Please support the translation by reading the translation and commenting on otakutl official site.
Thank you.
Everyone from Otaku Translation
Chapter 7: The Fist Rogue and the Fist Priest
Perhaps in everyone's life, there comes a phase of awkward stagnation. In these moments, you suddenly realize that you've done all you can possibly do, while the things you planned to achieve seem far too daunting for your current abilities. You feel weary, disheartened, and adrift, your immediate goals lost in the haze of uncertainty. Unsure of what you're capable of or what you should be doing, you surrender to habit, living a lazy, aimless existence.
Level thirty is precisely one such stage.
In Valor Fortress, I had completed every task within my reach. I helped merchants recover goods stolen by kobolds scattered outside the city walls, hunted down a bloodthirsty black bear with a history of attacks, assisted a dyer’s wife in gathering rare irises from boarfolk camps—and so on.
I even dragged a housewife’s drunken husband out of the tavern and back home. Of course, expecting a drunkard to understand "manners" or "obedience" is wishful thinking. So, during this process, I ensured he learned his lesson—albeit perhaps more harshly than intended. Let’s just say his left shoulder was dislocated, and his right leg fractured, but nothing life-threatening.
I swear it wasn’t supposed to go that way. But when a drunken brute charges at you wielding an iron rod, you don’t exactly have many options. Trust me; anyone would’ve made the same decision.
What truly frustrated me was how the poor housewife reacted upon seeing her “educated” spouse. Instead of gratitude, she immediately switched sides, fussing over her husband as though forgetting her earlier pleas for help in curing his alcoholism. This fickle woman chased me out with a broom, though not before tossing my reward—a silver ring granting twenty additional health points—at my feet.
After finishing these tasks, only a few entries remained in my quest log:
- "The Soldier's Discovery": A scout under Colonel Pekla disappeared while investigating near an abandoned woodland mausoleum at the foot of Mount Uzig. His last message hinted at uncovering secrets, and the Colonel hopes someone will find him.
- "The Missing Only Son": Prosecutor Faseli’s son, young Philipe, vanished during a trip to Mount Uzig. This marked the ninth disappearance in recent months. A desperate father seeks my aid in finding his missing child.
- "Fangs of a Vampire": Some vampires established a secret base in the woodland mausoleum beneath Mount Uzig. These fallen beings, thought extinct since the Withered Lands fell two centuries ago, mysteriously reappeared. I must retrieve twenty fangs for Sir Montella, the city patrol officer.
- "Lost Chapters of the Holy Codex": During the battle against the Apocalyptic King two hundred years ago, the temple’s sacred codex was shattered and scattered across Mount Uzig. Monks believe fragments may lie within the mausoleum.
Additionally, countless brave warriors who perished fighting the Apocalyptic King still haunt the woods, cursed by Darrendel the Heartcrusher and his minions. To prove myself worthy of advanced training, I must defeat at least nine cursed warrior spirits.
Clearly, all these quests pointed to the same location: the woodland mausoleum at the foot of Mount Uzig. And therein lay my problem.
I once tried sneaking into the mausoleum alone, only to confirm that such bravery was sheer stupidity. Rumors of vampires’ hideout were true. Outside the mausoleum lurked pale-faced, gray-eyed "descendants," humanoid monsters around level thirty with strength and speed unmatched by ordinary humans. Though unarmed, their raw power, sharp claws, and bloodlust made them formidable foes. Like any dishonorable thugs, they attacked en masse, leaving no room for counterplay.
While true courage doesn’t falter due to numbers, charging blindly into certain death isn’t valor—it’s suicide.
Thus began a frantic chase through the verdant forest. A disheveled level-thirty human warrior fled desperately, his sword dragging behind him, its scabbard torn loose and clattering against roots and stones. Pursuing him were twenty or thirty shadowy figures clad in black, moving in disciplined formation, kicking up dust like a rolling storm cloud. It was quite the spectacle—if humiliating for the runner.
This undignified retreat wasn’t new to me. I’d attempted various approaches to infiltrate the mausoleum, always failing. Those relentless undead were as alert as bloodhounds, leaving me with nothing but scars and tattered armor. Thankfully, sunlight deterred the vampire-controlled mutants, confining them to the shadows. Otherwise, this deadly marathon might never end.
You can imagine my frustration. Repairing gear alone cost nearly a gold coin, yet progress eluded me. For the first time, I faced such crushing failure. Defeat wrapped itself tightly around my heart, fueling anger and suffocating frustration. Part of me wanted to abandon these infuriating tasks altogether—but quitting felt like surrendering to some unseen, cowardly foe, stinging my pride.
Besides, the rewards were substantial. Greed whispered another reason to persevere.
