Chapter 1: I MUST BE DOING SOMETHING WRONG
'Ah, mother... I have failed you', the thought tore through me, a sudden wave of raw, choking grief. Your useless son didn't keep his promises. To think that bastard is still alive back there, while I'm...
"Men... this one is acting strange."
"Just kill it!"
"But we are meant to find Lord Cromwell's daughter before the mages finish the spell."
"Pff, do you think you can rescue her? Leave that to the Captain and Sir Jethro."
"Yeah, we aren't first-circle knights yet. Let's just deal with this pig-head."
"Look, it's staring at us," a lanky knight muttered from the back, his face draining of color. "Do you think it understands us?"
The sudden shift in the lanky youth's tone tightened the group's formation. They paused, studying me with sharp, calculating eyes.
The bearded knight leading them finally scoffed. "Nah... it doesn't. It's not even a first-circle creature. I don't see any tattoos on it either. No need to waste a star pearl, just watch out for its brute strength."
Magic? There is magic in this world?
Before the thought could even settle, the air flickered. Luminous, translucent blue screens materialized directly beside their heads.
Name: James Moongret
Level: 9 (-)
Power Rating: 800
Name: Fred Moongret
Level: 6 (-)
Power Rating: 440
Name: Anthonio Grey
Level: 7 (-)
Power Rating: 500
By the time I finished reading the floating text, the three knights had completely walled me in.
"Look, I told you it was retarded! Hahaha!" Fred sneered, his lips curling with smug derision.
That look.
That exact, sickening look.
The memory hit me like a physical blow—Patrick Morel. The accursed director at the firm. A disgusting, arrogant youth brimming with unearned power and lust.
Ever since I traded my brutal years in the gangs for a legal, quiet life, I had kept my head down, waiting for the perfect moment to take my final revenge. But Patrick had used every corporate lever to crush me the second I walked through the office doors. He blackmailed me, forcing me to do his dirty work. The company turned a blind eye because his family was wealthy, treating his mere presence as a favor to the firm.
Seeing that same, familiar arrogance on a stranger's face unlocked a reservoir of buried, feral rage. My new anatomy took over before my brain could stop it.
"ROOOOAR!!!"
An earth-shaking howl ripped from my throat. I lunged forward, my massive thighs devouring the distance in explosive strides. I threw a heavy, straight punch aimed at Fred's face, but James moved with practiced speed. His heavy shield intercepted my fist with a deafening clang.
BAM!
James followed through with a brutal shield bash, the impact rattling my teeth and forcing me two steps back. Before I could reset my stance, the cold bite of steel flashed across my vision, leaving a shallow, stinging cut across my chest.
The pain was a bucket of ice water. It dragged me kicking and screaming back to reality.
Get a grip. This isn't Earth anymore. And this monstrous body makes it terrifyingly hard to control my emotions.
Control... control... I chanted the word like a mantra, trying to force my heart rate down. But the knights weren't about to give me breathing room.
Suddenly, the line broke. A massive orc charged into our small encirclement, a heavy, iron-spiked club swung low.
He caught Anthonio square in the midsection, launching the knight into the air.
"AAAAAH!!!"
"QASA!!!"
"Why is it so strong?!" Fred screamed as another crushing swing sent him flying through the dirt.
"This guy is at the threshold of the first circle!" James bellowed, pulling a small, pulsing pearl from his belt and pointing it directly at the brute. "SHIT! We can't handle both of them!"
THUD!
GROOWL!
The orc didn't hesitate, delivering a simple, devastating kick straight to Fred's chest armor as he tried to scramble away.
CRACK!!!
"What do we do? UGH—!"
I was no stranger to gore, but the raw, unadulterated force behind these strikes was staggering. The knight's desperate question was cut short as the orc's club came down with a sickening BAM, silencing him instantly.
"RETREAT!" James yelled, his voice cracking with panic.
The remaining men broke formation, scattering blindly into the wider chaos of the battlefield.
Stunned, I looked at the massive orc who had saved me. He paused, giving me a gruff, knowing nod—a clear 'that's how you do it' expression—before sprinting back into the fray.
