Volume 6 Chapter 117 Giant’s Sword
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
At the Demon King’s countermeasure HQ, I stood—arms crossed, eyes locked on the game board. Alone.
I’d expected Ms. Nina to stick around, at least. But everyone else had gone downstairs. Can’t blame them—Ms. Floria’s heavily pregnant, and she can’t be left alone.
Still, Yakou’s clone body is here. So technically, I’m not alone.
The pieces on the board? Long gone—replaced by copper coins.
That massive army marching along the townline [街]? A decoy, maybe. The real attack… was it meant for us?
Small but fierce. No—”small” doesn’t even cover it.
Those cheat Hero guys fighting goblin on even footing—that’s straight-up unfair. The game balance is completely busted.
The gap in strength—it’s ridiculous. An overwhelming difference. A head-on fight? Our chances are slim. Super slim.
Shea-Shea’s voice comes through the broadcast crystal from inside the castle . The evacuation of non-combatants is going smoothly.
A hidden teleportation gate underground? Nice touch. We can escape through it—or bring in supplies if needed.
The Dwarves turned the evacuated zone into a concrete apartment block. They’ve been poking around the ruins in the south for ages, and somehow it turned into a full-on underground city.
Shea-Shea complained about wasting money on it, but I figured this might happen. I’ll be bragging about it later for sure.
Did everyone notice the teleport gate? Probably not—everyone’s in full evacuation mode. I might be able to bluff my way through.
It’s the kids I’m worried about. Too sharp for their age. Unnaturally observant.
If they figure it out? Then it’s only a matter of when, not if. That trump card—gotta save it for the moment that counts.
* * *
Yakou’s clone keeps stacking copper coins, methodical as ever. Even from here, I can see it without Radar Scan.
Stepping out onto the rooftop, I spot two soldiers on the lookout tower, visibly trembling. Spring wind still cuts through you like a blade. Or maybe it’s the fear—just seeing the enemy is enough to make anyone shake.
”Ah, Your Majesty! The enemy army’s begun crossing the canal,” one of them said, voice taut.
There’s a signal pipe installed up here. Shea-Shea should be getting the reports in real time. Mine? If it’s urgent, she’ll act.
Signal pipes are useful, but too many connections dull the sound. I’m bridging the gaps with a toy transceiver I brought along.
Some skills can be used for communication, but with so many restrictions—and luck playing a role—it’s unreliable. If spies catch wind of it, we’re in deep.
The Conqueror King’s Hero army seems better at handling that kind of tech. Pros, through and through.
Across the canal, I spot the Demon King wriggling through the crowd—seen through my Japanese-made binoculars. Pure optics—no enchantments. Harder for the enemy to detect. There’s even a killflash on the lens to prevent reflections. Uncle really outdid himself.
In a world where stealth and detection skills are constantly clashing, old-school gear like this gets a second life. Not just for military use—even birdwatching equipment is top-tier. If the birds can’t smell you, neither can the goblins.
Still no sign of the Demon King himself. I want to talk to him. Yeah, I do. But if he doesn’t show up soon, I’ll be in trouble.
If his target is the Holy Capital, then crossing near Toyata Village is the shortest route. That’s why the fortress was built there—strategic position. I heard the village itself came first.
Just a humble place, but the walls are ridiculously tall. Might turn into a tourist trap someday.
But would the Demon King really try to cross here? He’s the type who loves tricks. Maybe he’ll stay on the far bank—attack the Holy Capital head-on.
Still, I doubt he’s that naïve. The capital’s crawling with summoned heroes.
I’ve never heard of goblins or orcs being good swimmers. They’re about on par with humans.
Even if he had some magic bag with landing boats, the outer walls of the Holy Capital are lined with catapults. One hit and those boats are splinters—waves crashing down like fists.
Our defenses aren’t slouching either. We’ve got more than catapults. Iron-reinforced underwater traps, laced with resist circuits—too bulky to store in magic bags.
Enemy tactics tend to mirror what you yourself hate—divide and conquer, the classics.
But the amphibious lizardmen worry me. If they slip in under the water… yeah, I’ve got a bad feeling.
We use the surrounding wetlands as a natural moat. But if swamp-friendly monsters strike? That’s trouble. Our defense lines spread too thin to cover everything.
The Demon King’s army—mostly orcs and goblins—should be awful on marshy ground.
The concrete bridge crossing the swamp is modular. I stuffed each unit into my magic bag. Couldn’t risk leaving it exposed.
