The Porter Is Not Interested in the Hero Party - The Porter Is Not Interested in the Hero Party chapter 135

135 – Interlude (7)

“I want to do something too.”

During the meal, Millet pouted and threw out a word that stirred up the party. Lena blinked and looked at Millet, and the hero shook his eyes with an anxious expression. The porter nodded and said:

“Yes. Miss Millet. The thought of wanting to contribute something for the party. very good. Everyone will be proud of it.”

“yes? What are you doing for the party now? Everyone is playing and eating anyway.”

Millet replied with a puzzled expression at the porter’s words. The porter, who had casually pointed it out, nodded with a shy expression, and Ashuria, who was expecting something else, spoke in a cautious tone.

“What do you want to do? millet?”

“I want to play with the porter too.”

“Poo!”

The hero, who was eating the soup as if nothing was wrong, shook the bowl. Clearing her throat, the contents of the soup slid over the bowl and back, soaking the bridge of her nose and munching cheeks. The hero shook his head and wiped his face with the hem of his clothes, and Lena laughed at the hero’s fierce reaction.

“Ahahahaha!”

Ashuria could see that Millet wasn’t joking by the grim expression on her face and the nervous movements of her hands banging on the desk. Millet was at an age where he knew everything. No, in terms of age, Millet was the eldest member of this party.

As an elf with low sociability, she lived at her own pace, so it was only obvious that she knew everything she knew, and she understood how things were going. She felt it was unfair. Everyone is taking their own time and monopolizing the porter, but he knows that he can’t monopolize the porter.

“It’s all about the promise… … .”

When Ashuria heard Millet bring out the ‘promise’ she had made one night, she quickly cut off her words.

“millet. I was bored. Then how about asking the porter to play with you today? It wouldn’t be bad to take a leisurely day off while waiting for the war.”

The hero raised his head while wiping his face. Ashria smiled at the warrior and asked,

“Isn’t it? Warrior?”

The hero had a puzzled face as to why he was looking at him like that, but he nodded as if he had remembered something belatedly.

“Ah, yes. right.”

said Lena.

“He is a sinful man. mister.”

When Lena twitched her eyebrows and gave a dubious smile, the porter shrugged in confusion and just looked back at Millet. Millet was smiling brightly, as if she hadn’t had a tearful face before, and the hero grumbled in a small voice.

“…I wanted to sparr today.”

Ashuria said to such a warrior.

“I will give you a sparring. Warrior.”

The hero understands his position. His pride was strong enough not to admit that he was spending his time in places like Dalian out of selfishness.

Ashuria understood such a hero very well.

“For the warrior.”

In the end, the hero has no choice but to smile bitterly and follow Ashuria.

******

A time when everyone left to do their own thing.

In the far away gymnasium, weapons clashed with the exceptionally loud shouts of warriors, and Lena left her seat for a reconnaissance mission at the request of her unit. Only the porter and Millet remained in the barracks. The porter was lost in thought for a moment, looking at Millet, who was sitting on a chair and swaying his legs from side to side.

To the porter, Millet was in a truly mysterious position. She was also the daughter of the woman she once held in her arms, and she was also a colleague at the same party. It was also a relationship that could be defined simply in a complicated tangled relationship, and it was also a relationship that I wondered if we were entangled in a slightly more complex relationship than that.

The word father-daughter relationship sounded strange, but somehow the porter felt the most similar. Maybe because he held Benuel in his arms, he felt a strange sense of responsibility towards Millet as father and daughter.

“So what did you call me to do?”

He didn’t know what kind of heart she had in asking him to play. Millet always had a smile on her face, and always gave her goodwill, always expressing herself in the same way. Even if her feelings are ripe, the porter will not notice.

Miele said to the porter, still smiling brightly.

“yes? The porter sits still here!”

And she left the porter and ran out with her bow and arrow.

Creatures were slowly returning to this highland area. The bugs that had gathered on the highlands and gnawed at life crawled back to the ground where demons had fallen, and birds flew in to catch and eat the bugs. It wasn’t a large number, but even now, if you look up at the sky, you can see the birds that you often saw when the porter was in the empire, flying in the same way with their wings spread.

