Yorgos lacked confidence in his ability to control his own life.
Ever since the day he suffered his second defeat at the hands of the chieftain of his own clan, he had been continually consumed by questions.
What was the origin of the power that burned within him, the power he so often longed for?
When asked if what he truly desired was to become a “warrior of the ogres,” he couldn’t answer definitively.
The honorable warriors painted with war makeup, sent off with grand banquets—male ogres and females alike grew up looking up to the glory of these warriors. They were born with thick, sturdy bodies, their dull-colored skin gleaming with sweat, their muscles rippling with latent strength. Above all, they pushed past their limits, perfecting their spirit and martial prowess without relying on their natural physical abilities, rendering their warrior instincts into something noble that made them beautiful.
Wielding greatswords that even the massive-built Yorgos could barely handle, these warriors, bearing the respect and expectations of their people, marched off to battle. To say he wasn’t in awe of their backs would be a lie.
But to ask if he longed to stand beside them and earn similar renown, his soul would conjure up emotions that were difficult to put into words.
Yorgos knew all too well that he couldn’t become a warrior because he was a man. And yet, when asked if he wished he’d been born a woman, strangely, the answer was also no.
There was no doubt that being born a woman would have been easier. An armor that fit, a sword crafted specifically for him, and handles made to match his hands—these would undoubtedly have been far more comfortable than the nameless sword left behind in the warehouse after its wielder acquired a new weapon.
With a towering stature that few humans could rival, the strength to lift massive rocks, a grip that could dent steel, and the core strength to push back against an ox without yielding. These were all extraordinary powers, the admiration-inspiring strength of pure force, yet Yorgos found they didn’t extend beyond mere admiration.
The revered aspect of the ogre warriors lay in the fact that despite possessing such advantages, they chose not to indulge, instead dedicating themselves to refining their martial skills. So while Yorgos admired them, he couldn’t bring himself to nod when they casually offered to confer their strength upon him.
Because, though Yorgos yearned to grow strong, he had never once desired to be “given” strength.
And yet, when he pondered whether he simply wanted to become stronger, his mind still wasn’t entirely convinced.
The ogre who had taught him swordsmanship—whom he couldn’t in good conscience call his master, though he received lessons from them until he was slapped and had his eardrum burst—had once said to Yorgos, who stubbornly tried to wield ogre swords:
“Use something more fitting for your build.”
Ogre swords weren’t crafted for show or vanity but were purposefully made to suit their towering stature. In the realm of weapons, size matters, and though these greatswords might seem like a cruel joke compared to those of humans, they were perfectly suited to the ogres’ massive physiques.
But for Yorgos, who was tall even by human standards, they were too long and too heavy. If he only desired to grow stronger, there would have been countless other tools far more suited to him than the unwieldy greatsword.
Still, he stubbornly clung to the ancestral teachings, favoring the ogre sword. It took considerable effort to wield it now, but in the beginning, he repeatedly collapsed from the sheer weight, even cracking a bone in his flexible yet sturdy wrist crafted from a special alloy.
Even now, despite his years of practice, he couldn’t fully embrace the weapon as his own, yet he refused to deny his attachment to it.
For all his musings, he could not pinpoint what exactly he aspired to. Through sleepless nights, he could not discern what he had truly longed for, even though he had abandoned his clan to become a warrior.
If all he wanted was to become a warrior, all he needed to do was abandon his oversized weapon now, as the golden-haired warrior suggested, and switch to a more appropriate Zweihänder.
But still, his hands clung stubbornly to the hilt, and eventually, the greatsword remained behind at the inn.
Why did his longing persist, intertwined with the desire to grow stronger?
His musings yielded no answers. Despite learning from the hero of the adventures of the chieftain he once revered and undoubtedly growing in strength, the “answer” remained elusive.
“It’s not something I can decide for you.” The golden-haired warrior spoke with certainty, and in her blue eyes, Yorgos could sense a “core” within her that he lacked.
Would acquiring such a core bring about a change? While helping to set up campfires at various points, he wondered about this as his thoughts drifted.
Ultimately, he couldn’t say he was truly in control of his life. If he had been, he wouldn’t have been so bewildered.
