That pitch-black greatsword was still stuck diagonally in the mud. The broad blade was still trembling in a high-frequency vibration too subtle for the naked eye, emitting a deathly bass hum like a swarm of bees.
Under this pure and violent pressure, the Federation soldiers who had been brimming with killing intent a moment ago now looked as if invisible hands had clamped their throats. For a time, not a single one dared to move rashly. The Federation general at their head had a face like iron. Veins bulged across the back of the hand gripping his broadsword as his wary gaze flicked back and forth between Miguel and that exaggerated greatsword.
"What?" the general growled in their Federation tongue, heavy with nasal sound, eyes full of vigilance. "Who are you?"
Faith let out a soft sigh. He raised a hand and pushed up the glasses on the bridge of his nose, then stepped out from behind Miguel with elegant composure. On his shoulder, that round white bird Ollie was grooming its feathers in boredom.
Sigh. We've completely suppressed them by sheer presence, but the language barrier is still a problem, Faith thought quietly. He turned his head, glanced at Miguel—teetering on the edge of rage—then at the general across from them, as tense as if facing a mortal enemy. Faith knew that if they couldn't convey their meaning accurately, this pointless conflict would be hard to end.
"Ollie," Faith tapped the plump white bird on the head with a fingertip. "You're up. Translate what Miguel just said directly to them. No polishing—literal meaning only."
"Chirp! Roger! Simultaneous interpretation module—maximum output!"
Ollie perked up and puffed out its chest. A faint blue glint flashed in its eyes. Then, in a synthetic voice it deliberately simulated to sound extremely rough—almost bandit-like—its Federation tongue rang out like thunder across the clearing:
"Go back to your homeland, you worms! Don't you ever think of invading someone else's land for the rest of your lives!"
The sentence, blasted at full volume, echoed among the dense tree crowns for a long time.
The Federation ranks exploded instantly. For these official troops who saw themselves as lofty "spreaders of civilization," to be pointed at and viciously cursed by a few oddly dressed "vagrants" was the deepest humiliation imaginable.
"Y-you—damn it!" A young soldier at the general's side flushed red. He jerked his regulation halberd up and pointed it at Miguel, who stood with arms crossed. Even his voice trembled with rage. "You dare insult sacred Federation soldiers! You savage brutes! I challenge you to a duel! I'll wash away your arrogance with blood!"
Miguel raised an eyebrow. He couldn't understand a word the soldier was barking, but the weapon thrust at him and the furious posture already said enough. He was about to pull the greatsword from the ground and teach this brat what real strength looked like—when the general suddenly lifted a hand.
"Calm yourself, soldier."
The general drew a deep breath, forcing down his anger. He wasn't stupid. A man who could throw a heavy greatsword like a javelin from a hundred meters away and plant it precisely into the earth was no ordinary vagrant. Starting a fight before understanding the opponent was unwise.
Putting on a lofty, self-righteous mask, the general proclaimed loudly in Federation tongue—apparently speaking to Miguel's group, but also to his own troops behind him:
"Our sacred Federation army is not here for meaningless slaughter. We carry the fire of civilization, to offer them guidance! We come so this uncivilized land may bathe in the Federation's radiance, so they may cast off ignorance—this is salvation!"
Ollie dutifully translated the passage in real time into Port Alexandra's common tongue, feeding it into Miguel's ears.
"Guidance?"
The moment Miguel heard that word, the already dark look on his face dropped into something truly grim. Uncontrollably, his mind flashed through those years of flames and warfare he had lived—those armies that waved banners of "liberation" and "civilization," only to burn, slaughter, loot, and raze other people's homes.
What he hated most was this kind of nauseatingly hypocritical bandit logic.
"How many invaders like you are there—hiding behind these high-minded excuses while committing evil everywhere?!"
Miguel roared. He didn't even bother pulling the greatsword from the ground. His body left an afterimage on the spot. Like a tiger fully enraged, he detonated forward with a sonic boom that tore the air, appearing in front of the general in an instant.
Too fast!
The general didn't even finish raising his sword to block before his vision blurred. Then a terrifying force like a collapsing mountain slammed into his abdomen.
"BOOM—!!!"
With a dull, teeth-grinding thud of flesh-on-flesh impact, the hulking general flew like a rag sack. A mouthful of blood sprayed from him midair. His body smashed through three tree trunks as thick as bowls before he crashed into a mud pit dozens of meters away, rolled his eyes back, and lost consciousness completely.
Dead silence.
A deathly, absolute silence swept the scene. Whether Federation soldiers or village natives, all of them stared as if turned to stone at the man holding his punching posture—like a demon god descending.
"Anyone else want to teach me your 'guidance'?" Miguel slowly drew back his fist and turned his head. His bloodshot eyes raked coldly across the remaining Federation soldiers.
"M-monster!!"
