天天狠天天透天天伊人

Confirming there were no pursuers, Repenhardt and his group stopped the carriage to take a break. Tassid lit a campfire, and Siris placed a large pot over it to cook barley porridge.

“Ah, it’s done.”

Siris ladled out the porridge and approached the trolls. They were a bit away from the group, scanning their surroundings with wary eyes. Their gaze was particularly focused on Russ and Sillan, who were tending to the horses at a distance. Although their saviors, the trolls could not easily trust the humans who had previously captured and tormented them.

“Please eat.”

Siris distributed the barley porridge to the trolls. They hesitated but accepted the bowls. Their expressions showed slightly less wariness towards Siris, an elf, and Tassid, an orc. Carefully, they took the porridge and expressed their thanks.

“Churaf…”

“Ungar Bato…”

The other trolls also mumbled something in their own language. Siris smiled gently. She couldn’t understand the words, but she could sense their gratitude from their tone and expressions.

‘It seems they don’t know the common language?’

Unlike other races, trolls had no opportunity to learn human language. While other races were often enslaved and learned the common tongue under human masters, trolls were treated merely as livestock for blood extraction. Their captivity rarely lasted more than half a year, providing neither the chance nor the time to learn the language.

Thus, even though trolls lived in hiding like other races, they mostly did not know the common language. Elves, orcs, and dwarves, even when living freely in remote areas, naturally encountered human language through enslaved kin they took in, but trolls did not have such opportunities.

After distributing the porridge, Siris took the pot. As she cooled it down, she glanced across the clearing. Under a large tree, Attila and Repenhardt were sitting face-to-face, engaged in conversation.

“It’s different from what I’ve heard. I’ve never heard that the Fist King could use magic.”

Attila’s remark made Repenhardt shrug.

“It’s not widely known.”

In truth, Repenhardt had not entirely refrained from using magic in public. Several people had seen him use it during the Crovence civil war and in his duel with Christine.

However, during the civil war, the disparity between his magical level and mana made it impossible to use magic properly. Initially surprised, the mages in Yubel’s faction eventually concluded that Repenhardt’s deeds were not magic but rather the result of some ancient artifact, given that he was known as the Fist King.

And during his battle with Christine, it was overshadowed by another matter. Due to the shocking scandal with Sillan, no one paid attention to the fact that he used magic.

“I didn’t deliberately hide it, but strangely, it never got out. Haha.”

Repenhardt laughed heartily.

Of course, if he had continued to use magic openly, the rumors would have eventually spread. However, after realizing how differently people perceived mages and martial artists, Repenhardt decided to conceal his magical abilities. Publicly, he presented himself solely as an Aura User and Fist King, keeping his magic as a secret weapon because it was advantageous in many ways.

“Well, that doesn’t change the fact that I am still the Fist King.”

Repenhardt raised his right hand, which shone brilliantly with a golden aura.

“Do you still not believe my identity?”

Attila shook his head.

“One cannot deny it after seeing that aura.”

The wariness in Attila’s eyes began to fade gradually.

This man was indeed the Fist King. And beside him were an orc who wielded aura and an elf who practiced spirit magic. Additionally, his proficient use of the troll language demonstrated Repenhardt’s deep understanding of their race.

‘Is the rumor true that the Fist King treats other races as equals rather than as slaves?’

Seeing the hostility disappear from Attila’s face, Repenhardt quietly smiled.

‘He’s lowering his guard faster than I expected. Having a solid reputation like Antares Duchy’s certainly helps.’

With such a reputation, he didn’t need to desperately persuade; his actions spoke for themselves.

“But there are still things I don’t understand. Where did you learn our language? And how do you know my name?”

Repenhardt had been waiting for this question. He calmly gave the prepared answer.

“I knew a troll once. He was a survivor from the Babad Tribe in Dahnhaim Forest. Have you heard of them?”

Of course, he was piecing together information from his past life. However, it was true that the Babad Tribe lived in Dahnhaim Forest and had been decimated by a human attack. It would sound convincing to Attila.

‘There’s no way to verify it anyway.’

Although he felt a bit guilty about lying, it was better than losing trust by telling the unbelievable truth about his time regression.

Indeed, Attila nodded as if convinced.

“Hmm, I visited there once. Now I understand why you know us so well.”

Attila’s expression clearly softened with friendliness. Repenhardt put on a serious face.

“If you truly trust me, I have something to discuss. Guru Attila.”

* * *

Repenhardt slowly shared everything.

The world he envisioned.

The future he desired.

As the conversation lengthened, Attila’s eyes calmed and steadied. It was an incredibly captivating story.

He had wandered the world, rescuing his kin, for over a decade.

He saved countless comrades, over and over.

He killed countless humans, over and over.

But the world had not changed at all. Trolls were still treated as monsters, captured and brutally killed whenever they were found.

When Repenhardt finished his story, he asked in a sincere voice, “Guru Attila, will you trust me and help me with my cause? In the Duchy of Antares, there is also land prepared for the trolls.”

Attila hesitated. If what Repenhardt said was true, it offered a new hope against the unchanging reality. And Repenhardt seemed trustworthy.

