Catherine could finally understand why the elven elders had always recommended her against adventuring.

Though she had transformed into an orc, she was now a rarefied beauty among orcs.

Catherine had been standing idly beside Ambrose, intending on learning as he chatted up the barkeep.

But before long, she noticed quite a number of eyes on her, making her uncomfortable.

Had something gone wrong? Had she revealed herself?

She furtively examined the other orcs in the tavern and noticed the issue. She was too stiff.

No other orc would stand stock-still like Catherine. Their bodies tended to splay.

Those seated in front of the bar would lean forward, propping themselves up on their elbows. Those seated on chairs leaned back and spread their legs wide. Even those standing would lean against a pillar or slouch against a wall.

Catherine, however, remained poised and elegant, as was the wont of the elves. Maintaining a stable core and behaving with propriety had been ingrained into her very self. Doing otherwise would have been a show of utter disrespect in elven culture.

Catherine believed that this was why others were paying attention to her.

As a result, she attempted to conform to their expectations.

Catherine looked around her, intending to find an empty seat where she could spread her legs. Maintaining that posture would be a piece of cake for a legendary ranger.

She didn't realize that she was directly adjacent to a gambling table.

At first, Catherine only thought that the orcs tossing dice beside her were playing a game. Then, a dark-skinned orc, dressed from head to toe like a nouveau riche, strode up to her and asked, "Hey, beautiful. Won't you join us for a game or two?"

Catherine, nearly dazzled by his golden rings and gold-capped teeth, and stupefied by the tang of alcohol emanating from his body, frowned.

She refused him abruptly. "There's no need. I don't know how to play."

To elves, this would have been a pointed refusal. She undoubtedly expected the other party to back down gracefully.

But the orc took this as an invitation to teach her.

He laughed out loud. "Don't worry. I'll pay for you."

The rich orc snatched up a pile of tokens and tried to hand it over to Catherine while sneaking a touch.

For some reason, though the female orc didn't feel like an orc at all, she was supremely beautiful.

Her beauty wasn't merely skin-deep. She had elegance and poise in spades.

That unique aura made her stand out.

The rich orc had fallen for her charms. He couldn't wait to hand her his gold. Any other woman would have had to work for it first; he wouldn't have settled with just getting a touch of her hands.

But a legendary ranger's reflexes weren't just for show.

His hands touched nothing but the air.

"Come on, don't be shy! I still have a lot of tokens left. I'll teach you how to play. You can have the winnings, and I'll cover the losses!"

The rich orc tried to sit down beside Catherine. No matter how much he spent today, he was determined to nab this unique orc beauty.

But the other gamblers at the table weren't slouches themselves.

They too caught sight of Catherine and were instantly besotted with her unique charm.

Another rich orc shouted, "That's nothing! Come here, pretty. You can have all my tokens!"

The pile of tokens before the second orc were worth hundreds, even thousands, of gold coins. The second orc seemed richer than the first.

Catherine was stunned. She had been pursued by members of the opposite sex before, of course, but only ever by elves. And no one would dare to be so boorish to their queen.

Catherine was vexed by these amateurs' show of wealth. If only she could throw off her disguise!

Hundreds of gold coins meant nothing to her. Just her disposable funds alone numbered in the tens of millions.

But the two orcs seemed to have made too much of a fuss. The other tavern patrons, too, were starting to look over.

And more orcs were finding themselves instantly captivated by Catherine.

As if they had been shot through the heart with Cupid's arrows, they offered her whatever they had. The rich threw down gold; the poor flexed their muscles.

Strength and wealth were everything to orcs.

The sudden fervor attracted even the attention of patrons of other races. They stared at Catherine, then gaped in surprise as they realized they found her... attractive. Had someone laced their drinks?

Catherine, meanwhile, was in a tizzy. Why were these smelly orcs all crowding around her?

In panic, she could only turn to Ambrose for help. Over the commotion, her eyes met his right as he was finishing up with the bartender.

Ambrose sighed. He spread his left palm wide and clenched his right into a fist, then pounded it into his open palm.

Ambrose: Got it?

Catherine: Huh?

Ambrose rolled his eyes. He had forgotten that Catherine was a complete newbie, rather than one of his old adventuring comrades. She had no idea what his hand signs meant.

Ambrose had no choice but to mouth at her, "Beat them up!"

Because of how few female adventurers there were, they essentially had free rein to retaliate against any harassment at taverns and other such establishments.

Even death wasn't out of the cards. These were all seasoned adventurers, after all; if a woman could beat them up, then they had it coming to begin with.

These chauvinistic principles applied throughout the continent.

And though Catherine couldn't decipher Ambrose's hand signals, she could read lips.

She narrowed her eyes. As another rich orc attempted to grab at her hand, she reached out for the longsword at her waist.

She struck the orc's face with her sheath, sending him flying. His eyes glazed over mid-flight.

After three and a half revolutions, he smashed into two tables. By then, half his face had swelled up like a black bun made with too much yeast. One of his tusks had even broken off.

