The woman steadied herself, eyes narrowing at the bandits rushing toward her like a wave of chaos.
She lifted her sword, muscles tensing, and positioned it just above her left shoulder. She was ready to strike.
And then...
She lashed out.
But the bandit in her path didn't even flinch.
"Fueh?"
Instead—because of the force behind her swing and the overwhelming pull of her own heavy chest—she lost balance and slammed face-first into the dirt.
What the hell was that?
I glanced toward the goddess again, catching her casually whistling as she turned away, pretending not to notice.
It was painfully obvious—just like before—that she hadn't bothered to check if this woman was actually fit to carry the title of Master Swordsman.
I exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of my neck. "Let's just go help her," I muttered. "Though honestly, I doubt I'll be any use… so I'll need you covering me."
With a steeling breath, I drew the sword my father handed down to me—and I charged.
There were many reasons why I was only considered 'adept' with a blade. Chief among them was every time I swung, I'd lose my footing.
But I'd trained my upper body hard enough that I could finally keep myself upright.
Then there was my stance.
A good stance should let you channel both upper and lower body strength into a clean, powerful swing.
It also sets the tone for how you initiate the attack.
If your stance sucked, your swing would suck too.
And lastly… there was my "style."
I couldn't even call myself self-taught. My technique didn't come from any traditional sword school.
Honestly, my fighting style boiled down to swing however you can until you hit something.
Also...
None of my swings carried true weight behind them.
It was very likely I'd die here.
But leaving a village to be butchered wasn't something I could live with.
So I sprinted forward, heart pounding, throwing every ounce of my strength into the strike—and somehow, I landed a hit.
"Graaaghhhhhh!?"
The bandit crumpled to the ground, body twitching, his torso nearly split in half by my blade.
I tried pulling the sword free—but it wouldn't budge.
"What the hell!? Who are you!?"
I yanked again, fighting to dislodge the blade still buried in the dying man's chest.
The other bandits turned, now setting their sights on me.
But then—just as one stepped in—
A head flew clean off, severed in a flash of silver.
"You can't afford to take your eyes off the Master Swordsman!" the woman shouted.
Only nine remained now. There were eleven before.
One of them stared at his fallen comrades, jaw clenched with rage.
"You'll pay for this! I'll make you pay—with your life and your whole body!" he roared, sprinting toward the woman with wild fury.
Meanwhile, the rest made a beeline for me.
I turned and tried to flee—weaponless and outmatched—but then—
"Gwuaaaghhh!"
"Aaghhhh!"
A fireball exploded against them, flames licking the air as bodies crashed to the ground.
"A mage!?"
They looked up, horrified.
The goddess stood with a fireball glowing in her palm, face shadowed by its burning light.
She looked terrifying, radiating power as the flame crackled in her hand.
"What the hell are these people even doing here!?" one of the bandits shouted, voice cracking with panic.
"The hell do you expect us to do, boss!? We can't fight a damn mage! We need to get outta here!"
"Shut up! I know that!" the leader barked, eyes flicking nervously toward the woman holding the fireball, sweat beading down his temple.
It wasn't every day you saw a mage.
In fact, mages were near mythical in this world.
Magic wasn't something anyone could just learn. It wasn't about talent or training. It was something divine.
Only those who were blessed—directly by the goddess—were given the ability to wield it.
So if someone received the blessing of a mage, or one of its higher forms like Archmage, it meant something big.
It meant you were chosen.
And that made you dangerous.
Seeing her standing there—calm, eyes glowing faintly with magic, fire pulsing gently in her palm like it was breathing—the bandits finally broke.
They ran.
And honestly? I couldn't blame them.
Mages weren't just flashy. They were devastating. They could blow a man apart before he even raised his weapon.
If I were in their shoes, I'd run too.
Just like that, they scattered into the wilderness, leaving behind the corpses of their fallen comrades.
I walked over to the body of the man I'd cut down and grabbed the hilt of my sword.
With a grunt, I yanked it free, the wet shhhhk of steel sliding from flesh louder than I expected.
That was the first time I'd ever killed someone.
With my own hands.
But I didn't feel sick. I didn't feel guilt as well.
Maybe it was because the guy I killed was a scumbag.
He wasn't innocent. He came here to burn, pillage, and kill.
I flicked the blade to the side, sending arcs of crimson blood spiraling through the air before it splattered on the dirt.
Then, behind me—clap... clap clap...
The sound grew.
The villagers were applauding.
Cheering.
Their faces lit with relief, gratitude… maybe even admiration.
I turned to look, and yeah—they were clapping for us.
It was loud. Sincere. Almost overwhelming.
And it felt… good.
I wasn't used to being on the receiving end of that kind of praise.
I wondered—was this what Alice felt when she got cheered on in every village she saved during her journey to slay the Demon King?
Did it feel like this?
Maybe it didn't. But whatever this was… this sense of being seen, of making a difference—it felt amazing.
***
"I am the chief of this village," said an old man as he hobbled forward.
He looked ancient with face carved with deep wrinkles, bald crown shining under the sun, and a long, gray beard cascading to his chest like a waterfall of silver.
He leaned heavily on a wooden stick.