As proof of his lack of control, he now found himself in a place he hadn’t chosen—an ogre tent of a traveling caravan’s prostitute.
Initially, when called by the chieftain, he had hoped perhaps for advice.
Walking towards the outskirts of the manor, he was strangely joined by other members of the Sword Friends’ Association and the local defense forces. It baffled him why they looked at him warmly, slapped his back, and told him things like “Good luck!” and “You’re enviable!”
Then, upon reaching the caravan camp, he was somehow ushered among the many tents into one specific one.
He couldn’t comprehend how or why the golden-haired woman had handed silver coins to what appeared to be an older nun bearing the holy sign of the God of Fertility, asking if he had any children.
“Wow, that’s handsome! Right up my alley, a good-looking man!”
As his thoughts remained muddled, a figure barged into the tent. Speaking in a coarse, slurred dialect of the Imperial language came a voluptuously dressed werewolf woman.
The tall and well-built werewolf race, where even the women typically grew large, featured among them a magnificent physical specimen nearly eye-level with Yorgos. Her dazzling, silver-gray fur and voluptuous figure accentuated a striking chest and faint but visible secondary breast mounds.
Her face was indistinguishable in terms of s*x from Yorgos’ species, yet it exuded a fierce and reliable presence, a visage both strikingly beautiful yet perhaps too savage for conventional beauty. Suffice to say, it was enough to stir his aesthetic sensibilities.
A face reminiscent of the clan’s warriors, a confident expression that held an unwavering core. Her reassuring smile could inspire trust, and as she crouched in front of Yorgos and audaciously grabbed his chin to closely examine him, her gaze was unwavering.
“But, what a waste. Here’s a guy pining and brooding, ruining the mood even though you’re just my type.”
“Uh… huh? Erm… excuse me…?”
“Stop apologizing! Are you an idiot? Apologizing just makes it worse!”
With a tone unsuitable for a customer, the moment her hand released his face, Yorgos was smacked on the forehead. The werewolf’s pawed hand, hardened enough to hold objects, delivered quite an impact, and if it weren’t for his tree-like neck, his tendons might have been injured from the blow as he fell backward.
“Well, it’s fine… brooding over trivial matters is one of the cute aspects of guys.”
“U-Uh…! M-Me…?”
“I know, I know!”
Sharp-clawed fingers skillfully undid the buttons of Yorgos’ upper garment without tearing the clothing. Exposed was his blue skin, covered in thick muscles, a testament to years of dedication fueled by some unmet yearning. Gently, her fingers brushed against him, eliciting a low growl from the ogre’s throat.
“You’re overthinking things… just be honest with yourself.”
“Honest… with myself…?”
“That’s right, there’s nothing left to do but give in… so I’ll play with you. While you’re under this tent, leave all pretenses behind.”
With a cheerful yet fierce smile revealing canine teeth characteristic of her species, she leaned forward and kissed the bewildered ogre male.
All Yorgos could process afterward was how incredibly fleeting it all felt. The taste of her unfamiliar mouth, perhaps freshly rinsed with soothing herbs, was pleasant and unexpected.
The heat radiating from another body that enveloped his was fiercely warm yet tender, her fur tickling his skin as she absorbed him into her embrace.
The softness of her form, pressing against his hand, along with the provocative whispers in his ear that grew increasingly sweet, were all completely new to him and overwhelmed his understanding.
Especially, the extreme heat concentrating in his waist made him delusionally imagine the iron in a furnace melting. The overwhelming sensations bombarded his rugged spirit, numbing his mind until everything faded to a bright haze as his consciousness blurred.
Even as his body soared to heights of pleasure and warmth coursed through him, his awareness lagged behind.
After losing count of how many climaxes they shared, the werewolf collapsed onto his chest, puffing heavily as she extended her long tongue to cool down, leaving Yorgos concerned about her exhaustion despite his own lack of feeling from the waist down.
After all, she had been commanding him, urging him on, as the intensity of their union mounted.
“That was good boy… didn’t expect it’d go five rounds!”