The female orc's strength stunned the boisterous crowd.

Rangers focused on dexterity as their primary attribute, but Catherine was completely decked out in magical equipment. The strength that they provided would have allowed her to arm-wrestle with a hill giant.

On a rampage, she sent flying every orc who tried to reach for her in the hubbub, smashing one table after another.

Still, she restrained herself. She never drew her sword. The sheath alone was more than enough against this group of orcs.

As one muscular orc after another was sent flying, the tavern erupted with cheers.

"Well done!"

"Beautiful!"

"Can I be your underling, miss?!"

"Drink's on me!"

......

Catherine couldn't help but smile as the rowdy patrons cheered her on.

Was this the essence of adventuring? How thrilling!

Ambrose sat quietly by the bar, watching her excitedly accept drink after drink.

A large number of patrons were eyeing Catherine by now. She downed mug after mug of beer, and a rosy flush filled her cheeks.

Even as an orc, Catherine's beauty shone through. Many of the patrons, floored, began to question if they were attracted to orcs.

Meanwhile, the orc bartender serenely wiped off cups and glasses. Someone, usually the loser of the brawl or fight, would compensate the tavern for any damages it incurred. He wasn't worried.

But after peering at Catherine a few times, even the neutral orc bartender couldn't help glancing at Ambrose. "Aren't you going to warn your companion? There are some drow elves preparing to spike her drink."

Ambrose smiled. "How to conduct yourself in a tavern is part and parcel of adventuring. She has to learn that lesson for herself. Otherwise, she'd blame me for ruining her fun.

The orc bartender gave him a disdainful look. "Ugh, men..."

Only then did Ambrose realize that the orc bartender was a female.

After all, orcs of both sexes were highly muscular, and this orc was relatively flat-chested. Ambrose couldn't have identified the orc bartender's gender from her face alone.

No wonder she was so unaffected by Catherine's charm.

Still, the fact that the most neutral party in a tavern, the bartender, was speaking up for Catherine spoke volumes to her charm. He would have to have her transform into a skeleton next time.

No one would fall for a skeleton, surely?

As Ambrose watched on, waiting to see if Catherine would notice that her drink had been spiked, a figure who was firmly wrapped up walked over to Ambrose's side.

Lowering his voice, he murmured, "Master, is that you?"

Ambrose turned, somewhat shocked. "Harvey?"

Harvey unwrapped the gaiter around his face. "Master, it is you! After all this time...!"

Ambrose nodded in satisfaction. "You must have honed your skills further if you were able to see through my disguise, Harvey."

After all, Ambrose wasn't currently in his teenage form with black hair and black eyes. Furthermore, all his equipment were those of a ranger's. The fact that Harvey had found him meant that his skill at divination must have grown stronger.

Harvey was exuberant. He sat down beside Ambrose and asked, "Master, what are you doing here? Have the issues in Alkhemia been resolved?"

Ambrose nodded.

"They're all settled. Since I ended up with some free time on my hands, I'm wandering about the desert."

"Excellent." Harvey traced a sign with a fingertip and opened up a slim extradimensional space. He retrieved a silvery-white box from within, which he handed to Ambrose.

"Master, your phylactery is unharmed. Allow me to return it to you now."

When they last parted, Harvey had left with one of Ambrose's faux phylacteries, claiming that he was headed to the desert. Ambrose hadn't expected to reunite with him so quickly.

Ambrose exclaimed, impressed, "You've grown faster than I expected."

Being able to create an extradimensional pocket with magic alone was a feat that ordinary magicians wouldn't have been able to manage. Considering that Harvey had only been an apprentice magician when he and Ambrose had first met, his rate of advancement was unimaginable.

Still, Ambrose supposed it made sense.

Harvey had exceptional talent. Who else could have grown into a diviner from reading texts alone, without the tutelage of a more experienced senior? While working for Ambrose, he had spent all day reading and taking notes. Ambrose's own pointers had helped him solidify his foundation.

With a proper foundation and excellent talent, even a little bit of adventuring could produce unexpected results.

Many legendary magicians started out this way. Within one or two months of adventuring, they were completely unrecognizable from their former selves, and tended to advance into legends shortly thereafter.

Ambrose was considering mentoring Harvey in earnest. After all, willingly or otherwise, he had regained his mastery over divination, and was more than competent enough to advise Harvey. He wouldn't mind helping to develop a new legend.

"Harvey, do you want to join me? I'm willing to officially accept you as my apprentice."

Though Harvey had been politely referring to Ambrose as "Master," they were hardly a true master and apprentice pair. Those relationships were often compared to the filial bond between a father and a son, and Ambrose had had nary a few apprentices in his tenure as a legend. Unfortunately, they had all perished due to one accident or another.

Upon hearing Ambrose's words, Harvey's eyes lit up in delight. But he quickly shook his head. "I'm afraid it's too late."

Ambrose frowned. "Did you... foresee your own death?"