Chapter 57 | I, the Ogre

Macar was a standard Paladin of the Church of Dawn.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't be transferred around so easily.

But Ogre had a Grand Knight's Discipline Badge as proof.

The significance it carried made a world of difference.

The excuse Ogre gave was that the Discipline Knight badge belonged to a deceased Grand Knight from Notabon, who had wished to have the badge brought back to his hometown before he died.

Ogre's fabricated identity was that of the Grand Knight's cousin's niece—essentially making her a well-connected relation.

Hence, she was the one who had to carry it.

There were certainly loopholes, but verification would take time. In fact, they might not even bother verifying it at all.

In any case, as long as Yade didn't see the badge, everything would be fine.

In his current state, Ogre didn't believe anyone would be able to recognize him.

Aside from the Dandelion Badge and some gold coins, everything else on him that could identify him as Ogre had been buried and safely disposed of, including the spear Folke had gifted him.

“This way, Lady Gelin,” Macar said.

Looking at the pitiful girl, a sense of pity welled up in Macar's heart.

He had heard that this poor Sister had almost been captured and humiliated by goblins.

Fortunately, she had run into some adventurers.

If such a thing had really happened, he would have definitely gone to exterminate those hideous creatures!

“Ngh...”

Ogre squeezed out a few simple sounds. He wasn't pretending to be completely mute.

Impersonating a completely mute person was too exhausting and easily exposed loopholes.

A semi-mute act coupled with some half-baked sign language was just perfect.

Good grief... What kind of unreliable knight would give such a suggestion, letting a delicate girl like her cross the forest...

Watching the “girl” struggle to make sounds, Macar began to complain in his heart about the non-existent escort knight from Ogre's story.

If not for the fact that the knight supposedly possessed a spirit of self-sacrifice, he probably would have cursed him even harder in his mind.

“Aunt Mima!” Arriving in front of a loft house, Macar knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” With a series of footsteps, the door swung open, and the two were greeted by a sturdily built, middle-aged woman.

“Aunt Mima, this is Lady Gelin. She's from the church on the outer city's side, and she can't speak... I'll have to trouble you to look after her.”

Macar introduced Ogre to the rather burly older woman before them.

In fact, it was precisely because he had suggested it to the Cleric that Ogre was allowed to stay in the village.

He felt that the environment in town wasn't suitable for a girl like Gelin to live in... Besides, he didn't like the Paladin Commander over there.

That guy named Yade was said to have been demoted and transferred to this frontier borderland because he made a mistake and let a vampire variant escape.

Instead of trusting such an unreliable fellow, he preferred to help protect and look after her himself.

Seeing how delicate the girl's hands were, he figured she probably hadn't suffered much in life...

“Oh, heavens. May the light of Dawn heal you—my poor child.” Mima quickly made a gesture of prayer.

Mima was a devout believer of Dawn. Though she was currently out of shape and could be described as burly, in her youth, she was also a “famous” beautiful flower in the village.

“Quick, come in. Don't just stand outside. I'll go find some nice clothes for you. This poor child must have suffered so much.”

Mima enthusiastically took Ogre's hand, pulling him into the room before letting go. Then she instructed Macar, “Little Karl, don't keep the young lady waiting too long. Go show her the room—the one on the third floor. While you're at it, tidy it up a bit.”

“Uh, alright.” Macar scratched his head in slight embarrassment, though he did not resist Mima's instructions.

Aunt Mima had put in a lot of effort for him to become a Knight of the Church, so he held a special respect for her, almost treating her like a mother.

“Lady Gelin, let me show you around,” Macar said, looking at the timid girl behind him, appearing slightly at a loss.

He found himself babbling more than usual.

Although Ogre had used disguise techniques on his face to reduce his charm slightly,

his naturally outstanding facial structure still scored him plenty of points.

“Ngh...” Ogre nodded.

Looking at the slightly awkward Macar, Ogre felt his disguise this time was still too conservative—he should have made himself even uglier.

“This is the study... this is the kitchen... this is Aunt Mima's bedroom. Come on up...”