“E- e- er…”
“So you shouldn’t be apologizing. I’m complimenting you here, so show a little joy, will ya!”
While laying sprawled, Yorgos was smacked on the forehead again, leaving him uncertain how to react.
And yet… somewhere within, he felt inexplicably refreshed.
Nothing was solved, not by a long stretch. He still didn’t understand how he wanted to grow stronger, nor did he have any inkling of how to resolve his dilemmas.
“Look, if you keep brooding, you’ll blow a fuse in the wrong places. Adventurers do cursed work—take it easy or you’ll collapse.”
Still, something clicked inside him.
“You work to protect us, right? So don’t tense up unnecessarily, and save your strength for what’s important. Once you’re done, come back anytime—I’ll be here to spoil you further!”
Perhaps this, being a man and connecting with something he’d yearned for, even if it was just a small part… …
【Tips】It is said that the three categories—humans, sub-humans, and magical species—are classified under the broad heading of “humanity-like creatures” based on the criterion that they are “capable of interbreeding” and exhibit “s*xual preferences” similar to proximate species.
Apparently, the in-service monk who had long been watching over the prostitutes is known for making accurate judgments regardless of species differences.
The ogre society is not so much female-dominant but rather matriarchal where females typically derive pleasure from subduing and “squeezing” their chosen males.
This knowledge, one might say, comes from past experience of the monk assigning male prostitutes to ogre warriors during their city-dwelling days.
And according to him, the male libido complements the female libido—an essential mechanism for the survival of a species through reproduction that makes the act “pleasurable” by aligning the psychological structures, as seen in humans.
Thus, assigning to him what appeared to be a sturdy female figure in wolf form reflected the monk’s astute judgment.
Others too seemed to connect with their chosen companions, retreating into tents, so he decided it was best to leave before appearing foolish for standing around.
“Kind of you to visit us.”
As Yorgos quickened his steps to leave the prostitutes’ tent, a shadow called out to him, reminding him of the guilt of arriving without indulging in the offered pleasures.
Though he had already noticed the presence and wasn’t startled, he glanced over and saw the young woman who had once brought him water on his first day of guarding duty. She was one named “My Fan,” a younger prostitute.
“Really attentive to those under your care, isn’t it?”
Much like the previous individual, she observed him with adoration in soft tones that baffled Yorgos, who spent his life in the imperial city with limited exposure to brothels in rural areas. Didn’t ‘zo-zotto suru’ mean something about being impressed or captivated?
Regardless, he didn’t entirely dislike being praised, but being detained made him feel awkward, especially given the risk of drawing attention from other prostitutes eager to make sales. Wealthy clients are often accompanied by multiple attendants for entertainment, and he didn’t wish to be roped into such transactions given the assumption that he carried money.
However, he couldn’t sense ulterior motives from her, though the setting wasn’t exactly helping…
“As the leader, it’s one of my duties to ensure my subordinates can work smoothly.”
“Truly grand words! Those under you must be fortunate to have such a master!”
“If you think that, then I’m glad.”
A spontaneous scratch of his cheek betrayed his embarrassment; he wasn’t often praised in this regard, outside of polite compliments. Her words carried no condescension or guile, leaving him unexpectedly accepting them without resistance.
Thinking he was jaded from his years as an adventurer, it seemed he still retained some innocence, which he needed to preserve while avoiding undue exuberance.
Excessive innocence can become a vulnerability, but a remnant of it was desirable. He must be cautious not to get carried away.
Mentioning his duties, the woman let him depart, simply offering “Good luck” in parting.
Ah, so if the monk was kind, the affiliated lady was kind as well. Once all was done and he returned, it might be nice to treat everyone as a celebration. Returning from battle with wounded spirits is less ideal than returning happily, which would surely encourage motivation for the next venture.
Various complications had led them to this late hour.
A slight glimpse into Yorgos becoming a man.
Volume 3 is temporarily out of stock in many online stores, but it’s said that there’s still inventory in the warehouse, and it will be restocked after the week begins.
On the Overlap official online store, it comes with a special paper bonus, so if you’d like, we would greatly appreciate your continued support.
It seems we’re at the end of our prelude now.