In a daze, I focused my vision on his retreating back, and a screen flickered to life.
Name: Urim
Level: 9 (-)
Power Rating: 1200
The numbers clicked in my head, sending a jolt of urgency through my chest. I don't even know my own status!
How do I trigger it? Status? View Status?
A larger, deep blue interface snapped open directly in my field of vision.
Name: Torug (Alex Radwell)
Race: Orc
Level: 9 (-)
Power Rating: 1330
Alignment: Chaotic Evil
The simplicity of the screen only deepened my confusion. According to the raw numbers, my power rating was higher than Urim's, yet I felt significantly weaker, clumsier, and completely overwhelmed.
No. I'm doing something fundamentally wrong.
Steeling my resolve, I forced myself to scan the wider battlefield, making a cold, tactical estimate. The humans outnumbered the orcs nearly two to one. But unlike the orcs, who charged headlong with suicidal ferocity, the humans fought with rigid discipline. They didn't commit to an engagement unless the odds were heavily in their favor.
They had clearly launched this ambush confident of a swift victory. I remembered the knights mentioning mages weaving a large-scale spell, and a mission to capture a Duke's daughter.
"Kwuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
A terrifying roar echoed from the distance. It was Olog. Even from far away, the sheer volume of his voice sent a tremor straight through my ribcage.
What kind of monsters am I dealing with?
I furrowed my brows, taking a deep, stabilizing breath to calm my racing pulse. Earlier, I had fought like a disgraced amateur. I possessed a massive, powerful body—one that had the sheer physical backing to challenge a chieftain like Olog—but I had completely embarrassed myself in the opening skirmish.
The realization hit me like a slap to the face. I'm still fighting like a regular human from Earth. That was the flaw. I was restricting a Ferrari to the speed limits of a school zone. I have a lot to learn.
A soft rustle of grass caught my attention. A human soldier had slipped into my blind spot. He gripped the haft of a massive battleaxe with both hands, bringing it down in a desperate, killing arc. My over-tuned ears picked up the violent, tearing whistle of the blade slicing through the wind.
"Fwooom!!!!"
Pure instinct took over. I slipped sideways, the heavy axe blade missing my nose by an inch. As the momentum carried the soldier forward, my hand shot out like a striking viper, wrapping tightly around his throat.
"Oohk-ook!" he choked, his feet leaving the ground as he lunged for air.
As I held him aloft, a spark of inspiration lit up my mind. Why can't I incorporate the human martial arts and gang tactics I learned in my previous life into this monstrous frame? Will it complement this high power rating, or hinder it?
The soldier lost his grip on the axe. It fell, the heavy iron head shearing deep into the earth, fracturing the stone where it landed.
The raw strength behind that swing was completely abnormal, I noted, eyeing the man's relatively thin arms as he thrashed helplessly in my grip. High innate strength? No. If it were a passive stat, he wouldn't be completely helpless against my grip right now. A combat skill, perhaps?
Realizing I wouldn't get answers from a corpse, I gave a sharp, brutal twist of my wrist. A loud snap echoed out, and the soldier went limp. I tossed him aside and surged forward into the smoke.
I'm still not fully synchronized with this weight... but I'm getting there.
Scanning the immediate frontline, my eyes locked onto a familiar pair of figures. Good old Fred was limping heavily, running just behind James.
A slow, vicious grin spread across my tusks.
I accelerated, turning into a freight train of green muscle, and rammed straight into their rear.
Fred didn't even have time to scream. The impact launched his body into the air, his arm twisting at an unnatural, broken angle with a horrific tear. James, however, managed to throw up his shield at the absolute last microsecond, invoking a defensive art. The collision forced him back eight full paces, his boots plowing deep furrows into the bloody mud.
"AAAArrrrrgh!!!" Fred wailed from the dirt.
James stood frozen, paralyzed by the sheer violence of the assault. I could see his gauntleted hands trembling against the grip of his shield. Ignoring him entirely, I stepped past his guard, my eyes locked onto the squirming, broken form of Fred.