"Perverted freak! Filthy worm!"

As Oren clutched his face and stumbled backward, Yamwen yelled at him, one hand pressed to her chest. At the sound, Oren just sighed in annoyance, rubbing his cheek.

"Ugh, I’m making sacrifices too, you know. Do you have any idea how much pressure I’m under—"

"Shut up! Scum! By human standards alone, you’re the worst kind of scum!"

Beside them, Lia nodded firmly. "Absolutely. She’s right."

"Hey! Don’t kick me when I’m down!" Oren whined toward Lia. But Yamwen had already raised her bow again, tears welling in her eyes.

"You’ll pay for stealing my virtue!"

Oren turned his head away, muttering under his breath. "Seriously? Just a grope ruins your virtue? How cheap is that—"

Yamwen heard him. Her face flushed crimson, then paled. Trembling slightly, she stood with bow drawn, her dark, damp eyes locked on Oren like a creature trapped in a lightless well.

"You! You deserve death!"

She nocked another Feathered Arrow. But before she could loose it, the orc beside her—Lontan—lunged forward and seized her wrist.

"Let go! What are you doing, Lontan?!"

*If she shoots again, I might not survive.*

Lontan’s gaze flicked to Oren, who stood scowling ahead. *That boy moved fast enough to stab Yamwen outright. Why choose such a... strange method?* He sighed. "This world really has all kinds of people."

"Huh? What did you say, Lontan?"

Lontan shook his head, releasing Yamwen slowly. "Nothing. We should retreat. Your spell caused massive magical ripples. Helistar Academy’s professors will—"

"I don’t care!" Yamwen roared. "Let them come! I’ll slaughter every thief of my people’s knowledge! I’ve been waiting for an excuse to kill them!"

*Ah... I’m her guardian.* Lontan, 260 years old—a venerable age for an orc—remembered the infant elf who’d watched her parents beheaded by humans at age ten. That trauma had convinced her the world was corrupted by magic-wielding humans. He’d watched her spiral down this path since she was a child.

Yamwen wrenched free, nocking an arrow at Oren. "For Elvenfolk honor!"

*Whoosh!* The Feathered Arrow tore toward Oren’s skull, trailing a violent gale. But in an instant, Oren raised his Longsword—

*Clang!*

His blade flashed upward, splitting the arrow cleanly in two.

*Impressive.* Lontan nodded, intrigued. Oren spun his sword casually, steadying his stance. "Your magic shook the whole forest. Helistar Academy’s professors will be here soon. Leave now, and I won’t stop you."

"What nonsense is this?!" Lia shouted from behind him. "Why offer mercy?! Are you rotten in the head too?!"

"Why do you keep insulting my intelligence?" Oren shot back.

Yamwen sneered. "Your friend disagrees with you. But it changes nothing for me." She drew her bow taut. "I won’t spare any human! The Crimson Dragon wants you alive—but losing an arm or leg won’t matter, will it?"

Oren sighed heavily, raising his Longsword. Lia mirrored him, a blazing fireball igniting in her left palm.

"...Two racist idiots," Oren muttered.

Lontan stepped forward, hefting his great axe with weary resignation. In the orc’s eyes, Oren saw a strange sense of kinship. Lontan offered an awkward smile.

*Fellow sufferers...* The thought flashed through Oren’s mind.

"Kill them!" Yamwen shrieked in High Elven.

Lontan’s axe crashed down. Oren barely blocked the blow with his Longsword. "No hard feelings," the orc rumbled apologetically. "Just doing my job." He sidestepped—vanishing from view—as Yamwen’s Feathered Arrow shot straight for Oren’s eye.