Without the bridge? We’re stuck on an island, surrounded by peat bogs full of bottomless marshes.
Doesn’t matter how high your level is—drowning is always a possibility. If you know what you’re doing, you can escape… sometimes. But for first-timers? It’s a trap.
In this war, the bottomless swamp may rack up the most kills.
Turning toward the marshes feels wrong. Someone’s using stealth skills. I could rip the concealment away—but it’d be endless. Let them swim a little longer.
Water-types, huh. Mermaids, merrow, scylla—maybe even worse. Entirely possible.
Huh? Fighting in Toyata Village?
We were supposed to hide out—slip by unnoticed. Guess the Demon King’s not playing games.
The Baron should’ve ordered a retreat. Did the village head ignore it?
I shouldn’t interfere. But maybe… maybe we should’ve forced protection on them. Not that it wouldn’t cause problems later.
Feels like the Demon King’s side isn’t even serious. Is that low-level goblin just poking around? Half-hearted?
I’d rather avoid a full-on clash over Toyata Village. With the broken walls, it’s got this limp excuse for a defense. You’d call it “strength” with quotation marks.
If a real battle starts, it’ll devolve into a slow grind—gain a little, lose a little. Back and forth forever.
Even if we left it alone, once the enemy occupies it, we can’t just sit back. That’s politics. Gotta play the part to the end.
Whether Conqueror King or Demon King—they’ve both got charisma. And that means they can’t afford to screw up. Get disrespected, and it’s over.
Demon King probably blitzed the imperial capital to avoid any detours. So why leave Toyata Village exposed?
Still… the villagers. Braver than they should be. Do they not get how wide the strength gap is? It’s reckless. Like a mantis raising its little axe—delusional. Classic game move.
They should’ve been wiped out in a single blow. But the fighting keeps going.
Wait—they’re not using weapons?
Looks like they’re throwing mudballs. Seriously?
Dried muck from a cracked puddle. Crunchy stuff. When it hits the wall, it bursts with a loud crack, spraying dirt.
Goblin and his gang are having the time of their lives.
Come to think of it, the kids in Toyata used to play like that. Stones were too dangerous—someone might lose an eye. But dry mud? Less harmful, still messy. With impact that dramatic, no wonder they’re into it.
Just dumb kids playing war? Why use something so risky? One mistake, and it turns into a real battle.
As I watch, a large goblin steps forward, armor clanking. He’s well-equipped.
Goblin King? Gobkīn?
Even if a regular goblin levels up like mad, not all of them evolve into Gobkīn—maybe it’s a job change? Evolution? Could be either. Plenty of possibilities.
The goblin who threw mud gets chewed out by Gobkīn. “Stop playing around. Get moving,” he barks—probably something like that.
The Demon King seems to get it. Good. That’s good.
Ah—idiot. The village fool hurls a dirt clump at Gobkīn. Nearby, Chaa flinches, then starts panicking.
Rain patters.
The Goblin King, clearly pissed off, lets out a guttural roar.
A few seconds later, the sound rolls over us. Must be some kind of intimidation skill—heavy on the attitude. The folks from Toyata Village? Yeah, they won’t be moving after that one. He showed them the difference in strength—they probably realized resistance is pointless. Hopefully, it sticks.
The goblin soldiers regroup, fall into formation, and start marching again—quiet, precise, ignoring Toyata Village entirely.
Good to see. Looks like the Demon King’s giving solid orders. Those Gobkīn who held back? Impressive. I’d want a few of them in my own squad.
Since I stowed the bridge away, the Demon King’s detouring through the old town road—looping wide around the swamp, crossing some creaky wooden bridge.
Should I have taken that one out too? Maybe. But I’m not the one controlling things here. Besides, even kids could probably manage that crossing.
I start counting the goblins crossing the bridge.
Is that called a counter? That silver clicky device—looks like a stopwatch—people use to tally passersby sometimes. Really want one now. Think I saw it at a 100-yen shop once. Didn’t buy it. Didn’t think I’d need something like that.
Should ask Uncle to grab one. Told him I’d be fighting the Demon King, right? But he’s totally clueless. Those things—feels like medieval war gear—definitely essential in a weird otherworld campaign, geez.
Even with a rough count, their numbers have to be over ten thousand. In this world, that’s insane. Even a hundred men makes a big army. They’ve got captains for each hundred, generals with titles and all.
