In the game, hero characters interact with each other, building affinity.
The relationship dynamics reflected occupational characteristics, with healers gaining allies' favor the quickest, of course.
After all, they healed their allies' wounds.
Then came the tanks.
As they took the brunt of the enemy's attacks and sacrificed themselves, it was inevitable for other heroes to grow fond of tanks.
That's why in the game, after healers, tanks were the second most favored profession.
They usually maintained good relationships with other hero characters.
However, the Leprosy Extermination Squad was different.
Their negative trait, 'Leprosy', affected their combat performance, but it impacted their interpersonal relationships even more.
No matter how hard they tanked and protected allies with their bodies, it was nearly impossible for them to form friendly relations.
But as a player, I didn't care.
Performance was the priority in the game, so I utilized the Leprosy Extermination Squad without much concern.
But now that the game has become reality, I am beginning to realize the fatal disadvantage of 'Leprosy.'
Despite leading the charge in all battles over the past ten days and fighting valiantly, even at the temple where they came for healing, they were shunned by their allies.
Despite the injuries taken in place of those very allies.
"Thank you for caring for someone like me, Your Highness, and Your Grace."
Torquel murmured stubbornly at the back of the line in the temple, insisting on being the last to receive treatment.
"But out of momentary pity, please don't get too close... The curse is contagious."
"A curse..."
"Yes, a curse. How greatly must I have offended the goddess to live like this."
I swallowed the words of comfort I was about to offer Torquel.
A man who has suffered this disease and pain all his life.
My clumsy consolation might just reopen old wounds.
"Without fully atoning for my sins, I sought to be reborn, so the goddess rightly punished me."
Bleeding profusely from his injuries, Torquel murmured numbly.
"We are cursed to be born into this world..."
That's when it happened.
"Excuse me for interrupting your conversation."
With the sound of a medical cart being pulled, a tired-looking healer approached us.
"The goddess is not so petty, you know?"
It was Saintess Margarita.
She approached us with a face wearied by overwork and grumbled irritably.
"Dragging sins from past lives to punish in this one... That's all just stories made up by people. Our goddess is not so narrow-minded."
"..."
Torquel stuttered, taken aback.
"Does the doctrine say that?"
"I'm saying there's not a single word about that in the doctrine. Do you think a deity has nothing better to do than to nurse grudges and meticulously plant diseases in people?"
Saintess Margarita, taking out bandages and medicine bottles from the cart, pointed her finger sharply at Torquel.
"And! I told you, those with serious injuries should be treated first. Mr. Torquel. Why do you always hide in the corner and wait to be treated last? If the wound worsens, it's more work for me. Don't you see I'm already busy?"
"...Because it's not a major injury."
"Not major? If someone else had these injuries, they'd be unconscious and carried away by now. What about that pool of blood under your feet? Our priests have to clean that up, you know?"
"..."
"Don't brag about being healthy, and make sure to come earlier next time for your turn. Understood?"
Torkel did not respond.
Saintess Margarita, with rough yet accurate motions, sprayed medicine on Torkel's wounds, wrapped them in bandages, and administered healing magic.
After treating his physical injuries, Margarita wiped the sweat from her forehead and gestured with her chin.
"Take off your helmet. It seems the inside is damaged too."
"..."
"Take off your helmet, will you?"
"I, well, the helmet... can't..."
When Torkel hesitated till the end, Margarita furrowed her brows fiercely.
"I'm busy! Take it off! Quickly!"
Dusk Bringar and I watched this scene, hugging each other and trembling like aspen trees.
The god of healing is frightening...
"..."
Hesitating, Torkel slowly lifted his hands and removed his helmet.
From where Dusk Bringar and I stood, we could only see the back of his head, but the gruesomely swollen and discolored skin was clearly visible.
With a deeply furrowed brow, Margarita treated the wounds on his crown and behind his ears.
As the treatment was almost finished, Torkel asked in a low voice.
"It's horrible, isn't it?"
"Indeed."
"..."
"It's always like this. Treating the injured, it's always horrible."
Finishing the treatment and wiping her blood-stained hands on her apron, Margarita spoke indifferently.