As Macar introduced each room one by one,

Ogre also began to carefully observe the layout inside the house. The more he looked, the more surprised he became.

Generally speaking, houses in these commoner villages were often quite dirty, messy, and simple.

Because no one knew how long they would be living there—village migrations were frequent, whether due to natural disasters or human calamities.

Thus, except for residents in towns, most villagers in the frontier lands wouldn't invest too much emotion into their homes.

Yet, the house before him was surprisingly clean and simple.

Many of the decorations and ornaments were clearly chosen with care. Ogre even spotted a few decorative swords inlaid with gems hanging on the wall.

“Lady Gelin, was your throat always like this since birth?”

The moment Macar asked this, he regretted it. He cursed himself in his mind for being a fool.

Wasn't this question just opening up old wounds?

He originally wanted to close the distance and comfort the girl, but try as he might, he couldn't think of what to say.

Especially since she was semi-mute.

So, while struggling to strike up a conversation with his mind focused on her muteness, the question slipped out before he could stop himself.

Ogre hadn't expected anyone to actually ask this either. He was pretending to be mute precisely to minimize interactions with these clergymen, yet someone still had to ask?

After a brief silence, he still nodded.

“I'm sorry, look at me... completely forgot about that. If it were an acquired injury, it should have been cured by a Cleric long ago... Uh, sorry, I didn't mean to.”

Macar stammered, realizing he had spoken another stupid line.

To become a qualified Knight, he hadn't interacted with a strange girl in a very long time.

Especially one who looked this good.

Ogre merely pursed his lips into a slight smile and shook his head, indicating he didn't mind.

“Look at me...” Macar slapped his forehead and scolded himself. “I'll go pour you a cup of water then.”

Ogre continued to nod with a smile.

He hadn't expected that simply changing his identity would bring such a massive difference in treatment.

This is getting interesting...

Watching Macar leave to get water, Ogre found it rather amusing.

Subsequently, he began to inspect his room.

Three stories... This was not common in a village.

Ogre walked over to the window and pushed open the wooden shutters. From the height of the third-story loft, he could overlook most of the village perfectly.

Looking at the large windmill in the distance and sniffing the scent of flowers carried by the breeze,

he suddenly felt that this place was actually quite nice.

It seemed the Church had indeed taken great care.

This loft house could be considered extraordinary in such a small village—a building of this height definitely meant a high status.

And this was merely the change a single Professional Paladin brought to their family.

As expected, the fastest way to change the status quo is power...

Ogre had always believed that knowledge could change lives, because knowledge was also a form of power.

Unfortunately, ordinary people were so busy rushing about that they had no opportunity to realize such change; they could only pin their hopes on the favor of fate...

Ogre gazed toward the far-off wheat fields, where farmers were diligently harvesting the last batch of crops.

This suddenly sparked a strange thought in Ogre's mind.

Why don't they have Knights and Martial Artists do the harvesting... That would be so much faster.

But as he thought about it, Ogre suddenly realized something else.

Perhaps... this is intentional.

He had never before pondered this matter so deeply. In the past, Ogre simply felt it was only natural for the strong to rule over the weak.

But he had never truly considered the relationship between the two.

The true wealth has never been the amount of land, but the right of the strong to rule over the weak...

With the power the nobles possessed, even without commoners, they could still function perfectly well.

The working efficiency of a single Professional Knight could easily match that of dozens of people.

Yet, almost no one ever made Knights perform such tasks.

The Knights themselves never did these “low-value” chores either—as if production and construction were merely markers used to segregate social status...

No wonder no one cares, and no one would ever care...

Ogre suddenly came to understand a bit of the structure of social civilization.

The value of the commoners' existence—apart from occasionally producing a highly talented “lucky one”—seemed only to lie in distinguishing the noble from the base.

They themselves were a form of property.

If they couldn't produce any new Professionals, their remaining value would not amount to much.

No, that's not right... There should be another layer of meaning to this. I get it now, why the Empire doesn't allow Professionals to engage in production...

While the work of commoners seemingly played an indispensable role in maintaining the Empire's operation,

in reality, it was likely just a way for the upper class to give them a “purpose” for existing...