Our side? Around three hundred. That’s nothing to sneeze at. As a standing national force, we’re skirting the edge of being seen as a rising military power.
But the Demon King? His forces are massive. That decoy unit that hit the lower lands? Even bigger. Total strength in the tens of thousands—dozens, maybe.
Moving heavy units like that? The logistics must be hell.
Goblins and orcs don’t do local looting or pillaging—not with those Wall Barley allergies.
The Demon King’s aiming for a swift, decisive strike. Looks like they plan to take the Holy Capital today—pushing forward with reckless speed.
Almost everyone along the old machi [town/street (街)] road has evacuated. The town head? Surprisingly competent.
The Demon King doesn’t bother with setting fires or sowing chaos—just passes through. Better behavior than most human armies, who drink, loot, and raze everything in sight.
”Ah—so that’s how it’s gonna be—!” I shout.
When the Demon King split his troops, one group turned back along the canal. They’re not skipping over our country. Guess we’re seen as too much of a threat to ignore.
Was it a mistake not to arm up? But armies bleed money. No weapons? Sure helps the economy.
Most lords don’t bother with infrastructure—tax money goes into wining, dining, and military buildup.
Sure, diplomacy and defense matter. Should be priorities.
People laughed at me for pouring strength into roadwork and canal repairs. Called me a “civil engineer king” or something dumb. But it worked—our country got visibly richer.
Still, if rich nations lack military strength, it’s like hanging a target on your back. Sooner or later, you need military might anyway.
Silver lining: if the Demon King’s not ignoring us, it means we’ve earned recognition—maybe even a chance at negotiation.
Come on, Demon King. Our country’s still intact—maybe we can talk this out.
He should be close by now. If not… I’m in deep trouble.
* * *
”Yikes, yikes, what a monster,” someone mutters.
”Upper-breed or whatever. Goblin Lord, Goblin King, or some crap,” another replies.
Even after the intimidation fades, his heart’s (village head) still pounding. Chaa chucks a muddy ball at the upper-breed gob and then socks the idiot who threw mud in the first place.
”Ow—damn, what are you doin’?” the guy yelps.
”Because of you, the village almost got wiped out,” Chaa snaps. “Only way dumbasses like you learn is a punch to the face. Better that than getting the crap kicked outta you by everyone—or pelted with stones. You should be grateful.”
”What? Wiped out the village? Lemme hit him too!”
”I’m in.”
The humans horse around just below, while the goblin squad stays in perfect formation, marching straight through.
”Listen,” Chaa says, “wolves chase rabbits but ignore ants. But if an ant bites ’em—they’ll get crushed.”
”So… are we done?” someone asks.
”It’s just an analogy. Keep watch. Make sure no one here does anything dumb.”
”Ah, that’s it! Plenty of people could screw up!” another agrees.
Having drilled in the point, Chaa leaves a few on lookout and bolts for the main house—the village head’s estate.
He gets winded almost immediately… but keeps walking, slow and steady.
The estate’s in chaos.
”Any injuries? Is the village head okay?” Chaa calls out.
Looking closer—his right arm’s completely gone at the shoulder. His daughter, Lucia, is pressing a glowing palm to the wound, using a recovery skill.
Even he had the passing thought—If he died and reset, maybe the arm would come back…
But even calm, steady Chaa wouldn’t blurt something that reckless out loud. He knows better.
”Whoops,” the village head groans. “Got careless against that big goblin squad. Don’t worry—those weaklings? I could swat ’em aside with one arm, easy.”
”That’s enough,” Lucia says, frowning. “Just sleep already. That wound? Bet a stone or something hit you from afar. They’re holding back. No matter how much you risk your neck, you’re not beating them. Can’t even take down one goblin.”
”Don’t be an idiot! What’s with you—abandoning your post? You ran, didn’t you? Cowardly little coward!”
”It’s fine now. As long as we don’t provoke them, the Demon King’ll leave us alone. That goblin king came down himself—and then left, with his troops. Just passed through.”
”The goblin king?” the head mutters.
”They don’t care about us. For them, the Hero’s fortress is the real target. This village? Just a barn to them.”
”D—don’t be ridiculous! I’m the strongest in this village! Not even on their radar? That hero-type? There’s a huge gap between us! Tch! What about my pride?!”
”Calm down, old man,” Chaa says quietly. “I get it—how you feel. But think about the village’s safety. Get a grip. If you can drop that pride for a second, you’ll see. That Hero? He was the real deal—able to fight the Demon King head-on. We lost. We lost.”