"To me, there are only two kinds of people. Those who are injured and those who are healed."
"..."
"To be honest, Torkel. I have no interest in something like your skin condition. I treat patients every day whose bones and organs are completely torn apart, far more horrific than your skin disease."
Looking straight into Torkel's eyes, Margarita spoke fiercely.
"So, I don't know how many times I've said this, but if you're seriously injured, come and get treated first. Don't make my already dreadful work twice as hard."
Clattering—
As Margarita, pulling her cart, turned to head deeper into the temple, her gaze met mine, and a hint of puzzlement flashed across the face of the saintess.
"Your Highness, are you ill?"
"No, I'm fine but thought... just in case, I should get a check-up..."
"..."
"...but it seems the temple is busy, haha. I'll be on my way then, Saintess."
Awkwardly responding, I nudged Dusk Bringar with my elbow.
'We shouldn't have come here, now we're just in the way!'
'I had no idea it would be like this, myself!'
While we were at this, Margarita sternly corrected Dusk Bringar and me.
"Your Highness declared a state of emergency in Crossroad. This place is practically a field hospital... If there are no special symptoms, it would be best to postpone the check-up."
"I'm sorry..."
"If you're still worried, ask Damian for help. Or you could call a physician from the Imperial Capital. It would also be nice if you could arrange some additional manpower for us."
With a weary face, Margarita gave a brief nod before disappearing with her cart.
"..."
"..."
I continued to prod Dusk Bringar's side with my elbow.
Dusk Bringar winced and shifted sideways, murmuring an apology.
"..."
Meanwhile, Torkel, having finished his treatment, sat still for a while before slowly donning his helmet.
"If not for the sin of being born into this world."
From within the helmet, his blunt voice sounded even weaker and more faded than before.
"Then what is it for, that I suffer from this disease? If not a divine punishment, then for what cause, what karma, am I enduring this pain?"
"..."
"I apologize for the concern, Your Highness. Your Grace. I shall take my leave now."
Torkel bowed slightly and then limped away, making his way out of the temple.
Standing in the empty temple, Dusk Bringar and I simultaneously let out deep sighs.
"Phew~"
"Sigh..."
Dusk Bringar, tasting bitterness, looked up at me and said.
"It's difficult."
"Isn't it?"
That's just the way the world is.
It's always harder for those who bother to worry.
If everyone, my enemies, and those afflicted with leprosy, is simply lumped together as being born into this world by mistake.
And if they're decreed as nothing but targets to be eradicated and oppressed. Then the world would be an easy place.
But the world isn't that simple.
That's why we must ponder. Even if we struggle without finding the right answer, our willingness to worry is what keeps us human.
'Such luxury...'
To think we are contemplating such concerns in the face of the imminent onslaught of monsters.
In a bitterly human way, I couldn't help but laugh.
***
At the same time.
In the depths of Lake Kingdom. Zone 8 Warzone.
This place, built like a giant stadium, was originally a facility where the citizens of the Lake Kingdom watched various violent sports.
The Goblin Legion was using it as a base. There were so many of them that they had occupied several other areas as well.
But today, the Warzone was empty.
The entire force had begun to move towards the main gate of the Lake Kingdom in preparation for an outing.
In the center of the empty stadium, Goblin God-King Kali-Alexander remained, pondering the tactics of the upcoming war.
A few of his personal guards stayed behind to escort him.
"50,000."
After muttering the final count of the legion he would command, Kali-Alexander let out a short breath.
"Quite the number."
In his heyday, the number of goblins Kali-Alexander led neared a million.
He united the greenskins across the continent and ravaged the west of the world. He toppled numerous nations and drove countless species to extinction.
50,000 was not a small force, but it was admittedly lacking compared to those times.
"Granting me a mere 50,000 while claiming to provide an 'unprecedentedly large legion.The King of Kings thinks too little of me."
To the Demon King, goblins were just goblins, after all.
To him, 50,000 might seem a lot for a 'mere Goblin God-King' to command.
"When he calls my name without 'Kali-', he underestimates my capabilities as a commander..."
Kali-Alexander sighed lightly.