"Thank you for saving our people," he said, bowing low despite the strain it clearly caused him. "If not for your help, we would have all fallen to those bandits. Please—take as much gold as you need. Help yourselves to food. I'm sure you two are on a journey, yes?"
"N-No. It's fine," I replied quickly, shaking my head. As tempting as gold and extra supplies sounded, it didn't feel right to take anything from their village. "I didn't help this village because I wanted something in return," I told him. "Just being thanked is enough."
The old man straightened up with a small, knowing smile. "What a good lad you are," he said, nodding. "But still… just my gratitude feels lacking."
He paused, rubbing his chin, eyes narrowing as he thought.
Then he snapped his fingers. "Oh! I know! Why don't you take my granddaughter with you?"
"Eh!?" the Master Swordsman blinked, looking stunned. "W-What are you talking about, Grandfather!?"
"I'm saying you should go with them," the chief repeated. "Didn't you say you wanted to become an adventurer? Didn't you want to make use of the blessing the goddess gave you?"
"I-I did say that, but…"
She hesitated.
Her gaze lowered, fingers clenching slightly.
It wasn't hard to guess what was on her mind.
She didn't want to abandon her home.
After all, just earlier today, it was almost burned to the ground.
Her worry wasn't misplaced.
"We'll be fine," the old man reassured her, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. "We'll grow stronger—so that next time, we won't have to depend on you. It's time for you to step into the world."
It looked like the woman really wanted to see the world. You could tell by the way she glanced past the horizon every now and then. But with her village constantly in danger, she couldn't just up and leave. Not when her people relied on her so much.
And with the Sword Master's Blessing etched into her very soul, she actually could make a difference when the next threat came knocking.
Honestly? If it were up to me, I'd like to have more comrades along for this journey. But...
Thanks to the idiot goddess standing right beside me—who handed out divine blessings like candy at a festival without a single ounce of forethought—I couldn't see how she would ever be useful. This big-tittied woman—clumsy, awkward, and with a body that looked more suited for breaking necks in a tavern than wielding a sword in battle—was the one who now held the Sword Master's power.
A klutz with hips too wide and tits too heavy for proper sword balance. That's who she chose.
Seriously, I wanted to punch this goddess square in her smug, stupid face.
"L-Let me think about it for now..." the woman said.
She wasn't ready. You could see it in her body language, with the way she gripped her wrist, the way her gaze flickered down to the dirt instead of meeting ours. She probably wanted to go. But the thought of leaving the village behind, with its thatched roofs and vulnerable fences, was eating at her.
"We're heading out now," I told them. "And honestly, you don't have to give me anything. I wasn't expecting a reward. Just being thanked is more than enough for me."
"You're sounding like an actual good guy," the goddess mumbled under her breath, sarcastic as ever.
"Shut up," I shot back instantly, not even bothering to look her way.
"Oh, really... that's too bad," the old man chimed in, his weathered face kind, but clearly disappointed. "But I understand. I'll just hope and pray the both of you stay safe—and get along well—through the rest of your journey."
I looked at him once more, memorizing the lines on his face. Then the goddess and I turned, setting off down the dusty road.
The sun had just crested its zenith, beating down from directly above with golden intensity. The journey to the capital was still long, and by my best guess, we were maybe a third of the way there. Maybe less.
Truthfully... this quest would take years to complete. If we even made it to the end.
And something told me that big-breasted Sword Master girl would eventually find herself walking a road of her own. Maybe not today, maybe not even tomorrow—but someday.
As I drifted deeper into thought, a shrill voice tore through the quiet.
"Waaaaaaaaaait for meeeeeeeeeee!!!"
It rang out like an alarm, high-pitched and desperate.
The goddess and I turned toward each other, brows raised in sync, the same thought on both our faces.
Then again, louder.
"Heeyyyyyyyy! Wait for meeeee!!"
We turned around.
And there they were.
Two absolutely massive breasts jiggling furiously, practically bouncing out of the fabric desperately trying to contain them. They moved like waves in a storm, pulling attention with every ripple. Honestly, I couldn't even see her face—just those giant breasts charging toward us with wild, uncontrolled momentum, while the rest of her body flailed behind like a poorly tied wagon.
The big-breasted Sword Master was sprinting, bag bouncing on her back, tits bouncing harder in front.
They jiggled up.
Then down.
Then side to side.
It was hypnotic. Disturbing. Entrancing.
What the hell was I even looking at?
"Waaaaait!! Aaahhhh!!" she cried again.
And then—right as she neared us—she tripped.
Over absolutely nothing.
One second she was charging forward, the next, she was airborne.
Soaring through the air like a fallen angel with way too much weight on the chest side of her body.
And guess who was directly in her path?
That's right.
Me.
Those breasts were flying now—freed from gravity's grasp for one terrifying, slow-motion moment.
They spun outward in a wide, counterclockwise arc, gleaming in the sun like two soft meteorites locked in orbit.
I stared.
I couldn't help it.
They had a gravitational pull of their own.
And just when I thought the sunlight couldn't be any brighter—it disappeared.
Snuffed out completely.
Because now, those enormous tits were blocking the sky itself.
And then—
Impact.
A warm, soft, pillowy impact.
Right into my face.
Like two heavenly clouds smothering all light and sound, slamming into my skull with the weight of divine punishment.
Breasts.
A pair of breasts.
Right. Into. My. Face.