"Five fried green frogs and a bottle of apple wine, thank you."

　　This morning, Charles didn't seem too pleased at the Grand Green Frog Inn. It felt like there were more frogs lately, and all the wild chrysanthemums he had saved were gone, making it hard to sleep for several nights.

　　He rarely ate fried food in the morning, and ordering extra fried frogs might come across as an act of retaliation.

　　Durdun relayed the order to the kitchen and then delicately wiped the wooden table in front of the counter. Within minutes, the food was ready and handed over.

　　Just as Charles took a few bites, he heard the distinct clatter of horseshoes outside the inn.

　　The door swung open, and two peculiar customers stepped inside.

　　One was tall, around thirty years old with short yellow hair; the other was shorter, a boy of about ten. They were peculiar because they were human.

　　Durdun became alert. "What would you like to order, esteemed guests?"

　　The human boy, seemingly frightened by his first close encounter with an orc, hid behind his father.

　　The middle-aged man paid it no mind. Glancing at the eating lizardman, he said, "Frankly, I'm not sure. We'll have what he's having, but double the portion. Substitute my son's drink for juice, if you have any."

　　"How about blueberry juice?"

　　"Perfect." He paid in cash immediately.

　　While waiting, the man asked a sensitive question. "I'm looking for a lizardman named Senbo. Has anyone here heard that name?"

　　Durdun remembered something and wanted no trouble. "As you can see, sir, I'm only in charge of providing food and lodging for travelers."

　　Charles, however, had the opposite reaction. Upon hearing "Senbo," he drove his fork into the wooden plate with a thunk.

　　He stood up, eyes burning with anger as he approached the human. "Sir. How do you know that name?"

　　The middle-aged man saw from Charles's reaction that he was in the right place. A flicker of excitement showed on his face. "Indeed." He promptly produced a book and handed it to Charles. Its title was The War Chronicles You Don't Know.

　　"I am a writer from the city of Capekot," the man continued. "I'm documenting the details of the war between the Juyo Kingdom and the Orcs. You seem to know something? Could you tell me where Senbo is? I'm willing to pay two gold coins."

　　Painful memories surged forth, fueling Charles's anger. If humans hadn't won the war, orcs in the Laillette Forest and elsewhere wouldn't be living in such submission.

　　But even more painful than the humiliation of defeat was the name Senbo. When the 500 orcs, including the Bloodblade Vanguard, were tasked with assaulting a fortress, their morale was high. That individual, Senbo, had reported that the kingdom had brought in two powerful mages. One, a flame mage, could incinerate over ten orcs with a single spell.

　　The dire news spread through the ranks, sapping the fighting spirit of more than half his companions. In under an hour, only eight of the fourteen members in his vanguard team remained; other squads fared similarly. Of the 500 orcs, fewer than 300 were willing to stand and fight.

　　The order to attack still stood. They had no choice but to proceed. Their combat effectiveness crippled, victory was impossible. The fleeing units were crushed by cavalry; those who stormed the castle were impaled on long spears. Charles fought valiantly, but couldn't turn the tide. As orcs fell around him, the commander had no choice but to order a retreat.

　　The failure to verify the intelligence promptly led to massive orc casualties. Charles believed he and the other squad leaders bore undeniable responsibility.

　　Throughout the entire battle, no powerful mage ever appeared. And when he tried to find Senbo for answers, the lizardman had vanished.

　　Facing this self-proclaimed writer, Charles was conflicted. He wanted the man's information, yet he also wanted to plunge his sword into him, to wash away the shame festering in his heart.

　　He restrained himself. "I don't know. Besides, the Laillette area isn't under the jurisdiction of the Juyo Kingdom. You should leave." He returned to his seat.

　　The middle-aged man was now convinced Charles knew something, but the moment for questioning had passed.

　　"Fried frogs are ready," Durdun said, breaking the tense atmosphere. He watched the father and son take their food, ride away, and then asked, "Charles, perhaps he knows what you seek. Couldn't you consider cooperating? He's not your battlefield enemy."

　　Charles felt somewhat relieved. "You're right. He's just a human civilian. But the chance is gone now. I don't even know his name."

　　"Want to ask Laku? His information is passable, though mostly worthless."

　　"I hate green. I'll eat my fried frogs skinless."

　　Durdun gazed out the window and sighed deeply.

　　*

　　Over a week later, at noon, Charles once again completed a trade at Noemi's cave before heading to the inn. The sun was shining, and his mood was decent.

　　But the moment he pushed the door open, a bright green figure with a wagging tail and a smug expression bounded towards him.

　　Laku was excited. "It's been just over two weeks, dear hunter! I have some good news here, guaranteed genuine!"

　　Charles ordered his usual lunch. "Get this guy a portion. Laku, I mean Laku, come here and talk."

　　"You're inviting me? Can I take this to mean you desperately need me now? Have you fallen for me?"

　　"I like to nail chatterboxes to trees."

　　Laku waited for his lunch—a steak he usually couldn't afford—and carried his tray over.

　　Charles looked at the tray, noting the extra helping of green sauce. He was sure he'd dislike it. The green creature sat across from him, eyes eager, the way Charles looked at his favorite snacks.

　　After a moment's thought, Charles spoke his mind. "Out with it. I'm looking for a writer from Capekot City, the one who wrote The Forgotten War. Can you help me?"

　　Laku's initial excitement vanished, replaced by disappointment. "Hey, is that all you have? 'A writer from Capekot'?"

　　"He's human, in his thirties, short yellow hair."

　　"I don't go to Capekot. All the orcs there are human slaves. Goodbye!"

　　He had thought it was a fair deal. He didn't expect that the green-skinned informant would have no leads on the writer, nor any desire to inquire in human cities. That firm tone wasn't a bargaining ploy.

　　"Wait. One more thing."

　　Laku stopped. "This lunch is tasting worse by the second. Hard to stomach."

　　"Do you know a guy named Senbo?"

　　"The steak tastes just as bad now. I don't want to hear your voice for the next two weeks. Really, goodbye, hunter."

　　Charles was bitterly disappointed. If any orc knew about the writer's whereabouts, it would be Laku. Laku's ignorance meant the man rarely came to Laillette.

　　He had two choices: wait—his intuition told him the writer would return—or go to Capekot City himself.

　　The latter was too risky. He needed a few more days to think.

　　He glanced over. "Durdun, my friend, any other ideas?"

　　The wyvern wiped the counter. "I've heard some Greywood Elves can sense magic."

　　"Few like dealing with tree-bark," Charles grumbled.

　　"I agree. Unless you have another option."

　　Hearing this, Charles fell into deep thought. He truly had no other options, cursing himself for not seizing the opportunity when he had the chance.