The porter was appreciative for a moment as he watched the group dance of the birds. It was because watching that formation flying in a V shape reminded me of the time I was out on a plateau reconnaissance and cracking jokes with the soldiers.

These were really boring stories. After arguing over who will hit that bird, a confident archer takes aim. If a few knights who are confident in their bows step out and hit 2 or 3, a soldier who says they are confident in cooking will pick them up and roast them on the spot.

The pockets contained spices as if they knew this would happen, and the knights pretended not to know, even though they had to maintain discipline, and roughly bluffed that they would let it go this time only, and ate the meat together to destroy the evidence.

“Oops.”

And, just like that time, an arrow hit the heart and crashed toward the floor. Just as it was about to fall off the plateau cliff, another arrow flew in and pushed the bird toward the porter’s tent. The ricocheted arrow hit the bird’s flock exquisitely and hit another bird’s neck, dragging it to the opposite cliff and flying away.

The fragments of memories seen in the realistic scene of a bird falling ironically brought the porter back to reality due to his unrealistic bow skills.

“Porter! Look at this!”

The porter blinked and raised his head. Millet smiled and held the two birds. One just fell off. Another one flew the other way. Millet pulled out the hair in a familiar way, and I looked for a pocket knife and said,

“We are here to help.”

“yes? It’s fine! You don’t have to help me!”

Miele refused to help the porter and began to do everything herself. In fact, preparing food like this was Miele’s specialty. Having inherited the characteristics of the hunter-gathering elves, she neatly plucked the hair and cut the neck so neatly that one would wonder if this bird was originally a creature without hair and skin, and drew the blood.

“Would you like some blood?”

“no. it’s okay.”

Millet grumbled when I stopped drinking blood.

“I don’t know why humans don’t drink blood. There’s nothing better for the body than the warm blood you hunt and eat.”

“It’s because they don’t hunt.”

Millet shrugged and set the bowl of blood aside. While we were talking for a while, the blood drained all the way, and the bloodless skin was white. As Millet sliced open the stomach and proceeded to slash the inside, a pile of entrails came pouring out as if it were an imitation.

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No matter how many times the porter saw it, he nodded in exclamations of admiration, and Millet smiled happily at the porter’s sincere reaction and put the bird meat on a skewer. And Millet said in a bright voice.

[All you have to do now is bake it.]

“Now we just have to bake it.”

The porter hardened his smile and blinked. It was because the soldier’s voice in the old memory overlapped. When I finally caught my breath and looked back, Millet tilted her head and was looking at the porter.

she said, turning the skewer round and round.

“In the elven village, there is a rule that it is not the man who feeds the woman, but the one who is better at hunting.”

The porter felt the images of the soldiers overlapping behind the image of Millet turning the meat. Soldiers waiting for meat to be grilled. A knight who pretends not to know in order to protect the dignity of the knights, but eventually gets over it.

The porter himself, who gets and eats meat among the knights.

Millet said with a smile.

“Hey. porter. Porters always look so tough. When this is over, I want the porter to live comfortably. My mom can’t hunt either, so I guess I’ll have to feed her… … .”

Millet hesitated and looked at the porter. The porter was not paying attention to the bird or to Millet. He wrapped his head around his head and blinked, then looked into the air again and took a deep breath.

“A porter?”

It was because the soldiers kept overlapping behind Millet’s figure.

The porter closed his eyes.

“It’s fine?”

Millet’s worried voice echoed like a cave.

“yes?”

When I finally opened my eyes, Millet was holding onto the shoulder of the porter, and oil was dripping from the cooked meat.

Millet stopped turning the skewer and asked.

“…Did I say something strange?”

The porter couldn’t quite hear what she was saying.

So he just laughed and said:

“no. It was fine. What a great idea. I think so too.”

“really?”

Millet jumped up and down with a happy face as if the porter had been strange, and the porter thought while wiping the sweat from his head.

Even if you try to forget it, the past will come back.

There is only one way to be freed.