No one knew who screamed first. The young soldier who had just demanded a duel threw his halberd away in terror. The rest of the Federation troops no longer cared about their "sacred Federation" or "civilized radiance." They didn't even dare to go help their unconscious general. Scrambling and crawling, they turned and fled like startled rabbits, sprinting into the forest with all their might, afraid that being a second slower would get them torn apart by this killing god.
In less than a minute, the clearing that had been brimming with killing intent was left only with abandoned weapons and villagers staring in slack-jawed shock.
"Thud."
The sound of a staff dropping to the ground broke the stillness.
That old high priestess draped in feather ornaments stepped forward, trembling. She watched Miguel pull the greatsword from the earth and sling it behind him. Tears of excitement surged up in her cloudy eyes.
"Th-this must be the ancestors' blessing!" The priestess shook with emotion. Without hesitation she dropped to her knees, raised both hands devoutly toward the sky, then bowed deeply to Miguel. "The ancestors heard our prayers and sent you—the incarnation of the war god—to our village, to drive out those demons!"
Seeing the high priestess kneel, the villagers snapped out of it as if waking from a dream. With a rush, a whole mass of them fell to their knees, shouting praise in that ancient language.
Miguel was startled by the sudden scene. He retreated half a step, scratched the back of his head, and looked at Faith. "Hey—what's this old lady mumbling about?"
"Chirp." Ollie flew above Miguel's head and translated dutifully in that punchable mechanical tone. "She says you are the incarnation of the war god in local belief. In simple terms, they're worshiping you as a deity now. Congratulations, assault captain—you've become a god in this village."
"What the hell?! A god?!" Miguel nearly choked on his own saliva. He waved his hands frantically. "No, no, no! Get them up! I'm just a brute—what kind of god am I?!"
Fortunately, Giovanni's diplomatic talent as captain kicked in right then. He stepped forward with a smile and personally helped the priestess and the well-dressed girl named Anya up.
After a round of communication with Ollie translating in real time, the two sides finally understood each other's identities.
The priestess introduced herself solemnly: "I am the priestess of this 'Greenwood Village.' You may call me Ira. For generations we have lived on the forest's edge, guarding the ancient road that leads to the Giant Tree City. And this one…" She affectionately patted the girl's hair. "Is my granddaughter, Anya. She is not only the smartest child in our village, but also a candidate to become the next 'Memory Guardian.'"
Anya wiped the tears from her face. Her eyes were still a little red and swollen, but her girlish liveliness and gratitude had returned. She bowed deeply to everyone. "Thank you! Lords Drifters from beyond the sea, and also this… powerful War God. If not for you, Greenwood Village would likely have suffered utter destruction today."
"It was nothing." Giovanni flicked his hair in a flashy manner, then very naturally rubbed his stomach. "But—our war god just fought a battle and burned a lot of stamina, and we Drifters have been drifting on the sea for so long… our stomachs are protesting a bit, too."
Hearing that, Priestess Ira immediately showed an expression of sudden realization and warmly clasped Giovanni's hand.
"We have been discourteous! Honored guests, please—stay in our village as visitors!" The priestess turned and loudly instructed the villagers. "Go light the fires! Hunt the finest antler-deer! Pick the freshest mushrooms! I will cook personally and prepare the most lavish local specialties for Greenwood Village's benefactors!"
At the words "local specialties," Old Man Fernando—who had been standing at the back with a simple fishing rod still in hand—lit up. He happily squeezed forward.
"Oh? Local specialties?" Fernando stroked his grizzled beard, smiling like a kindly gourmand. "Then I have to taste a lot. The sea has endless fish, but after so many days, my tongue is starting to forget the taste of land spices!"
The priestess nodded with a broad smile. "You will certainly be satisfied! Elder brother, please come with me!"
Escorted by villagers, the Capitano's group settled into the village. Most of Greenwood Village's buildings were semi-underground treehouses—spacious, cool in summer and warm in winter. Villagers brought out the best animal-skin blankets for them to rest on. Before long, the air filled with an enticing aroma: roasted meat mixed with strange spices.
While they waited for the banquet, Anya—burning with curiosity—carried several cups of sweet juice pressed from unknown wild fruits. She sat in the treehouse where the crew were resting and chatted with them.
"My lords—what is your continent like?" Anya blinked wide eyes, asking like an eager child. "When Lord Ollie was translating, he mentioned a place called 'Port Alexandra.' Are there trees that tall there too?"
Frank leaned against a wooden pillar, lazily blowing out a smoke ring. "Not many trees. But forests of steel are everywhere."
"A forest of steel?" Anya tilted her head, clearly unable to understand.
Faith took over, smiling as he explained in terms she might grasp. "That is the city we departed from. It doesn't rely on gods or ancestors for protection; instead it uses technologies called 'steam engines' and 'computers.' People built steel dolls that don't need to eat or sleep, using them to build houses, carry goods, and even manage an entire city's operation."
