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A few hours later, Bash was visiting a tavern in town.

Fortunately, no one in Do Banga’s Pit paid particular attention to him.

Perhaps it was due to the multiracial makeup of the city, or perhaps it was because Dwarves didn’t consider Orcs their enemies.

No matter what the reason was, the Orc Hero was glad he could calmly sit down and sip a drink without being looked at with hostility, as he was subject to in Human Country, nor confusion, like in Elf Country.

His purpose in being here was, of course, to continue gathering information.

“Oh, so the people you call mother and father right now aren’t your real parents?”

“Of course they are! They’re as real as it gets! Yeah, they’re not my birth parents, but I love them just as much… or maybe even more! You know, they went out of their way to adopt a dying war orphan and raised me to where I am today! It’s all thanks to them!”

“How wonderful! This must be the Dwarven filial piety I’ve heard so much about! Most Dwarves are pretty loyal to their families and benefactors, but you’re on a whole other level! I’ve never seen anyone like you! And you’re beautiful to boot! There must be a lot of men wanting to woo you, aren’t there?”

“Aw, you flatter me too much you silly Faerie…”

The pair’s current target was this bar’s “mascot”, Pauline.

Quietly enjoying his drink at the bar, Bash was watching his companion from the corner of his eyes, all the while monitoring the surroundings.

It was not yet his time to enter the stage.

Zell was many times more adept at gathering information than he was.

Even now, she was prying into Pauline’s deepest thoughts with the artistic finesse of the veteran spy she was.

The barmaid’s feelings were laid bare for the Faerie, and thus Bash, to see.

If he was victorious in the Armament Festival, he could have any woman he desired.

But was far as the Hero knew, he could only pick a single one.

If that was the case, it became imperative that he knew who to select.

Truly, for Bash, any one of them was fine, but if he had the power to choose who he wanted, then he might as well get the best as to not have any regrets.

To do so, he needed to know more about his potential mates than just their names and occupations.

From the list the pair had made the day prior, he had carefully selected those with good looks, and from those, he was now trying to find out their personalities.

All Bash needed to do now was to wait for that information to fall into his lap, pick which woman he wanted, and win the Armament Festival.

It was just that easy.

In terms of looks, as most were Dwarven women, they wouldn’t hold a candle to Judith or Sonia – but it was a small price to pay for a sure-fire way to lose his virginity.

“…”

Bash’s mouth slackened at the thought of intercourse after his victory.

Pauline was taller and slimmer than most Dwarven women.

Her typically Dwarven red hair was tied back into a ponytail, and she served the bar’s customers with a bright smile on her face.

Her looks were… nothing impressive.

If Bash had to sort a hundred women of all races gathered at random by their beauty, she wouldn’t even break the top 20.

The Hero’s heart was not stirred as it was when he had met Judith or Sonia.

She was, however, leagues better than the other Dwarven women.

Furthermore, she beat out Judith and Sonia in one aspect – her generous bosom.

The though of ripping off her shirt and freeing those massive milkers made the Orc reflexively stir his drink.

The traditional Dwarven way of enjoying alcoholic beverages was to hold a cup in both hands and to drink out of them alternatively, as the cleanse the palate between each gulp.

Bash himself was holding a strong spirit in his right, and a dark beer in his left, tasting them one after the other.

The spirit was delicious, as expected from a Dwarven made liquor. Every time the liquid would touch his lips, a mild sweetness would gently spread through his mouth, escaping through his nose. As he swallowed, the warmth and numbness pleasantly stung his throat.

The beer was not Dwarven – probably imported from Human lands. The Hero could taste the characteristic bitterness and aroma of barley, with a refreshingly sour aftertaste. It was easy to drink.

There was no way he could fail to get himself a woman now, lest an act of divinity throw his plans off course.

And the alcohol here was exquisite.

What more was there to want?

Bash looked towards Zell and Pauline, feeling both relief and anticipation – perhaps the most he had since he began his travels.

“So, what kind of man do you like?”

“Well… I like strong men. A strong man that can live a long life by my side, who won’t get sick, and who will protect me when danger comes knocking. Preferably someone who won’t die before I do… I hate seeing my loved ones die…”

Bash met these qualifications to a tee.

Zell subtly gave her partner a thumbs up.

As the Hero tried to nod in return…

“Oi.”

A shadow suddenly obscured the Orc’s face.

Pauline’s amble breasts disappeared, replaced by a muscle-bound torso.

As Bash slowly looked up, he saw beard.

And more beard.

And a little bit more beard.

And finally, the gnarled Dwarven face that was attached to said beard. He had climbed up on the stool next to Bash, as to look down upon the Hero.

“Oi, what the hell are you lookin’ at?”

“Her.”

Bash answered honestly.