Even Chaa had been caught up in his own pride—but now, finally, he stands over the village head, grounded and unshaken.
”So… you’ve changed, huh?” the village head said. “Only I couldn’t. Am I—am I really gonna die now?”
His aura drained away, shrinking into itself until he looked smaller somehow. Fragile.
”Don’t be so timid,” Chaa said, stepping forward. “There’s plenty to do. First, I gotta keep that reckless brat from gettin’ his hands on the Demon King.”
”I—I can’t anymore,” the village head whispered. “I leave everything to you. Take over as village head.”
”With how Chaa’s doing now—I think I could leave Anita to him,” Lucia said, her voice quiet but steady.
Not just the village head, but even Lucia—his daughter—had said those words.
If it’d been the old Chaa? She’d have jumped on that village head’s seat without blinking. But now—what value does Toyata Village even have? Watched her get dumped like some unpaid debt—used, tossed aside.
”F—no,” Chaa muttered. “I’ve got two proper wives already.”
That line—about not becoming some untouchable son-in-law to a tiny, pee-smelling girl—she swallowed it down.
And the village head’s face kept graying… paler by the second.
He’s bled too much. He’s probably really gonna die.
Usually, anyone who’s died and come back like this—dead-rewind—loses their chance.
”Speaking of which, wasn’t there someone who got a death-rewind too?” Chaa asked, squinting toward Lucia.
She shook her head—pale as paper.
So… that guy’s lost, then.
Before the altar, there should be a handful of ashes dropped. Once that’s done, it’s a funeral. The village head’s got a dozen tasks left—too much, too fast.
As if it’s none of my business, I think—Chaa.
Still, Chaa circles the village, muttering bitterly, “No messengers either, huh?”
* * *
No deaths in the bottomless swamp.
The Demon King’s split squad finally reached our country’s front gate. Looks like some lizardman scouts had snuck in too—they were using ropes to haul the trapped ones out.
The outer moat and walls of the trade district bristled with jagged protrusions, mimicking Goryokaku [T/N: a star-shaped Japanese fort]. After repeated expansions, it had morphed into an irregular 24-sided fortress.
One of those protrusions was shaped for maximum crossbow coverage—angled just right to pin down any advancing army. Since it’s built in modular units, the whole thing could be dismantled and relocated fast. If they pushed it, they could even do a one-night castle—pulling a fast one on their enemies.
To teach this world how terrifying a crossfire could be, I ran several mock drills using practice arrows. If Tizzy the saintess were here, even accidental death wouldn’t be a concern. I also snuck in some of the Dragon God’s Herb [T/N: potent mythical healing plant].
Crossfire from crossbows—this could change warfare here.
The troop numbers weren’t enough for real barrages—more like erratic volleys. But even so, accuracy would spike.
If the enemy used a barrier to block ranged attacks and charged in, I’d ditch my assigned block and fall back. No point risking everything on a losing hand.
That kind of anti-projectile barrier drains too much mana—hard to sustain. Probably tuned that way on purpose. An always-invincible shield would bore the audience. They must’ve built in limits.
Besides, if defenders only relied on flying weapons, it’d be dull for spectators. That’s why they added all the traps—part obstacle course, part blood sport. From classic pitfalls to dwarven prank devices—it’s a spectacle.
The lethal traps? Fewer than you’d think. But deaths still happen. Many gods in this world are disturbingly cruel, and safety precautions just aren’t fun to them.
Of course, we’re still betting our lives. How far can we push this?
Now that the Demon King’s side can revive in their demon-holy-temple, it’s no longer about killing enemies—it’s about endurance. There’s no true end.
I don’t know how stable their death-rewind system is, but the balance’s shifted—heavily—in the Demon King’s favor.
Until now, humans have cheated by summoning heroes and other hacks. So if the world’s scales are finally tipping back—well, that’s the price.
Crushing foes solo with cheat-doubles is satisfying, sure—but fighting on equal ground? That’s brutal.
* * *
The castle loomed over the wetlands—huge, crooked, unnatural. Like some warped flagship. In its shadow, the clan leaders gathered for a war council. Eyes wary. The air heavy with unspoken tension.
Three goblin clans. One orc clan. One lizardman clan.
Five in total. All tangled in this battlefield’s murk.