Otherwise, once liberation was achieved,

those who became idle—not all of them, but just a portion pursuing power like Ogre did—

would throw everything into chaos.

Martial Artists, Knights, and Mages all faced limitations of aptitude and talent.

But... there was one profession that lacked these constraints.

And that was—Warlocks!

So, are Warlocks truly evil, or is it because they cause the destabilization of power...

No matter the reason—

freeing Professionals from production and keeping ordinary people “busy” and exhausted from running around was indeed the optimal solution.

Ogre discovered that behind every seemingly unreasonable structure, there was always a hidden set of logic operating underneath.

The world had its own rules.

“L-Lady Gelin.”

Macar, who had just come upstairs with a wooden mug, called out.

He happened to catch Ogre turning around.

As the wind whipped through his hair, the “girl's” beauty caused Macar to lose himself for a brief moment.

S-She is so cute.

Macar wasn't that he had never seen beautiful noble ladies.

But those noble ladies were all incredibly snooty, completely unlike the Gelin before him.

He couldn't say what the difference was, but he just felt that this pure beauty deeply touched him.

“Ngh...” Ogre opened his mouth, then lightly tapped his finger over his heart and lowered his head slightly for a moment.

This sign represented gratitude. It wasn't just a simple thank-you in sign language, but a respectful gesture of gratitude used within the Church of Dawn.

Ogre had observed and picked this up himself.

After all, Ogre had done some work for the Church of Dawn before.

He had even used quite a bit of paint made from crushed gems.

“Y-You're welcome,” Macar said, his face turning slightly red as he hurriedly placed the wooden mug on the wooden table. “Aunt Mima has something she needs me for. Lady Gelin, you can sit here for a while and read a book.”

Ogre still politely returned a smile, while feeling increasingly glad that he had pretended to be mute.

“I found this in the study downstairs. If you need anything, you can tell Aunt Mima. I will prepare pen and paper for you as soon as possible.” Macar also pushed the book in his other hand onto the table.

Having finished all this, he quickly backed out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Ogre chuckled softly.

Because this was exactly the outcome he wanted—a Sister was currently the safest, most free, and widest-scoping identity he could find to explore around.

He is quite shy, just like Serandic used to be...

Thinking of his strange junior brother, Ogre couldn't help but sigh again.

If not for wanting to find out what had happened to Serandic, Ogre would never have bothered returning.

But there was no use thinking about that now...

Just wait... I'll figure it out, as well as the matter with that clock tower.

Sighing softly in his heart, Ogre turned his gaze back to the table.

The water Macar had brought was steeped with some sesame-sized orange petals.

It smelled incredibly fragrant.

He had clearly put some thought into it.

Relying on the robustness of his ogre constitution, Ogre wasn't afraid of anyone poisoning him, so he picked it up and tasted it.

“Hmm...?”

Though it didn't have much of a taste, it surprisingly felt quite nice to drink—a little sweet, yet also slightly bitter.

But surprises aside,

Ogre usually wouldn't dwell too much on a single food item. After tasting it briefly,

he set down the wooden mug and directed his gaze to the book Macar had brought—《The Mythology of Dawn》.

Well, as a believer of the Church of Dawn, it was indeed quite reasonable to have a copy of 《The Mythology of Dawn》 in the house...

Since I'm bored anyway, I might as well read it.

The night was Ogre's primary time for action.

Right now, Ogre truly had nothing else to do, so reading a book was a decent option.

Even though he wasn't particularly interested in this mythology.

Normally at this time, I would be doing quests with Folke and the others. I wonder how they are doing now...

Toward Folke and Lange,

Ogre still felt a hint of guilt in his heart.

After all, it hadn't been long since he had made his promise to them.

But Ogre was also well aware that if he were to show his face to find them now, he would only drag them down with him, which would benefit no one.

Doing his best to not drag down those around him was a rule Ogre had set for himself.

That was precisely why Ogre was so concerned with Serandic's situation—because in a sense, he couldn't completely separate himself from what had happened.