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“You can be healed by the young saint!”

“…At least you know you need a bath.”

From his words, it seemed he understood that not bathing might make him sick.

“Are you still refusing even though you know that? Are you a child?”

“Sometimes, even a wise man can learn from a child!”

It seemed like he was just saying whatever came to mind, and it was becoming increasingly clear that he wasn’t in his right mind. But, of course, I couldn’t just back down here. For the sake of my friend’s health, forcing him was the true mark of friendship!

As Russ looked calmly at the agitated Tassid, he glanced behind him and asked a question.

“Is the water boiling, Attila?”

The two people, who were facing off with their auras drawn, stood a little distance away from a giant bathtub. Beneath the bathtub, the flames of a spell crackled, heating the water within.

Attila, who had his hand in the tub, responded with a thumbs-up.

“It’s perfectly warm. It’s the ideal temperature to wash off the grime.”

Trolls, who rarely cut down trees, almost never used wood to light fires. They only gathered dead branches to prepare meals or light campfires for illumination. For tasks requiring a lot of heat, such as firing ceramics or glass, they used the flames of spells like this.

Russ’s eyes sparkled at Attila’s response.

“Give it up, friend!”

Tassid looked at the bathtub in horror. It was large enough to hold two or three orcs, with steam rising lazily from it. To Tassid, it looked like the lid of hell had opened, emitting sulfuric fumes.

Gripping his sword hilt tightly, Tassid shook his head.

“There is no word for surrender among the warriors of the Blue Bear Tribe!”

His words sounded grand, but it was just his way of saying he didn’t want to bathe. Russ slumped his shoulders.

“Ah… geez…”

Watching Tassid muster his determination as if facing a life-and-death battle, Russ scratched his head. The skill level between him and Tassid wasn’t that different. If Tassid made such a fuss about not wanting to bathe, it wouldn’t be easy for Russ to overpower him.

Of course, Russ had a solution.

“Attila.”

He called out for help to the tall troll, who was enjoying the show after boiling the water.

“Help me out.”

“With pleasure!”

Attila had already thought it was about time to get that guy cleaned up.

Rolling up his sleeves, Attila approached the two men. As he walked, he naturally used magic to strengthen his entire body.

“I grew large and kicked the juniper-green forest with my feet…”

Humming a shamanistic chant, the menacing troll approached, causing Tassid to cry out in despair.

“Attila! You too!”

“Why are you treating me like a traitor? It might be scary at first, but once you get started, you’ll enjoy it.”

Attila, loosening his long arms and replying slyly, suddenly tilted his head.

“…Come to think of it, that sounded a bit strange.”

Russ on the right and Attila on the left closed in on Tassid as if hunting prey. Tassid looked up at the sky and sighed.

“Oh, Father Lat, bless me!”

Tassid let out a shout and lunged forward.

“Raaah!”

Russ and Attila, with wry smiles, also lunged to meet him. The sound of a fierce scuffle filled the front yard of the White King’s castle.

Thud! Thud! Crash!

Of course, the situation ended very quickly. Currently, Attila was a strong warrior who could only be handled if Russ and Tassid joined forces. Although the two had outstanding talents and might catch up in a few years, for now, Attila’s skills were far superior. With Attila teaming up with Russ to push Tassid, it was no contest.

Russ’s joint lock subdued Tassid’s arms. Attila’s magic, a Spirit Weapon, pushed the enchanted sword, Dakar, far away from Tassid.

Russ grinned as he looked at the disarmed Tassid.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, friend.”

“Ugh…”

A look of fear flashed in the eyes of the valiant orc warrior.

* * *

Repenhardt was walking through the White King’s castle corridor with Siris when he suddenly glanced into the front yard and saw a strange sight.

“Hmm?”

Tassid, wearing only short pants, was clinging to one of the yard’s pillars. His expression was extremely desperate, like someone hanging onto a cliff for dear life. Meanwhile, Attila and Russ were holding onto Tassid’s waist and legs, trying their best to pull him off.

“No! No! No!”

“Are you a cat? Stop digging your claws into the pillar!”

Shouting, Russ forcibly pried Tassid’s hands off the pillar. A moment later, he yelled again.

“And stop biting the pillar! How on earth are you channeling aura with your teeth?”

Repenhardt alternated his gaze between the struggling Tassid and the large, boiling iron tub a little distance away, tilting his head in confusion.

“What’s this? Is tonight’s menu Tassid stew?”

Siris chuckled and answered.

“They’re giving Tassid a bath.”

“Oh!”

Repenhardt had been wondering how to get those orcs to bathe. Looking delighted, he gave Russ and Attila a vigorous thumbs-up.

“Good job!”

Attila smiled broadly, moving his jutting jaw.

“Don’t mention it!”

Tassid, now betrayed even by his mentor and benefactor, Repenhardt, let out a strange groan.

“Ughyaaah!”

The two continued to drag Tassid towards the tub. Just as Tassid was being helplessly pulled towards the entrance of his ‘hell,’ an orc woman walked into the yard from the opposite corridor. She had a sleek yet solid build and a voluptuous chest—the matriarch of the Blue Bear Tribe, Stalla.

“Hmm? What are you guys doing?”

Seeing Stalla, Tassid’s face lit up, and he shouted.

“Matriarch! Please help…”

But suddenly, Tassid’s complexion turned pale. There was something different about the matriarch’s appearance today. Her skin seemed unusually radiant and shiny.

Despite being a warrior, Stalla was still a woman and seemed conscious of being watched. She caressed her cheek and smiled sweetly.

“Oh? Is it noticeable? Oh, human soap is really nice. See, husband? Isn’t it great after you’ve bathed too?”