He was only looking – there was no reason for anyone to believe he was doing something wrong.

“Haaanh?! You’re ogling our idol?!”

“What was that? An orc is aiming for Pauline?!”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing!”

Chairs and tables rattled and squeaked on the hardwood floor as a rowdy bunch of Dwarven men surrounded Bash in an instant.

However, the Dwarves were not as tall as the seated Orc. From afar, it would look like a bunch of children gathering around their teacher.

“Hm? I was just looking at her.”

“Don’t try to be snarky ye damned Orc, we know what yer up to!”

“Hm?”

“You better give up buddy boy, or I’ll send ye to your ancestors!”

Bash couldn’t quite grasp the flow of the conversation – but he knew what they wanted.

This was a common scene in Orcish taverns.

An Orc would enter, get shitfaced, get into a fighting mood, make up some kind of dispute with another Orc, and then both would leave the bar.

They would then proceed to beat each other to a pulp right outside the door.

In other words, they were looking for a fight.

This bunch was drunk, emotions were high, and they wanted to show off their prowess to the people around them.

“…Hmm…”

Bash hadn’t come here looking to brawl.

Just like when he was in the land of Elves, he hadn’t provoked or even answered to provocation.

But right now, Bash was both inebriated and in a good mood, not to mention the other party was also on board.

If he didn’t step up to the plate when his potential opponent was this motivated, it would bring shame to Orc everywhere.

Had it been beautiful women surrounding the Hero instead of brawny, bearded men, he would have had an out – but alas.

Bash’s goal wasn’t to increase his renown – he had plenty of that already.

But who wouldn’t accept an invitation to a fight when the women he desired was right there, and had explicitly said that she wanted a “strong man”.

“Alright.”

Bash picked up the sword that was propped up on the bar by his side, throwing it over his shoulder.

Of course, it wasn’t to use it in the fight.

He just wanted to put it somewhere safe and out of the way so it wouldn’t get stolen while he was busy.

“…!”

“Wait, it that…?!”

“No…no way! That’s the…the Indestructible Daemon Sword!”

The moment they saw the weapon, all color drained from the Dwarves’ face.

From a deep drunken red flush to a pallid white.

The Dwarves’ gazes went from Bash to the sword, then back Bash.

“You’re…are you Bash? Bash the…H-Hero of the – …”

“Yes.”

It was then that reality dawned on the Dwarves – they had picked a fight with the worst possible opponent.

Anyone who had taken part in a battle against the Orcs during the war knew of Bash.

His face was as ordinary as an Orcish face could get, but there was no way the craft-savvy Dwarves could fail to recognize his weapon.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me…”

“What is it we’re fightin’ for again? Is it really worth my life?”

“What’s the harm if he was just looking, right…? Right, guys?”

The Dwarves spoke to each other in hushed voices, their previous determination nowhere to be seen.

As Bash casually made his way to the door, the Dwarves moved aside, opening up a path in front of him, none daring to stand in his way.

Orc quarrels went down similarly in that the parties would settle their differences outside, but there was an unspoken rule that the one that initiated the fight would leave first and wait.

Perhaps the Dwarves did things differently?

Trying to be mindful of cultural differences, the Hero left the bar.

The main street was as hustling and bustling as ever.

As he looked towards the establishments along the side of the road, he could see two other brawls underway.

Bash laughed, crossed his arms, and waited.

He waited for ten seconds.

And then thirty.

And then a minute…

“…?”

Yet, the Dwarves did not come out.

How was he to fight if he didn’t have an opponent? How could he show Pauline that he was a strong man?

Was there maybe a rule stipulating that the party that initiated the first had to prepare something?

Just as he began thinking about what was going on, he saw someone coming out of the store.

They were too small to be a Dwarf, and as far as he knew, Dwarves didn’t have wings.

It was Zell.

“Hey Zell, we’re about to have a fight. Do you want to join us?”

“I don’t think you’d need my help, mister… but I don’t think it matters any more. All of them just ran out of the back door.”

“What?”

“Maybe they were too scared of you, mister.”

An utter and thorough disappointment.

Bash uncrossed his arms and walked back into the bar.

Sure enough, the people who had tried to fight him earlier were nowhere to be seen.

In fact, even Pauline was gone.

“Where’s Pauline?”

“Looks like she was done for the day. What should we do? Should we follow her?”

“No… we’ve gathered the information we needed, right?”

“Affirmative!”

“Then the job is done. Let’s move on.”

The whole sequence of events left Bash rather confused, but a man as magnanimous as the Orc Hero did not care about such trivial things.

It was unsatisfying, but if the other party had fled, then Bash had won by default.

And either way, he hadn’t come to this town looking for a fight.

The pair began making their way towards the next tavern to achieve their original goal.