The bustling season of spring always brings large crowds to the great cities.
In the westernmost frontier of the empire, Marsheim, the capital of the westernmost province that is practically part of the Threefold Empire of Rain, was no exception as it welcomed the end of spring with a vibrant bustle of many visitors.
Caravans heading north, where they had been snowbound, merchants seeking exotic goods from foreign lands further west, and carriages filled with tenant farmers on indentured servitude heading towards new farmlands. A great multitude of people, be they imperial subjects or foreign nationals, moved about freely.
“Wow…there are so many people here.”
The male ogre was completely overwhelmed by the sight. Hailing from a tribe with its activity base among the city-states along the southern inland sea, which were under a quasi-feudatory relationship with the Threefold Empire located in the southern part of the empire, he had hardly ever seen cities with populations in the tens of thousands.
Not even after half a year of wandering through the empire’s provinces did this impression change. As a warrior seeking his fortunes, he had traveled far, but remote borderlands rarely boasted large cities.
The city’s energy, swollen by the number of residents and merchants who passed through, was just too much for him, like drinking too strong a drink.
“In comparison, the imperial capital is more subdued; several provincial capitals are incomparably livelier than this place.”
“Huh!? More than this?”
“The port city of Elberand on the banks of the great river has over a hundred thousand citizens alone, while the population of Norrheim, the center of iron and wine production, exceeds two hundred thousand. Of course, only about fifty thousand live within the city walls, but the urban area extends endlessly, presenting an impressive sight that no fortress city can match.”
“Wow, you sure have traveled a lot, Master.”
“It’s not that great, it was like a paid vacation for officials.”
As the confused ogre tilted his head, the sorcerer in black robes walked toward the entry queue, with his staff in hand. However, instead of joining the commoners in line, he headed towards the guardhouse at the side of the great gate.
The ogre wondered if he really didn’t have to wait in line and asked. In response, the sorcerer nonchalantly pulled out a letter from his pocket.
The seal of wax indicated that it was an official pass issued by the nobility. With this document, one could pass through customs easily unless there was a very good reason, so why would they need to go through the trouble?
“They say in the East that even brushing sleeves with someone is a bond through many lifetimes. I feel bad making you carry my luggage, so I’m letting you come through as my bodyguard; you’ll even save on the entry tax. It’ll be a good substitute for your fee, don’t you think?”
“Huh, so this was the meaning behind it?”
“I see, you carried it unknowingly…”
“Ah, no, it was accidental…”
The ogre, somewhat embarrassed, scratched his head. This was understandable; male ogres are accustomed to serving their females as a protective race, and whenever they see someone important carrying heavy bundles, they can’t help but want to assist.
“I’m not so great or stingy as to not pay someone to carry my luggage,” said the sorcerer, lips slightly pursed. Meanwhile, the ogre thought, “This master sometimes acts oddly cute,” even though they were of the same gender. The human race, quite similar in appearance to ogres, often falls within their s*xual preferences.
Still, even if there’s mutual attraction, their compatibility varies, as they are quite different in many ways, so the possibility of becoming mates remains uncertain.
The ogre smoothly entered the city and looked around with child-like curiosity. The tall brick buildings, the few streetlights standing alongside, and the cobblestones laid out neatly—though less well-kept when compared to the imperial capital—all felt fresh and exciting.
What resonated most deeply was the fact that several living legends celebrated in heroic tales resided here.
The adventurer with the dual fame of bravery and infamy, the Werewolf, Hunger Wolf Yern.
The mercenary centaur renowned for unparalleled spear skills, Tongueless Manfred.
The tunnel dweller who disrupted countless competitions and easily defeated professional soldiers who sought to honor him but chose to remain an adventurer, the Eccentric Hubertus.
The holy figure Fidelio, famed in heroic epics for slaying the Limbless Dragon and fighting for the people.
And the latest hero of the west: the Bandit Hunter, he who laughs with his sword, the Generous One, the golden-haired swordsman Ehrich, whose new sobriquets inspired poets to produce countless new works in his honor.
How can one not be moved standing on the ground where their idols have performed their deeds? Many would imagine themselves following in their footsteps, trembling in excitement at the prospect of yet-to-come adventures.
Despite the reality of the muddy paths that lie ahead, the fleeting nature of this very moment makes it precious, for it will not return no matter how much one reminisces.
Had the sorcerer been a harsh master, they might have simply scolded the ogre for his wandering and urged them forward. Instead, the romantic sorcerer smiled faintly and slowed his pace to match his companion’s. Despite being taller and usually faster, he walked so slowly that even a small child could keep up.
“Ah, d*mn it!”
For over an hour, the ogre had aimlessly wandered around, accumulating unnecessary purchases in both hands. Only now did he realize he had neglected his destination, as well as the whereabouts of the sorcerer, who was still carrying his luggage.
“Sorry, Master!”
“Not a problem; I had a wonderful time as well, and I had business here anyway.”
“Here?” The ogre tilted his head, to which the sorcerer pointed to a nearby tavern.
“What…ah…ah…silver…silver…”
“It’s the Silver Snow Wolf Tavern.”
Despite having learned some, the ogre still struggled to read the imperial language. After expressing gratitude to the sorcerer for reading it out and pausing for a moment, he suddenly let out a shout, loud enough to catch the attention of others around him.
After all, this was precisely their destination.
The sorcerer had, throughout this time, subtly guided the inexperienced ogre towards the right place—by glances, walking ahead, and occasional nudges with his staff. He had learned about the tavern from a guard during the entry procedures, having given them a coin and consulted a map in the process.
