Chapter 19 : Let me take you for a ride

Humans Can’t Prevent Natural Disasters.

Such a absolute claim sparked Lena’s rebellious streak—a trait inherited from positivism’s bold pioneers. That’s how she’d lived: not with airy “make the impossible possible” platitudes, but a stubborn need to test everything herself.

Even she wouldn’t deny the truth of it. What could she do against real disasters? If one struck, she’d cut her losses and move.

But this? Labeled a “natural disaster” as a metaphor? Just a monster on a rampage. That she could tackle.

Even tame animals fought natural enemies to shield their homes and kin. For Lena—a human—defending her turf flipped her eyes to steel.

Some folks turn rational when truly enraged. Lena was one. Right now, she was calm, sharp—her most composed. Normally, she’d charge in blind. Not today. Arriving, she paused to think.

Reckless rushing would worsen things. First: find familiar faces. The warleader would do; the chieftain, better. A leaderless crowd was a rabble—add a head, and it’s an army. She needed them to rally the scattered orcs.

Next step, obvious: Get away from my house!

To Lena, fleeing orcs and the ruler-class monster were equal threats—both could trash her home. The orcs, panicked for their lives, wouldn’t think, “This is someone’s property; let’s tread lightly.” No chance.

The monster? Like a hiker heedless of crushed ants, it’d flatten her house without a thought. To protect it, she had to handle both—not just one. Priority? Orcs first—easier to herd.

…But where were they? The tribe’s big shots—warleader, chieftain—should stand out in this mess. Had they bolted first? That’d explain their absence.

No way a chieftain would ditch his tribe.

Yet the same chieftain had sold them to her. Suspicion swelled.

In truth, he’d faced Python head-on, bravely. Dead now, he couldn’t clear her doubts—silenced forever.

“…Found him.”

The warleader—alive, barely. Python’s massive tail loomed above him. Lena’s body moved before her mind caught up, deciding his fate by a hair’s breadth.

Kugeugeung!

She braced both hands against the tail. Reckless. No matter her strength, Python’s sheer mass dwarfed her. Dodging would’ve been smarter than blocking.

But time didn’t allow it. Dragging the warleader—now chieftain—clear wasn’t an option. Her instincts screamed it. She trusted them. This was the best play.

Her shoulders ached, hands numbed, but she hid it. No broken bones, no torn muscles—manageable.

“Quick, get lost!”

She couldn’t hold forever. Teeth gritted, she urged him on. Snapping to, he fled—glancing back oddly, but he went. Lena held firm until his figure vanished.

…Warleader turned chieftain. Seized the throne amid chaos, huh? The old chieftain a traitor, the new one a coward—the Cold Wind Orc Tribe’s future glowed bright.

Their mess, not hers. One threat down.

Now, only the ruler-class monster blocked her path.

“Python.”

She read the name hovering above it. Familiar—Greek or Roman myth? Python, Pyton, whatever. Predictable. A serpent leading lizardmen? No shock there.

Kureureung!

Python thrashed, destruction echoing. A Great Forest ruler-class monster with a temper to match its size—hill-sized, though smaller than the dead dragon’s bone pile in its lair. Snake? Dragon? Imoogi, maybe? Did this world have those?

Her wandering mind halted. Snake, dragon, Imoogi—didn’t matter. It was her enemy. That’s all.

“Hey, we’ve shared this land for years, but first hello today. Can you hear me?”

The Art of War—ancient Eastern wisdom—praised victory without battle. Best of all: subduing foes without a fight. Dialogue could be ideal. Python hadn’t trashed her house yet—room for compromise existed.

Kureureung!

Python’s reply: more thrashing. Its head didn’t even turn. Had it heard?

“Tsk, figured.”

Lena sighed. She’d hoped its big head meant big brains. Nope—snake limitations held. Ruler-class or not, still a beast.

To talk, she’d have to beat sense into it first—a wild truth she’d learned.

Arching back, she released her grip. Python’s tail lifted. Dull senses or sheer size—either way, it hadn’t faced her yet.

Your loss.

Spinning on her left foot—one turn, five, ten—like a relentless top. The world blurred, but her eyes stayed fixed.

Three, two, one—now!

Twisting her waist, peak rotational force surged to her foot. She slammed it into Python’s descending tail.

…!

Its massive body lurched back. Trees, streams, hills—swept away. The shockwave rippled behind it.

Action and reaction—Newton’s law—said Lena should’ve flown too. She didn’t budge. Her monstrous physique absorbed the recoil, defying physics.

In this fantasy world, physics was a punchline. Python’s existence alone mocked it.

Lena shook her kicking leg lightly, eyeing Python. Come to your senses yet? Its scraped scales should sting enough to snap it awake.

“Aish.”

Failure. Its scales—disgustingly tough—barely cracked where she’d struck; the rest just scratched. Python’s eyes still blazed, crazed—like a drugged thug. Snake eyes hid whites or pupils, but the vibe was clear: mind muddled, emotions unresolved.

She’d pegged it as mad over hurt minions. Now? More like a timed meltdown.

Ruler-class monsters ruled the Great Forest for ages. No common knowledge needed—its size screamed longevity. Animals got dementia; if it’d lived that long, why not?

Should’ve aimed for the head. A busted gadget fixes with a few whacks—doubly true for a snake brain.

Shireureek!

Her kick wasn’t wasted. Python’s head rose, locking onto her. Even dazed, it knew this tiny human had hurt it.

“Much better.”

Look at me. And don’t you dare near my house.

Lena grinned, baring snow-white teeth.