”First, gratitude to the lizardmen,” one goblin chief said, his tone tight with forced courtesy. “They strength-fully rescued those trapped in the mud.”
”Honestly,” another growled, “human tribes laid a damned sinister trap. Our clan nearly lost warriors. Sneaky little trick.”
”Unending swampy stubbornness—”
”That might be a natural trap, sure,” the first muttered, “but they’re using it deliberately. Sneaky buggers.”
”Smells of scheming,” the orc leader said, his nostrils flaring. “This isn’t our battlefield. No, it’s not.”
The Demon King’s side isn’t monolithic. It’s a coalition—a fragile union of clans backing the Demon King. Each leader holds power. But the unity? Brittle. At this rate, the orc clans might split off.
”One thing—something’s off. Isn’t that a sword barrier?” one of the goblin chiefs asked, eyes narrowing.
Wooden swords—decorated in eerie, rainbow-like hues—were embedded in the earth around the castle, forming a wide circle. It mirrored the sword barrier used to protect the Demonfolk settlement.
That’s no decoration. It’s a curse—a magical ward declaring: “Anyone who crosses this point becomes an enemy unfit to coexist.”
”Yeah, that’s right,” the orc murmured, gaze narrowed. “I’ve been wondering about that too. There’s a lot about this castle that feels off, but—”
”The style matches. No question there. Human tribes—so cocky,” the orc leader spat, eyes sweeping the battlements.
Breaking a sword barrier in a clan war was taboo. Anyone reckless enough to do so had been ostracized, forbidden from siding with the Demon King this time. Grudges rooted in centuries past still clung like thorns.
”Humans—don’t they also disregard the rules of war?” one goblin asked, sneering.
”They used to—long ago. Heard the emperor and his ilk broke every rule,” another goblin growled, tone rank with disdain.
”Just greedy fools—despised and defeated with every dirty trick,” the orc added, voice darkening. “Outsiders. Legendary villains.”
”But isn’t this supposed to be a new clan settlement?” a younger warrior asked. “If they’re bound by tradition, wouldn’t it be better not to fight?”
There it is again—that razor-thin mesh of iron wire tangled through the sword barrier. So many humans have vicious tempers. Makes me want to steer clear. Those wires aren’t lethal, just cruel. Like thornbushes—a maze of pain.
The clan leaders exchanged glances. Memories of being caught in those wicked tangles lingered sharp. Once the wire snared you, struggling only made it worse—tighter. Escape became impossible. Malicious by design. The wounds weren’t fatal, but the scars ran deep, etched into memory.
”Beyond the barrier—that’s where nastier traps probably wait,” someone muttered grimly.
If the sword barrier broke, the result would be carnage—no glory, no pride, just slaughter.
People on the brink—cornered—sometimes turned to desperate tricks. Better to self-destruct than be conquered.
”When the goblin clan in Glacier Valley released the sealing ghost-jar,” one whispered, “half the Demonfolk died from a plague, they say.”
The goblin and clan leaders looked grim, faces lined with quiet pain. The lizardman chief glanced skyward, shame painting his scaled features—his people hadn’t been infected back then.*
*Continuity note: Lizardman infection immunity may contradict earlier account in vol. 3.
Because yeah, there are diseases that only affect lizardmen, so I didn’t think it was unfair—but I read the room and kept my mouth shut.
”Our job’s to make sure nothing interferes with killing the god,” said the fiercest-looking orc chieftain. “If the humans stay holed up in that castle, no need to fight.”
The fact that he of all people suggested a passive strategy—he liked a good fight, sure, but didn’t crave bloodshed—made it clear: goblin and the rest were misunderstanding the orcs.
”Plus, we ain’t got siege machines here. That height—ladder won’t even reach.”
The nimble goblin were good at crafting siege weapons, true. They’d stashed some in the magic bag… but they were all lost with the Holy Capital assault squad.
Priority of the plan? Yeah. Makes sense now.
”Few of us even know arrow-stopping magic,” someone muttered. “Field battle. Wait ’til the human mob shows up—then hit ’em.”
”What if they don’t show? What then?” asked a younger chieftain.
”At that point, even if we do nothing, it’s still our win,” the orc said with a shrug. “Easy day.”
The war council was settled. All that remained was explaining things to the fighters. That, ironically, was the hardest part. The chieftains scratched their heads, dreading it.
* * *
Even after the lookout soldiers rotated out, I stayed put—binoculars in hand.