What’s more, it made sense. How could an aspiring adventurer seeking guidance from the golden-haired Ehrich not want to first visit the tavern known as the headquarters of his clan, the Sword Friends Association?
“You came here hearing the Golden Hair’s poem, didn’t you? In that case, it’s natural to know where you’d want to go first.”
“Ah, there’s something to being a magic user, all right, Master. You really are sharp.”
“There’s no point in praising me. Shall we enter?”
“Huh? Are you coming too, Master?”
“Just come along,” said the sorcerer, nudging the ogre into the tavern. The ogre, recalling that he hadn’t yet asked about the sorcerer’s purpose for visiting Marsheim…
Inside was a tavern modest yet impeccably clean, creating a pleasant atmosphere. A grand, polished counter sat at the deepest part of the wide hall, behind which stood a rugged-looking, bearded owner with a prominent black hairstyle.
The tavern was busy. Many young adventurers appeared to be drinking beer or discussing their next missions at the counters and tables, creating a lively scene.
Just like the poem described, the Silver Snow Wolf Tavern was owned by a former adventurer who catered to the younger generation, offering both accommodation and drinks at wallet-friendly prices. The large courtyard served as a place to hang laundry, where the Sword Friends Association, led by golden-haired Ehrich, was training disciples in both swordsmanship and the craft of adventure.
A few customers caught sight of the new arrivals and, upon recognizing them clearly, were momentarily stunned. An ogre as a visitor was rare enough, but the finely dressed sorcerer standing beside him was beyond imaginable. Looking like a noble person with an escort, their presence intrigued everyone, silently wondering what their business could be.
Unbothered by curious glances, rather relishing them, the ogre scanned the room for the person he was after.
At last, he spotted a man with blond hair and blue eyes. At the counter, a tall and well-built man sat quietly, sipping beer and nibbling on some snacks. His height reached up to the ogre’s neck, making him a notably large figure. A sword was carefully bagged and placed beside him, a typical longsword matching the one used by the golden-haired Ehrich.
The man’s hair color wasn’t as “shiny” as the poem suggested, but then, exaggeration was inherent in poems. Though far from possessing the “clear beauty” often described, one could easily imagine this man engaging in fierce battles on horseback. This was indeed plausible.
Approaching the blond man boldly, the ogre greeted him with as much decorum as he could muster, using the court language he had practiced with the sorcerer on the way here.
“Ah, excuse me.”
“Wha? Oh…you… you’re big, aren’t you, an ogre?”
The blond man, preoccupied with his drinking, looked up startled at what seemed to be a voice coming from the heavens. He was greatly surprised as the ogre standing before him was at least a head taller with possibly twice the girth.
Not to mention, the ogre was imposing in his own right with lengthy fangs typical even for a female ogre, a stern and angular face that resembled a walking colossus. The man was reminded of the “evil spirit” depicted in religious statues among eastern trade goods, the kind that would crush enemies underfoot.
Both were momentarily at a loss for words. The ogre, overwhelmed by excitement, completely forgot the prepared lines he had planned for meeting an idol. The blond man, meanwhile, frantically searched his mind for some past misdeed—”What? Did I do something? I was just quietly drinking…oh, was it that time?”
Their confusion, however, was cut short. The door to the courtyard opened and a lively group entered, chatting animatedly.
They all wore casual clothing, and the heat of recent exercise radiated off of them. Most were drenched in sweat, covered in mud and light bruises, and wielding mock weapons. Wooden swords altered to be closer to real weapons, blunt spear tips, and swords with dulled edges all bore evidence of vigorous use.
“Man, that was tough today.”
“Yeah, really intense training today.”
“Not quitting, but d*mn, it hurts!”
“Barkeep, beer! Beer!”
In high spirits, the young adventurers, a diverse bunch, flooded into the tavern. Most had beginner-level adventurer certificates, their color intensity still low, indicating their recent entry into the profession. Their leader threw a silver coin jovially as he spoke.
“Great work today, everyone. Let me treat you to a round. Barkeep, our usual please.”
The atmosphere was filled with boisterous, hearty laughter, with complaints rising from other tables—”What about us?”
And then, amidst the rising din, two loud voices resonated through the tavern.
“Lord Ehrich the Golden!”
“My friend!!”
One was the resounding voice of the ogre. The other, a higher-pitched, emotionally charged male voice.
Everyone in the tavern exclaimed in surprise. A few remarked, “That’s not him,” while others noticed the extravagantly embroidered robes of a figure who had just joined the group of adventurers. One even shouted out his name.
“Mi-ka!?”
“Oh, my dear friend Ehrich! It’s been so long!! You look as robust as ever, which is all too wonderful!!”
Emerging from the crowd, a handsome man leaped—no, flew—toward the figure in slightly oversized casual clothes who stood cool and composed amidst all the chaos. Unlike the others, he barely perspired, his neatly brushed-back hair shimmering under the weak light filtering through the skylights, his cat-like eyes retaining their luster.
The traveling sorcerer. A young listener sent out on inspections by the Magic Academy to complete the tasks necessary for advancement to the rank of mage, Mika, an old friend, now reunited with the renowned “Golden Hair,” Ehrich of Königsstuhl.
Without any disdain at being embraced by someone taller than himself, the adventurer caught and spun Mika gently, dissipating his momentum, smiling brightly with a countenance akin to the rising sun as he did so…