After a moment of hesitation, Attila spoke, “Before I answer, I have a question.”

Repenhardt tilted his head. A quiet voice came from between Attila’s clenched teeth.

“You are human. Why do you care so much about us, who are not even your own kind?”

It was incomprehensible. Repenhardt was human, not just any human but one with great power. He could live his life comfortably and without worry with the power he possessed.

Why would someone like him choose such a difficult path for their sake?

Looking at Attila, Repenhardt smiled gently. It was somewhat amusing. In his past life, Attila had asked him the exact same question.

Feeling nostalgic, Repenhardt suddenly brought up an unrelated topic.

“Have you ever been to the southern archipelago of the Teikan Kingdom, Attila?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“The residents there once had a tradition of cannibalism. They felt no guilt about eating other people until a sage from the Teikan Kingdom reformed them.”

The primitive islanders questioned the sage.

Cannibalism was their long-standing culture and tradition. Who was he to disregard their customs and treat them this way?

“The sage answered.”

I understand that I must respect your culture and traditions.

But there is something I simply cannot tolerate.

I have seen my friend, someone I love, be eaten by your people. That is why I prohibited cannibalism. You may criticize me all you want. I believe there are things in this world that must be upheld absolutely.

“I, too, simply cannot accept it. The people I know, my friends, the ones I love, being treated as slaves.”

* * *

The city of alchemists, Alkenburg, located in the southern region of the Kingdom of Graim.

In the heart of the city stood a towering five-story building, the headquarters of ‘Tears of Santara,’ where a group of alchemists was having a meeting.

“Have you still not identified the culprit?”

An elderly man sitting at the head of the table asked in a tone of disdain. He was Orunmide, the guild master. The middle-aged alchemist across from him stammered, flustered.

“Well, that is…”

They were discussing the perpetrator who had devastated the southern district of the guild.

When ‘Tears of Santara’ first heard the news from the city of Kaltizan, they didn’t react too strongly. It wasn’t the first time their branch had been attacked by the legendary troll, Ivory Tusk. They had already exhausted every possible method to capture Ivory Tusk, so there wasn’t much more they could do.

However, upon further investigation, it became clear that this incident was different from the previous ones. Thanks to Kapir’s group, they discovered that other individuals had been involved this time.

Orunmide shook his head.

“Ivory Tusk, that accursed beast, can be considered a natural disaster and is unavoidable. But if humans were involved, that changes everything.”

This was not something they could overlook, especially for the sake of the guild’s authority. The middle-aged alchemist, sounding uncertain, opened a document and replied.

“There are suspects, but…”

As they investigated, they started to get a clearer picture of the culprit. Thanks to Kapir’s group, they obtained descriptions of the suspect. The orc and elf accompanying the perpetrator were also key pieces of evidence.

Though Kapir’s group had been unfairly caught up in the incident, they couldn’t express their anger due to the significant damage the alchemists had suffered. Moreover, Diphl, who had deceived them, had already been punished. Therefore, they cooperated with the investigation.

Combining all the evidence, one person emerged as a prime suspect: the recent talk of the continent, the ruler of the Duchy of Antares, the Fist King Repenhardt.

“But without definitive proof…”

The most concrete evidence of the Fist King Repenhardt’s presence was his golden aura. However, the culprit who attacked the southern branch never used aura.

“On the contrary, according to Mage Marund’s testimony, the attacker skillfully used magic.”

The description was similar, but the circumstances did not align well enough to conclusively identify him as the perpetrator.

Another alchemist spoke up.

“And the dates don’t match either.”

Their investigation confirmed that Repenhardt had indeed left the White King’s Castle during the time of the fire. However, he was absent for less than half a month.

The Duchy of Antares, located in the eastern part of the continent, and the Kingdom of Hallein, at the western edge, were incredibly far apart. A journey on foot would take an ordinary traveler over two months. Even riding a fast horse without rest would take at least a month. It was impossible to make a round trip in just half a month.

Orunmide clicked his tongue and muttered.

“Could it be an impostor?”

“Well, his appearance isn’t so common that he could easily be mistaken for someone else, even if an impostor were used.”

To be precise, it wasn’t just about appearance but the distinctive build of his muscles… At any rate, the warriors from Gym Unbreakable were not ordinary enough to be mistaken for impostors.

This was their dilemma. While Repenhardt was certainly suspicious, they lacked the conclusive evidence needed to formally accuse him.

“If it were an ordinary person, we could just capture and interrogate them until they confessed… But we’re talking about the Fist King, a renowned figure and ruler of a nation. We can’t recklessly accuse him without proof, can we?”

Another alchemist chimed in, looking troubled.

“But rumors are spreading outside that the Fist King Repenhardt rescued the trolls. This is damaging the guild’s authority…”

Most people tend to equate suspects with culprits. Thanks to the alchemists’ extensive investigation, the public had come to believe that Repenhardt had indeed rescued the trolls. Given Repenhardt’s known treatment of other races, this story was widely accepted as credible.

Orunmide rubbed his forehead and muttered.

“Damn it, what a headache. By all indications and based on his usual behavior, it seems likely he’s the one…”