She Who Became Immortal

"Please, follow me this way."

She exuded the grace of a seasoned waiter in a quaint family eatery, her smile reminiscent of a bygone era with its old-fashioned charm. However, her attempt to open the door to the grain storehouse met an immovable obstacle.

Silence lingered in the air.

The orc structure loomed large, its door a formidable barrier that resisted my feeble attempts to pry it open. After all, I am Euphemia Grimwood, accustomed to nothing heavier than the weight of chopsticks in my grasp. Chopsticks, a utensil entirely foreign to this world.

"My apologies, could you lend a hand with this?" I asked, offering a smile tinged with genuine amusement.

The wolfish figure, presumably the unit leader, regarded me with suspicion before wordlessly stepping forward to tackle the stubborn door. Physically imposing, he seemed stronger than Zamba Broad, though his intellectual prowess remained uncertain.

His name was Gyalan.

I'd likely forget it within the week, but it hardly seemed consequential.

As the door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit expanse of the grain storehouse, I noted its spacious, horizontal layout.

To clarify, upon entering, one found ample room to the left, hence my choice of 'horizontal' over 'vertical'. Regardless, the specifics were inconsequential; what mattered was the lack of immediate visibility upon entry.

"Seems quite roomy. Are the Broads within?"

"With it being an orc grain storehouse, spaciousness is to be expected. Feel free to inspect." I chuckled, gesturing for Gyalan to proceed.

Observing his confident stride, I found myself oddly conflicted.

The unfolding events felt almost anticlimactic.

Admittedly, I had prepared for this outcome, yet even so, the seamless progression left a faint sense of emptiness in its wake.

"Hey, girl. No one's here. What's the deal with the Broad tribe?"

At the overly casual inquiry, I released a weary sigh.

"Sigh... What a hopelessly naive question. Do you honestly think it necessary to spare a defeated dog? We've dispatched them all."

"—What?"

The charming facade of the young lady crumbled with a subtle shift in demeanor, though her allure remained intact. Gyalan struggled to conceal his confusion at this sudden revelation.

His mouth hung agape in disbelief.

In an ideal scenario, I would have broken through the wall and fled at once.

A person of reasonable intellect would have doubted the Broad tribe's survival and realized the unlikelihood of finding a substantial grain supply within the storehouse.

They would have relocated their stores and resources to a new facility beyond the hill. Thus, strictly speaking, this building served as the former grain repository.

What awaited within were bags suspended from the ceiling, each containing a significant quantity of wheat flour ground by a millstone.

These bags were ingeniously designed to tear open with a gentle tug of the attached string—a creation of Iota from the Polo tribe.

"I've yet to witness the results firsthand, but I've always harbored a curiosity to try."

"—What?"

With a swift pull, I unraveled the string.

The bag ruptured, unleashing a cascade of flour that filled the air with a thick, choking cloud. Breathing became laborious as the fine particles clung to the throat, inducing fits of coughing.

And within the chaos, the following lines were uttered silently.

Yes, it was merely curiosity.

A fleeting desire to experience it firsthand.

A flour explosion.

---

I found myself soaring through the air, propelled upwards to a height of approximately ten meters before plummeting helplessly back to my demise once more.

Those who attempt acrobatic maneuvers mid-air to evade injury are, in my humble opinion, utterly daft. When hurled with such force, one is destined to collide with something, oblivious to the impending impact.

And so, I return to the realm of the living once more.

Perhaps 'resurrected' isn't quite the apt term, but it serves as the closest approximation.

"Well, well... it's been some time since I found myself in such a state of undress."

I've never fancied myself an exhibitionist, yet flashy demises inevitably result in wardrobe malfunctions. Though in this instance, given my deliberate initiation of the flour explosion, one might argue a latent penchant for exposure.

Be that as it may.

My gaze shifts from the crumbling remnants of the grain storehouse—a spectacle of destruction—to the chaotic aftermath within the former assembly hall.

Propelled en masse from the catapult atop the hill.

Catapults, ancient implements that have graced Earth's battlefields for centuries. While typically fashioned solely from wood, I had enlisted the craftsmanship of the dwarven artisan, Dubil, to incorporate metal components, entrusting the assembly to the Kobold Polo tribe.

All that remained was to transport the components and 'projectiles' to the hill's summit and calibrate their trajectory to strike our intended target. These vital 'projectiles' were plentiful in the rocky crags near Dubil's abode, requiring no excavation thanks to dedicated mining efforts.

