Published: January 12, 2026
I rode my horse out of the village, feeling excited.
The husbands glared at the dagger hanging from my waist as if it were the enemy of their parents, so I couldn’t help but snort with laughter.
After all, it’s all about how you behave every day.
As I rode along the highway, I drew the dagger. The blade that slid out of the sheath was decorated with elaborate craftsmanship, apparently handmade by the young master.
That young master really knows his stuff. This dagger, despite its decorations that could rival some precious sword of a royal family, is designed to be practical.
Being a dagger, it’s light and easy to swing, and shaped well for stabbing. The guard is almost non-existent, which is a good thing. For an adventurer, a dagger is basically a secondary or hidden weapon.
If it were about the size between a dagger and a longsword, someone like me might use it as a main weapon, but a smaller dagger or knife isn’t suitable as a primary weapon to fight demonic beasts.
That’s why it’s important in critical moments. In such cases, a small, agile, and light dagger is very handy. Without a guard, there’s no snagging, and you can slip it into tight spaces easily.
Grinning while holding the dagger, the journey to the capital city passed in no time.
Just a few more kilometers, and the capital city would come into view.
As I loosened my pace and pushed the horse forward, my eyes caught something strange.
Off the highway, there was a wagon turned sideways, its wheels facing sideways and its door flung open toward the sky.
In other words, it had overturned.
Nearby, a group of huge men with dark, greenish skin were gathered—creatures rarely seen on the highway.
Their skin was rough with black spots, heads completely bald, large noses, and eyes half-closed with wrinkles, their yellowed eyeballs grotesque.
They were orcs—the ugly representatives among demonic beasts.
Three orcs were there; two of them held the legs of the horses that used to pull the wagon, burying their faces into their bellies as they feasted on the flesh.
One glanced at me briefly, mouthful of entrails, then went right back to devouring the horse’s belly.
Apparently, they were hungry. Orcs always follow their desires: hunger, sleep, lust, and bloodlust.
Each orc acts on whatever desire is strongest at the moment. Those two were driven by hunger, but what was the third orc, climbing into the wagon, planning to do?
It was obvious: either lust or murderous intent toward whoever was inside.
“Normally, they’d be a tough opponent, but right now, they’re barely enough to satisfy me.”
I muttered as I drew my Mithril Dagger.
Before they could brace themselves, I closed the distance, slashed off the arm of the orc climbing into the wagon.
Wincing at the piercing scream in my ears, I followed up with a cut across its neck. The blade was astonishingly sharp—the orc’s neck was half severed.
Noticing the comrade losing balance and falling from the wagon, the other two orcs roared and turned toward me.
“You intend to come at me? I’d advise against it if you value your lives.”
I warned, holding the dagger ready, but the two orcs kicked off the ground and charged.
“Hshh.”
I exhaled softly and darted diagonally forward—toward the outstretched hands of the orcs.
As their hands lunged forward side by side, I sliced through them and used the momentum to move to their opposite side.
I took the rear of both at once.
“You’re lacking in coordination.”
I said, swinging my dagger, quickly slicing through the two orcs’ spinal cords.
Wow. This might become a habit.
Laughing as if I’d become a hero-level adventurer, someone crawled out of the fallen wagon. At first, I mistook the delicate figure for a child.
It was a petite, slender woman with long deep brown hair and slightly sleepy-looking eyes—a cute woman.
Traveling alone in a wagon like this?
While pondering that, she got out of the wagon and looked at me.
“Thank you so much for saving me. My name is Flamilia Stratos. I imagine you are someone of considerable renown, but may I ask your name?”