"It seems the King of King greatly underestimates the capabilities of my legion."
Yet, still, I serve.
That devil gave a second chance, and that is an undeniable fact.
'How shall I use these 50,000 lives...?'
Unlike other monster legions, where each is an elite, the Goblin Legion is a horde that overwhelms with numbers.
The lives of the legion's members are their bullets, their spear tips. The strength of the Goblin Legion comes from how freely they sacrifice their lives.
It might be enough to break through the defenses guarded by the Protector of Humanity.
But Kali-Alexander's goal was more than merely breaching defenses.
'Not enough to conquer the world.'
An ambition unfulfilled by his race.
To resume the conquest halted in the western lands.
As the leader of the goblin race, that was Kali-Alexander's purpose.
From the start, the monster front guarded by Ash was just an obstacle to overcome, certainly not the ultimate goal.
'After breaking through the defense line, I'll move north, rallying the greenskins remaining in humanity's lands... By the time we reach the northern edge of the world, I should be able to restore the former might of my legion.'
Like an invasion force.
Kali-Alexander resolved to handle logistics and troop reinforcements on the spot, as was fitting for an invader.
To cross the barrier protected by the Guardian of this age... Kali-Alexander began to detail the organization of his 50,000 soldiers for an efficient invasion.
That's when it happened.
Boom—!
The main gate of the stadium burst into pieces, scattering debris in all directions.
The goblin honor guard, startled, pointed their spears toward the commotion, and Kali-Alexander looked up in bewilderment.
"Grrr. Grrrrr."
The sound of a sinister laugh heralded the arrival of a massive creature with green skin.
A muscular orc clad in spiky armor, wielding a huge pillar as a weapon on his back.
He was the Orc Emperor, 'Wrathmonger' Daimark.
In his hands, he held the heads of the goblin honor guard that had been guarding the entrance to the stronghold.
Crack!
As Daimark squeezed, the two goblins let out agonized screams before their heads shattered to pieces.
The Orc Emperor laughed cruelly and tossed the corpses aside, smearing the blood on his lips.
Kali-Alexander asked calmly.
"What brings you here, Daimark? Weren't you tasked with stopping 'Nameless'?"
"Grrrk... Kali-Alexander. Can't you see?"
Rumble...!
Through the open gate, a legion of orcs poured in. Each warrior was several times larger than the goblins.
In an instant, Kali-Alexander and his honor guard were surrounded. The Orc Emperor grinned, baring his tusks.
"This is rebellion, you weakling God-King!"
"...I have been granted command of this age's invasion by the King of Kings. Lay hands on me, and the King of Kings will not forgive you."
"Grrrr! Ignorant words. The King of Kings has always turned a blind eye to us killing each other!"
Thud!
Daimark swung the huge pillar he had carried on his back, slamming it down onto the ground. Then, the Orc Emperor bellowed fiercely.
"I will kill you here and become the ruler of the Greenskin! And I will lead this age's invasion!"
"..."
"Goblins are the mold of the world. You're the trash born from the leftovers when the gods shaped us orcs! You have no warriors, no war songs, no festivals, no honor! Just numbers pushing forward, burning the world like barbarians!"
Hearing orcs calling them barbarians was ironic, but it was true.
The goblins had nothing.
Even if the God-King had them dress in the old human kingdom style and bear weapons, most goblins didn't understand the significance of these actions. They simply followed orders.
They were a barbaric tribe without even the culture of orcs.
That was the nature of goblins. If their God-King disappeared, they would revert to a state worse than the Stone Age, which indeed they did.
"Today I will kill you and correct the hierarchy between orc and goblin."
Daimark roared and charged forward.
"Goblins! Being born is your sin! Now, as this age falls into ruin and through the eons, serve us orcs as slaves!"
"Being born is a sin, huh..."
Rising from his seat, Kali-Alexander drew his scimitar from his waist.
"I've heard that often enough."
The Goblin God-King muttered cynically.
"...It's just that I never wanted to be born at all."
The Goblin God-King's blade clashed with the Orc Emperor's pillar.
And so began the civil war among the Greenskin.
--TL Notes--
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