We filled bags woven from bark with an assortment of rocks, launching them forth. Upon rupture mid-flight, it was akin to a hail of shrapnel cascading from the heavens.

Truly, a stratagem of remarkable ingenuity.

We had lured the enemy to the assembly hall, rendering defensive measures and magical wards futile. Had they dispatched scouts to reconnoiter our terrain, their efforts would have proven fruitless. I estimated the success rate to be less than thirty percent.

Yet, against the odds, it proved effective.

The majority caught in the grain storehouse explosion now lie lifeless, while those assailed by the projectile barrage find themselves in disarray.

A handful of survivors may yet persist, having narrowly evaded or endured the onslaught, but the tide of battle decidedly favors our cause.

---

"Lady Euphemia!"

Katarina rushes over, carrying my change of clothes. Probably thanks to her usual training, she's probably faster than an Olympic athlete. Maya, with a spear in hand, seems to be following her, but she doesn't seem particularly worried about me.

"What a devilish woman you are. There were probably too many of us for them to handle, but now there's so few that it's almost easy."

"As expected of Lady Euphemia."

"...Well, I have mixed feelings about it, but the biggest factor in our victory was probably that the enemy was foolish. They came with brute force, so they probably didn't know any other way."

I express my thoughts while hastily putting on the clothes I received from Katarina.

"This isn't what you call a battle."

Maya grimaces as if she's tasted something bitter, and I chuckle at her.

"Hmph, it's no wonder. Those who come to others' homes and try to take everything by force have no right to complain, no matter what happens to them. If they didn't want this to happen, they shouldn't have attacked others."

I'm not very knowledgeable, but in Earth's wars, inhumane weapons and actions are prohibited. For example, abuse and torture of prisoners, mass killings with weapons of mass destruction, use of weapons that cause unnecessary suffering to the human body, and also poison gas.

They were promises made to "not use them on each other" because "it would be troublesome if the other side used them too"... I think. Probably.

Geneva conventions, am I right?

And such things don't exist in this world.

Even on Earth, whether they truly exist is questionable.

"...H-help..."

A weak voice is heard from quite nearby.

Looking, I see a Kobold buried about halfway under the rubble right next to the former grain storehouse site. If you look around a little more carefully, you'll find a fair number of corpses and near-deaths of Gibbons and Kobolds scattered around.

"Tooth bared at Lady Euphemia, trying to take everything from us, and now when they're on the brink of death, it's 'please help'...?"

Katarina spits out in disgust, but perhaps she's just a clean freak because she's still a girl, these people following me concerns me. Its not like I'm developing psychopaths, sure for survival but people who's controlled by hatred makes bad decisions. That what I do for them will go to waste, it sickens me.

What about one member of our village decided to kill the cows just because they will be slaughtered anyway? It really concerns me.

While I'm at it, I give her a light flick on the forehead.

"Ow... Why??!" Katarina looks at me, pressing her forehead with her hand.

Honestly, these adorable yet hypocrite people.

"If you keep demanding from others what you're not willing to do yourself, the world will only become more and more narrow for you. Probably about half of these guys were forced to obey by force anyway. Also, just because they're enemies doesn't mean you have to hate them."

The enemies are just that—enemies.

There may be bitter enemies, sworn enemies, archenemies, or enemies to the death, and there are various enemies, but in this case, they're just enemies.

I don't have any attachment strong enough to breed hatred.

A mosquito buzzing in your ear on a summer night is far more irritating.

I turn my gaze back to the site of the assembly hall, relieved to see the enemies who were still able to fight being defeated by Junos and the others. I exhale a sigh of relief. There's one lizardman still looking lively, swinging his ax-spear, but it's probably only a matter of time.

"Maya, once it's settled, bring the Toros tribe and Bernard tribe from the hilltop. You can kill anyone still showing fight, but those who aren't, recover them and provide treatment. Use your judgment for those on the brink of death. Whether to deal the finishing blow or let their comrades witness their end."

"You're giving me such a distasteful role."

"If you think so, then pass it on to someone else."

When I return a smirking reply, Maya grits her teeth in frustration, which always makes me feel a bit happy.

Truly—these folks.

Surely they wouldn't claim their daughter wasn't really their daughter, or insist their son's fiancée was a fake noble just because a better match appeared.

And surely—they'll end up being eaten by such people.

In fact, wasn't that the case in the society?

"Now, it's about time over there is wrapping up. Maya, move quickly, the injured ones deserve pity. Katarina, come with me."

With that, I start walking.

An exaggerated sigh and a pleasant response ring out simultaneously.