome roots until it finally looked decent. Only then did he swing it twice and sigh.

"A bit light, and the balance isn't great, but it'll do."

However, this scene had already left everyone dumbfounded. These merchants who traveled far and wide hadn't never seen a strongman, but who had ever seen strength so exaggerated! Although there were rumors in folklore about "giants using trees as clubs," when it actually happened before their eyes, even knowing the giant was their ally, the instinct of the weak made them feel suffocated and weak-kneed.

Yet, seeing their comrade so powerful greatly boosted their confidence in victory. For a moment, the panicked merchants calmed down; even those who had wanted to hide ran out, drawing their weapons to fight side-by-side.

The Orc Wolf Rider Band was indeed powerful and dangerous, but could they be more powerful or dangerous than a giant who pulled up a tree to use as a club?

Clearly not!

If that was the case, what was there to fear?

Gerald carried his "big club" and strolled back to the Lucky Coin formation, standing directly at the front, facing the charging bandits with a swagger.

In his past adventuring career, he had fought bandits more than once. But he had never felt as confident and fearless as he did today.

He even had the leisure to turn his head, wave the tree—which was taller than four or five men stacked together—and smile at the uneasy Palin. "There, you see? That's my weapon."

"A truly reliable weapon!" the dwarf Duantie praised. "Being tall is certainly convenient!"

"Actually, I'd prefer to use something normal, like a hammer or an axe," Gerald said. "But I can't find anything that fits my size!"

"The next town we're going to is Gold Rush Town, which is rich in ore. I'll forge you a weapon then," the dwarf said. "Although my smithing skills are only average, forging a large axe shouldn't be beyond me."

"It's a deal, then!" Gerald laughed. "The payment... uh, the payment is here."

As they spoke, the orcs on their dire wolves had closed in. They clearly noticed Gerald, and one by one, they pulled on their reins, hesitating to move forward.

One must understand, facing a giant as tall as a town wall, holding an entire tree as a weapon in one hand, not many people would have the courage to risk being smashed into a pulp just to charge in and die.

Even bandits were no exception.

The bandit leader, "Bloodhand" Ruhl—an orc wearing leather armor that shimmered with magical light, his scimitar also glowing with magical energy—fell into a dilemma.

He knew very well how terrifying the giant's strength would be. Under normal circumstances, he would have led his men to take a detour, never provoking such an opponent—not to mention the potential risks, the price to pay just to kill this giant would be irreparable.

To kill such an opponent, he would likely have to be prepared to lose half his bandit gang.

Without his gang, what would he be in this savage land?

However, the news received from a reliable source had solidified his conviction.

His gaze fell upon Gerald's right wrist, fixed on the bone bracelet that faintly shimmered with magical light.

As long as he obtained this treasure, what did it matter if the entire bandit group was wiped out!

A legendary treasure was enough to let him run rampant across the four towns; even if he returned to those prosperous regions, it would be enough to establish himself and enjoy a life of debauchery.

Since that was the case, the historical mission of this "Orc Wolf Rider Band" could come to an end!

Thinking of this, he finally made up his mind, swung his scimitar, and issued the order to attack.

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