Chapter 34: Orcs Have Feelings Too

As Germaine plummeted through the air, the wind whipping her blonde hair into a frenzy, the noise of the forest faded. In the silence of her own mind, a cold, hard truth echoed.

Call me greedy. Call me a vulture. Call me whatever the hell you want, she thought, her eyes narrowing into slits. I don’t give a damn about the reputation of a noble hunter. I need the credits. I need them fast, and I need them in amounts that make the guild accountants sweat. Survival isn't about honor—it's about the balance in my bank account.

She closed the distance in a heartbeat, a golden-brown blur of focused desperation. The Ogre didn't even have time to raise its mace. Germaine’s longsword cleared its scabbard with a metallic shink, the blade singing as she raised it high above her head, channeling every ounce of her remaining strength into a single, vertical plunge.

SQUELCH!

The blade slammed into the Ogre's neck, piercing the thick skin just above the trapezius muscle.

"GWAARRRRGH!!!"

The Ogre unleashed a roar so violent it physically shook the air, sending a shockwave through the surrounding foliage. Germaine used the momentum of her fall to drag the sword downward, carving a deep, jagged line down the back of the monster's neck. But as the blade hit the denser spinal column, it stalled. The friction was too much; the force was insufficient.

“Damn it!” Germaine grunted, her teeth gritted, her face contorted in a mask of pure rage. “MOVE, YOU STUPID PIECE OF STEEL!”

She braced her boots against the Ogre's shoulder, screaming as she threw her entire body weight forward, trying to force the blade deeper to slice the monster open from the inside out.

Suddenly, a blinding, golden radiance erupted from her skin.

It wasn't her own power. A warm, surging energy flooded her veins, acting like a shot of pure adrenaline. It felt as if her muscles had been replaced by tempered steel; her strength didn't just increase—it tripled.

K-SRAAAAAK!!

With a sound like a canvas tent being ripped in half, the sword tore through the Ogre's back, slicing through muscle and bone with terrifying ease. The monster gave one final, gurgling roar before its legs gave out, and it collapsed forward into the dirt with a thunderous, bone-shaking crash.

Silence returned to the clearing.

Germaine stood over the carcass, chest heaving. She reached up with the back of her hand, wiping a streak of dark green blood from her chin. She didn't look at her prize; instead, she glanced up at the large branch where Ethan was still perched.

“That was a little something for you,” Ethan called down, his voice sounding smug and bored. “A temporary buff. Strength, endurance, and speed. It’ll last you for a whole hour. Consider it a gift from your favorite tin can.”

Germaine’s expression immediately shifted back to her cold, delinquent mask. “I didn’t ask for your help, you idiot!”

“And I didn’t ask for your permission to help you,” Ethan shot back sharply, cutting her off before she could launch into a rant. “Now stop complaining and go get your ramen money.”

Without waiting for a response, Ethan pushed off the branch, leaping away into the dense canopy and vanishing into the shadows of the forest.

Germaine stood alone in the clearing, the golden glow slowly fading from her skin. She looked at the spot where he had been, and for the first time, the ice in her gaze melted. A small, genuine, and incredibly soft smile touched her lips—a side of her that no one has ever saw.

“Thanks... you perverted tin can,” she whispered to the wind.

...

Ethan sailed through the air, the wind whistling past his helmet, but for once, he wasn't thinking about his tactical positioning.

What the hell is this feeling? he wondered, his hand instinctively clutching at the center of his chest. Is this... a heart attack? Am I having a cardiovascular event? Is this a symptom of armor-induced hypoxia?

Behind the visor, Ethan’s face was a shade of crimson that would put a ripe beet to shame. His mind had become a traitor, relentlessly looping images of Germaine. He saw the way her eyes sparked with manic greed; the way her blonde hair caught the filtered forest light; that intoxicating scent of fresh blossoms that seemed to cling to her skin.

And then, the mental image that wouldn't leave: those breasts. Large. Soft. Defying the laws of physics with every single movement.

Stop it! Stop it right now!’he screamed internally. I am a man of discipline! I am a professional! I am... definitely smitten. Oh god, I’m absolutely doomed.

He finally landed in a wide, open clearing, the impact kicking up a ring of dust. He immediately began shaking his head violently, as if he could physically rattle the thoughts of Germaine's chest out of his brain.

"No. No! Absolutely not!" he yelled to the empty forest, clenching his fists with a desperate intensity. "I don't like her! I simply... respect her professional dedication to capitalism! Yes! It's a purely fiscal attraction! We are comrades in greed, that's all!"

He was so caught up in his philosophical battle with his own libido that he completely forgot where he was. He had forgotten the first rule of the gates: Never let your guard down when you're daydreaming about boobs.

WHACK!!!

A massive, rusted iron chain slammed into the small of his back with the force of a runaway freight train. The sound was a sickening metallic crash that echoed through the trees. Ethan staggered forward, his armor screeching as he was thrown off balance.

Before he could even register the pain, the chain lashed out again, but this time it didn't strike. In one fluid, predatory motion, the cold iron coiled around his torso, wrapping around his arms and chest in a suffocating spiral.