Good vantage here. Shea-Shea can still talk through the speaking tube, too.
I handed out hot drinks and sweets—the soldiers appreciated it.
Maybe I’ll toss in a few small magic bottles next time. The vacuum insulation principle isn’t complicated. Show a dwarf, and they’d churn out a solid version easy.
”Man, the drumming’s so loud… so noisy!” one soldier groaned.
He glanced at me, panicked, and amended, “It’s…noisy, right?”
Honestly, who cares?
From the Demon King’s camp, drums thundered. Demonfolk warriors danced, shouted, hammered away—like a festival gone feral.
It’s the opening ritual for war. I know that much.
I studied war, seriously. Dug through old scrolls, most of them ancient—turns out no one bothers to write new ones anymore. Shea-Shea said so.
Words alone weren’t enough. I wanted diagrams, too.
The giant’s wooden sword in Uno’s nest helped. Wood doesn’t rot easily under the right conditions—even after a thousand years. Magic preservation’s a factor, too.
That thing—part sword, part totem pole, maybe even a decorative pillar—was weird. Meant to stand at a castle’s edge during wartime, supposedly.
I like New Year’s decorations myself. Starting from the shape felt natural.
Found some solid timber back on Earth, brought it along. Tried carving something, got totally wrapped up in it. Hours slipped by. When I’m in Uno’s nest, that happens—I get absorbed.
I set stakes outside the wall to hold barbed wire. The result looked almost surreal.
That barbed wire—they bought it. Civilian-grade, meant for pest control.
Against a high-tier warrior? Probably wouldn’t even scratch them—armor class negates most of it. Still, it’s irritating. I confirmed that with Shirakaba-san.
The Holy Capital’s rituals must’ve started by now. Mystic tones floated in on the breeze—distant and near sounds blending into a strange stereo effect. Uneasy. Alluring. Foreign.
Over there, the cheat Hero fleet’s definitely present. They won’t go down easy. They were summoned from Japan—makes me wonder what they’re thinking now, hearing the Demonfolk’s ritual.
Meanwhile, Shea-Shea’s cranking the volume from every speaker, blasting military-style tracks. Songs I didn’t recognize—but they felt… familiar. Anime themes? Movie OSTs?
They’ve totally outpaced us in subculture fluency. Locals here? Zero resistance to Earth’s entertainment. They’re going wild for it.
Even the Demon King—hearing Earth tracks out of nowhere—has to be stunned.
Our troops’ morale? Might be up. Shea-Shea’s pumping out JPOP constantly, totally hijacked the speaker system.
Some soldiers are really into it. Is that… good?
Once the ritual ends, is the assault starting? Or—not exactly an “assault,” right? You don’t hear “castle attack” much in this world.
I noticed more dwarves inside the castle. Reinforcements? No. Probably just here to inspect the traps they built for the attraction.
I get it—I do. But this is a battlefield. People die here.
There’s a dwarf arguing with the defense team. Can’t hear what they’re saying from here, but I can imagine.
Probably something like, “Let me press the trap switch!”
They look like they’re having fun.
Enjoying war isn’t exactly respectful. Explaining that to folks here… it just doesn’t click.
Maybe our cultures are that different.
Notes:
• Ms. Nina – Doll Princess (Auroora 217), renamed by the protagonist. Beautiful blonde, ~168 cm, slim waist. Wears adventurer attire. Made from artificial parts and wooden limbs, resembling a princess. Knowledgeable, can read, write, and use basic healing magic. Reliable partner, often saves the protagonist with her skills.
• Nina – Doll Princess (Auroora 217), renamed by the protagonist. Beautiful blonde, ~168 cm, slim waist. Wears adventurer attire. Made from artificial parts and wooden limbs, resembling a princess. Knowledgeable, can read, write, and use basic healing magic. Reliable partner, often saves the protagonist with her skills.
• Yakou – A newly created kunoichi spirit with high specs from Mubiel. She pledges loyalty to the Narrator as her ‘Lord Shogun’ and seeks to punish villains.
• Shea-Shea – Mauro’s daughter. Hurt by Alexander. Became an eager fiancée after advice from protagonist.
• Anita – The granddaughter of the village chief.
• Tizzy – Claims to be Duke’s daughter, a noble with advanced magic skills. MC and Ms. Shirakaba lover.
• Shirakaba – A paladin who seems to be a skilled fighter. He’s introduced as someone with a strong defense and healing abilities.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
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