I reopened my quest journal, staring longingly at the "Rewards" section, hoping to summon the courage to face this bleak reality…
“Are you insane? When will you learn to think like a normal person? If you want to die, fine, but don’t drag me down with you!” Just as I prepared to tackle the mausoleum again, a familiar gruff voice barked from nearby.
“Relax, relax. Killing gets exhausting. Admiring Death’s pretty face isn’t so bad, balance work and rest!” Another voice chimed in, equally familiar and oddly comforting.
“Balance my ass! We’ve died five times already, running back corpses for hours. Who needs enemies when exhaustion kills us faster? Your damn Death girlfriend’s beauty won’t pay our repair bills!”
“So now it’s my fault we’re broke? Need I remind you whose brilliant thievery got us here? Without your incompetence, we’d afford repairs!”
I turned to see two arguing figures. A green-skinned orc rogue, rotund and fanged, berated a fiery-bearded dwarf priest half his size. The orc strained to bend over, his belly bulging comically like a misshapen gourd.
“Long Triangle?” I instantly recognized the oversized rogue I’d fought alongside against Swordtooth Mountain bandits. His sheer bulk made him unforgettable. Beside him raged Longbow Sunshot, the fearless dwarven berserker priest.
“Jeffrey Kidd!” Hearing my voice, he brightened mid-argument, greeting me warmly. “What luck! Didn’t expect to see you here. Fei Yin mentioned you yesterday.”
"Yes, it's been days since we last saw you. Just a moment ago, I was saying how nice it would be to find a warrior as dedicated as you. It’s tough fighting alone.” Longbow Sunshot also seemed genuinely delighted to see me.
"Hey, what do you mean by 'dedicated like him'? You call recklessly clinging to a fight without thinking things through, then flopping on the ground like a corpse the moment your mana runs out, ''dedication'? What exactly have you contributed?"
“At least I’m not a coward fleeing danger, leaving squishy casters to tank mobs!”
"That’s called tactics, understand? We’re civilized beings, not some primitive brutes gnawing on raw meat!"
Though I don’t hold strong racial biases, I must admit—it felt rather odd watching a rough and rowdy green-skinned orc, one hand clamped firmly around a dwarf’s neck, loudly declare himself a “civilized person.”
“Civilized? Ha! Even sewer rats are braver than you, coward.”
“You psychotic murderer!”
“You spineless coward!”
“Bearded idiot!”
“Herpes-ridden moron!”
“Gutless bandit!”
“Necrophiliac!”
“Barbarian!”
“Deserter!”
“Midget!”
“Fatso!”
Their insults escalated until, suddenly remembering my presence, Long Triangle addressed me.
“Hey, Jeff, mind waiting? I’ll bury this fool alive and then chat.”
“Yes, just a minute. Let me clear out this chatterbox first.” Longbow grinned amiably.
The next moment, sleeves rolled up, they lunged at each other.
It was a graceless brawl. The obese orc yanked the dwarf’s beard, stretching his stern face into grotesque shapes. Meanwhile, Longbow abandoned all pretense of being a caster, pummeling Long Triangle with brutal efficiency—though the details remain unprintable.
Watching Long Triangle clutch his groin and hop around painfully, I instinctively checked my own pants, feeling a chill down below. Thank goodness I wasn’t on the receiving end.
Only then did I notice their ragged state. Long Triangle’s leather armor hung in tatters, his belt snapped in half, barely held together by his miraculously elastic belly. A broken-handled warhammer dangled awkwardly beside a dagger resembling scrap metal.
Longbow fared worse. One shoe intact, the other split open, sole flapping uselessly. His peculiar staff, "Nunchaku," lay broken in two pieces, clutched in each hand. He looked less like a divine servant of Darmos and more like a wild drummer.
No wonder they resorted to such undignified combat. Without proper tools, neither could rely on their usual flashy techniques. Each punch landed ineffectually, reducing HP slower than natural regeneration.
At this rate, their fight might continue until Judgment Day. Spectators murmured:
“Ah, the Fist Rogue and Fist Priest. Is this some new build?”
“Enough!” I intervened, stepping between them. My stat boosts easily restrained the near-naked brawlers.
“What happened?” I demanded. “You both look like you crawled out of a grave.”
“Well…” Long Triangle sighed. “…we did just respawn…”
“And before that…” Longbow added, “…we were hanging around graves…”
“…visiting the woodland mausoleum…”
I understood perfectly.
If you like this project, please vote for this novel through the above link, thank you.
Join our discord you will receive update notification
If you would like to support this translation, you may choose any one of the options below.
How to find a list of chapters
Please find the chapter label next to your favorite translator's name, and click the label.