"M-machines… robots managing a city?" Anya was so stunned her juice cup nearly slipped from her hands. In her worldview, this was unbelievable.
"Yes." Faith nodded, trying to offer an analogy. "They work tirelessly. As long as they have energy, they can keep working—like the 'familiars' in your myth stories that priests summon to serve their masters… though, of course, relying too heavily on such technology can also bring enormous hidden dangers."
He thought of the rampaging robots that had nearly destroyed Port Alexandra, and of Alice imprisoned in a glass tank. His gaze dimmed slightly.
After listening, Anya frowned prettily. Hugging her knees, she looked worried.
"Then… letting lifeless steel replace people's work—wouldn't that make the ancestors angry?" Anya asked seriously. "Because it breaks the rule our ancestors set—'the land must be watered with one's own sweat.' Our village also has some old mechanisms, but Grandma says if you rely on those too much, a person's soul becomes lazy, and in the end the forest will abandon them."
"Pfft—cough, cough!" Giovanni, drinking juice, nearly choked. He burst into laughter and waved his hand. "No, no, no— it's not like that, little Anya. Machines going berserk where we are isn't because of ancestral anger. If you want to blame something, blame the people who made them for being too greedy… or too insane."
"It's human greed and ambition that bury the seeds of disaster inside machines." Frank added at just the right moment, his tone deep. "The so-called 'hidden danger' often isn't the machine itself, but the person holding the remote control."
Anya nodded as if she half understood. To her, the outside world was simply too complex, too dangerous.
Just then, the treehouse curtain was lifted.
"Honored guests, the feast is ready! Please come out to dine!"
With that enthusiastic call, an extremely rich aroma—carrying a kind of primal, wild stimulation—rushed in at once, making everyone's stomachs rumble.
They walked to the central square of the village. On several long tables pieced together from whole logs, food had already been laid out in dazzling variety.
There were enormous beast legs roasted until fat sizzled, their surfaces coated in some kind of red sauce. There were colorful grains steamed and wrapped in large leaves from unknown plants, releasing a fresh fragrance. And there were stone bowls of hot soup bubbling vigorously, with tender-looking meat chunks and mushrooms in all colors rolling inside.
Seeing such a spread, Giovanni's eyes lit up like two searchlights. Without even taking off his pirate hat, he rushed to the table and inhaled deeply.
"Wow! This is way too lavish!" Giovanni cried out exaggeratedly, practically drooling. "Look at that color! Smell that aroma! This scale, this portion—this is on par with the signature feast of Port Alexandra's top-tier 'Gear Kid Restaurant'! High Priestess, you're far too generous!"
The old priestess laughed until her mouth wouldn't close. "As long as you like it! Don't be polite—sit down and taste our Greenwood Village specialty, 'Blazing Flame Roast Meat'! It's marinated with our forest's unique 'Red Thread Pepper.' It drives out dampness best!"
"Then I won't hold back!"
Having been hungry for half the day, Miguel's stomach was already hollow. He sat down on a bench, didn't even bother with knife and fork, and tore off a huge chunk of roast meat coated in red sauce. He opened his mouth wide and took a vicious bite.
The meat was indeed tender and juicy, crisp outside and soft inside. But just as Miguel chewed twice and prepared to swallow—
A terrifying heat, like magma erupting, detonated across his mouth in an instant—beyond anything language could describe!
"Boom!"
Miguel felt as if ten thousand red-hot steel needles were stabbing his tongue at once. The spice shot straight to his skull. In less than a second, his healthy wheat-colored face turned into the color of a fully ripe tomato.
"Cough—coughcoughcough!!!"
Miguel's eyes flew wide open, tears bursting out. He dropped the meat, clutched his throat with both hands, and hacked miserably. His whole body writhed on the bench like a dehydrated fish, desperately searching everywhere for water.
"Water… water!!! It's killing me! What kind of poison is this?!"
The entire crowd froze. The "war god incarnation" who had just punched a general into flight now looked utterly ridiculous—brought to his knees by a single bite of roast meat.
The first to recover was Giovanni.
He picked up a cup of cool fruit juice, but didn't hand it to Miguel immediately. Instead, he strolled over slowly and looked down at him.
"Oh?"
Giovanni's grin shot upward like it was trying to escape his face. His tone dripped with shameless schadenfreude.
"So our fearless assault captain… is afraid of spicy food?"
He deliberately drew out the words and loudly lamented in an exaggeratedly regretful tone:
"Aiya, what a pity! The High Priestess even told the kitchen to use less chili to accommodate us foreigners! And you call yourself a war god—this is just embarrassing! Hahahahaha!"
Amid Giovanni's unrestrained laughter and Miguel's frantic "glug-glug" of gulping water, the spicy welcome banquet—thick with exotic flavor—officially began in an atmosphere that was both wildly joyful and utterly chaotic.