CLANG!

The chain tightened, immobilizing him instantly. From the shadows of the treeline, a hulking Orc (it's Orc this time🫡) stepped forward, its face twisted in a sadistic grin. With a guttural grunt, the monster planted its feet and yanked the chain, dragging Ethan toward it like a fish on a hook.

Ethan’s boots skidded across the dirt, carving deep trenches in the soil as he gritted his teeth, fighting the pull. He planted his feet, his Heavenly Armor digging into the earth, refusing to be dragged like a piece of luggage.

As the Orc leaned in, its foul breath smelling of rotten meat and old swamp, Ethan didn't panic. Instead, a mischievous, almost sadistic glint appeared in his eyes. If he couldn't move, he could at least make this monster's life a living hell.

He leaned back into the chains, a smug, sarcastic smirk playing on his lips. He began to speak, his voice dripping with a specialized kind of toxicity. He didn't just insult the Orc; he dismantled the monster's entire existence. He mocked its hygiene, questioned its lineage, and made a series of devastatingly funny comments about the Orc's fashion choices and its apparent lack of a skincare routine.

He was rage-baiting the beast with surgical precision, weaving a tapestry of insults so absurd and cutting that the Orc’s confusion quickly turned into a blinding, mindless fury. Ethan was essentially treating the monster like a troll on an internet forum, poking and prodding at its ego until the creature was practically vibrating with rage.

...

Ethan, despite being bound like a metallic burrito, didn't miss a beat. He tilted his helmeted head, squinting through the visor at the Orc’s jutting, yellowed tusks.

"You know," Ethan started, his voice echoing with an irritatingly casual tone, "I've been wondering... when you trip on a rock, does that count as an enemy kill or a suicide? Because with those things sticking out of your mouth, I imagine the ground is a very dangerous place for you."

The Orc paused, its brow furrowing in confusion.

"I mean, really," Ethan continued, leaning into the roast. "Is that just natural selection's way of telling you that looking down at your own feet is essentially a death sentence? One wrong tilt and—bam—self-impaled. Tragic, really."

Enraged, the Orc leaned in, its massive, flared nostrils flaring as it let out a hot, wet blast of breath that fogged up Ethan’s visor. The smell was a delightful mixture of wet dog and a dumpster fire in mid-July.

Ethan didn't even flinch. "Wow. I just realized you don't even need a shield. That giant, flat snout of yours takes up half your head anyway. It's not a nose; it's a biological riot shield."

That was the breaking point.

The Orc’s eyes turned a bloodshot crimson. With a guttural snarl, it gripped the chain with its massive hand and yanked with a violent, explosive force. Ethan was ripped forward, the distance between them vanishing in a blur of motion.

As the Orc's face loomed inches from his own, Ethan managed one last, suicidal jab. "I was going to aim for your face, but honestly? I’m worried my fist would just get lost in those cavernous nostrils of yours. Do you keep snacks in there? A spare key to the house?"

"RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHH!!!"

The roar was deafening, a wall of sound that practically pushed Ethan’s helmet into his skull. Then came the storm.

BAM! POW! CRASH!

The Orc unleashed a barrage of heavy, piston-like right hooks. Each hit sounded like a wrecking ball hitting a church bell. Ethan’s armor groaned, absorbing the kinetic energy, but the force was so immense it was like being trapped inside a washing machine filled with boulders.

Then came the finale.

The Orc wound up for one final, catastrophic smash. The punch connected with a sound like a sonic boom—KABOOOOOOOM!!!

The force was so violent that the iron chains binding Ethan didn't just snap; they shattered into a dozen jagged fragments. Ethan was launched backward, becoming a human projectile.

"GUKK!" he grunted, the air leaving his lungs in a single, pathetic wheeze.

THWACK!

He slammed first into a massive, ancient oak. "Ack... a fat tree..." he managed to moan.

The bounce sent him spinning sideways, right into a thicket of jagged branches. "Ow! Who put these... nature-stabs here?!"

He ricocheted off a granite boulder with a metallic CLANG, then flew straight into another tree. He paused for a microsecond mid-air, noticing the shape of the trunk. "That tree... is bent... weirdly..."

SMACK!

Finally, he plowed into a dense canopy of leaves, the foliage acting as a temporary brake. He didn't stop instantly, however. He began a slow, humiliating descent, breaking branches one by one in a rhythmic sequence of failure.

Snap... thud. Crack... oof. Snap... ow.

Ethan finally landed face-down in a pile of damp leaves, staring at a very confused beetle.

"Note to self," he whispered into the dirt. "Orcs have... surprisingly a lot of feelings... about their noses."

---

Author’s Thoughts

Let’s be real for a second.

Germaine has insane combat potential, ridiculous strength, a terrifying personality, and enough confidence to walk into a fight like she already owns the place.

And somehow I already know half of you are going to say:

“The boobs.” 💀

You people are predictable.

So, readers, what actually made you like Germaine? Her personality, her strength, her money-loving soul, her ramen obsession...

Or, you know...

The obvious reason. 👀