Praise the Orc! - Side Story 7

I was forced to live in captivity for the rest of my life because I happened to be aware of the fact that I was a saint. I was truly a ‘real’ saint, but that didn’t matter, because there was already a designated saint in the temple.

When I died from all the abuse I endured, I was sent back to a time before all those previous events in my life had happened. After 15 regressions, I was exhausted. I prayed, “I don’t want anything to do with this, so please just let me die,”

And at that moment when I could finally be able to die, someone said, “How about being my daughter?”

…. That monstrous duke had adopted me.

The sky and the earth are infinitesimal as a grain, and a life of peace is like the sea.

Lu Heng, who crossed over to the other world, found himself transformed into a huge white wolf, a mountain God of a remote mountain with a group of villagers under his rule.

In this strange and wild world, demons and giant beasts run rampant, and human order is almost non-existent.

These, however, are not what Lu Heng needs to think about. What he needs to think about now is how to tell this group of villagers that he does not need little girls.

Besides, he actually doesn’t want to be a God anymore…

Darkness is coming, and crisis is everywhere. In this long dark and desperate night, do you want to see a bonfire with warm words? We are that light.

We don’t want to be the little bully who guards one-third of an acre and eats canned food.

We don’t want to drive the harem on a great escape from east to west.

We don’t want to be a bunch of rats guarding rancid cheese in the gutter.

We don’t want to see the panic on your faces and the desperation in your screams.

So we stand up, fight for ourselves, fight for you, fight for humanity!

As long as we are here, the flames of war will never be extinguished.

We light a warm bonfire in the dark night, and watch the dawn with the brilliance of life.

We are the shield of the earth, the patron saint of mankind!

- Description from novelbuddy

“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

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