Tassid’s gaze shifted behind Stalla. There stood a majestic orc warrior looking like a drowned rat, with a hollow expression.

“Heh…”

Tassid and Kalken locked eyes. In his despair, Tassid asked.

“Chief… is it… is it the end for me?”

“My son, there is no such thing as eternal filth.”

The solemn voice was enough to make even Russ and Attila momentarily respectful. But that solemnity was quickly shattered by Stalla’s next words.

“What are you doing? Get him washed up already!”

“Russ! In the name of friendship, I beg you! Let go of my hands!”

“In the name of friendship, Tassid, it’s time for you to bathe.”

Splash!

With a loud splash, everything came to an end. The only thing left was a young orc sitting in the warm tub with a hopeless expression.

“Hey, stop looking like you’re dirtied! You’re actually clean now,” shouted Russ, as Tassid turned his head away. Repenhardt let out a chuckle.

“Things are peaceful.”

Siris nodded in agreement.

“It’s peaceful. Today, that strange woman is in the Elven Forest, too.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, nothing. Never mind.”

* * *

Repenhardt headed to the third floor of the White King Castle with Siris. The large room located on the outskirts of the third floor was an inner temple of the castle prepared for Al Port.

Upon entering, Repenhardt spoke.

“Hey, Makelin.”

On the podium where the relic of Al Port was hung, an old dwarf with a bushy white beard sensed their presence and turned around in surprise.

“Ugh, ugh?”

Seeing Repenhardt and Siris, the old dwarf revealed his bare chin and sighed in relief.

“Ah, you startled me, O Savior.”

Repenhardt shrugged his shoulders as he looked at the fluffy tuft of hair in Makelin’s hand.

“Oh, were you grooming your beard? Sorry about that.”

Siris asked in confusion at Repenhardt’s immediate apology.

“But, Lord Makelin. Isn’t it known that the beards of dwarves are bestowed by Al Port? Why were you so surprised?”

Dwarves revered Makelin’s beard not because they couldn’t distinguish it, but because it was considered a holy relic granted by their god, not realizing it wasn’t actually Makelin’s own beard.

Makelin clicked his tongue and replied as he quickly attached his sacred beard.

“Lady Siris, your clothes weren’t on you when you were born, but wouldn’t you be surprised if someone saw you without them?”

While it might not matter to Repenhardt or Siris, it was extremely embarrassing for a dwarf to show a bare chin to another dwarf.

“…Is it really that serious?”

Siris clicked her tongue, feeling the cultural differences between races. She had thought she knew dwarves well enough, but apparently not.

After tidying himself up—meaning he naturally adjusted his attached beard—Makelin offered Repenhardt a seat. Once seated around the table inside the temple, Makelin asked,

“What brings you here?”

“We need to discuss something, Makelin.”

Repenhardt answered with a serious expression.

“It’s time to attack the Principality of Chatan.”

The Principality of Chatan was the leading commercial nation on the continent.

Bordering the Kingdom of Graim, the Kingdom of Crovence, the Kingdom of Vasily, and the Principality of Lastil, and trading with the Holy Basutalon Empire, the Kingdom of Hallein, and the Kingdom of Teikan through the Juran River, the Principality of Chatan was truly the central hub of trade for all the continent’s goods.

And consequently, most of the slave trade was conducted through the capital of the Principality of Chatan, Zeppelin.

Elves, due to their long lifespan, are a major specialty produced exclusively in Zeppelin. Dwarves, too, are useful as slaves only in clan units, necessitating proper mediation through Zeppelin for a reliable transaction. Dwarf slaves usually had to be purchased in groups such as villages or clans, resulting in significant transaction amounts. A trustworthy intermediary was essential for safe trading.

A considerable number of orcs were also traded through Zeppelin, and due to the large transient population, the Alchemist Guild there was substantial. With many buyers of healing potions, Zeppelin had the highest number of trolls detained on the continent.

“We’ve saved many people so far, and we’ve started to establish ourselves. I think it’s time to attack Zeppelin in earnest.”

The number of non-human slaves in the Principality of Chatan, especially in its capital Zeppelin, was enormous. Even liberating just the compatriots there would more than double the number of non-humans in the White Kingdom. It was particularly crucial to rescue the relatively fewer elves en masse.

“While freeing those living as slaves is important, the downfall of Zeppelin’s merchants would significantly impact the slave trade across the continent. This was the last major task I accomplished in my previous life before establishing the empire.”

Repenhardt had rarely initiated attacks, but the only country he had attacked first was the Principality of Chatan. He had waited for other countries to understand his intentions through dialogue, but he couldn’t leave the Principality of Chatan alone.

“The Savior’s words are correct. That place cannot be ignored.”

Makelin nodded and asked,

“In that case, we need to investigate the defense capabilities and forces of Zeppelin’s capital.”

“I have a rough idea. Although there may be some discrepancies due to different timelines.”

Since he had raided the place in his previous life, Repenhardt had fairly detailed information about Zeppelin.

“There are two large-scale elf auction houses equipped with breeding facilities, Elvenheim and Eloin. Four elf auction houses handle distribution, twelve large-scale orc auction houses, and seven dwarf auction houses. The Alchemist Guild is a single entity, but it’s so large that about fifty trolls are likely detained there. Attila had investigated it previously. He said it was too dangerous to intervene until now.”

Makelin’s expression turned serious.

Indeed, Zeppelin was no easy target. As the continent’s leading commercial city with nearly 200,000 residents and over 100,000 transient people, it was a formidable fortress with numerous mercenary groups and trade escorts passing through.

“They have ten thousand elite soldiers and over a thousand magic swordsmen. As expected, a wealthy nation can afford to scatter expensive magical tools around.”