Paul, Dave, and Alina watched the orc camp from a top a jagged ridge of stone, their bodies pressed low against the cold rock. Below them, the camp stretched wide, crude tents and bonfires scattered across the clearing. Tens of thousands of orcs moved through it like a living tide, marching south in thick formations toward Count Errenor's army. Among the mass, two towering orc chieftains barked orders, their presence heavy and violent, while a third figure stood apart, larger, denser with mana, radiating a pressure that made even the chieftains keep their distance.
They waited there for a full day, unmoving, silent, until the last ranks of the army vanished into the southern horizon and the camp finally began to thin. Only then did Paul raise a single hand and give the signal.
It was time.
As Paul prepared to strike first, Dave stayed behind, crouched low, his hands already etched with glowing runes as he maintained a teleportation spell, ready to extract them the instant things went wrong. Alina melted into the darkness around him, her presence vanishing entirely as she took position to intercept anything that came too close.
Paul moved.
Despite his massive frame, his steps were soundless, his weight perfectly controlled. It was almost unnatural, until one remembered that he had survived the Maze of Madness, a place where noise meant death. That place had carved silence into his bones.
His eyes stayed locked on the heart of the camp as he advanced, shortening the distance with measured precision. His attack had to be decisive, fast enough to prevent alarms, heavy enough to crush resistance before it formed.
When he reached the edge of the camp, Paul bent his knees and jumped.
The ground cracked beneath the force, but the sound wasn't that much load. His body launched upward, vanishing into the shadows. For a brief moment, he was suspended above the camp, muscles coiled, power compressed into every inch of his body.
Then he struck.
Paul slammed his foot against the air itself, using raw force to reverse his momentum. He dropped like a meteor, his descent tearing through the shadows with terrifying speed, the air screaming as his massive frame came crashing down toward the center of the camp.
…
In the orc camp, Chieftain Atuk Wolfbeast sat alone at the edge of a roaring fire, its orange glow reflecting off his scarred green skin. His massive axe rested across his knees, one hand gripping the haft tightly enough to creak the wood. His gaze was fixed on the opposite side of the camp, where Chieftain Goch Ragesword was barking orders and demonstrating brutal combat forms for his warriors.
Atuk's lip curled. He hated Goch. He hated all the other chieftains.
In his eyes, none of them deserved their titles. He alone was strong enough to lead, strong enough to stand at the front and crush the enemy beneath his boots. Yet here he was, ordered to guard the camp while the others marched south to glory. The thought made his grip tighten further, veins bulging along his forearm as irritation burned in his chest.
They should be following me, he thought. Not the other way around.
Then the night exploded.
A deafening impact tore through the center of the camp as something fell from the sky like a meteor. The ground shattered outward in a violent shockwave, tents ripping apart as splintered wood and screaming orcs were hurled through the air. Fires were snuffed out or scattered, and dozens of warriors were thrown like broken dolls.
For a heartbeat, the camp froze.
Then Atuk smiled.
"So… an ambush," he growled, rising to his full height as excitement surged through him.
He threw his head back and roared, the sound carrying across the entire camp, a command that needed no words. Thousands of orcs snapped into motion, grabbing weapons and forming ranks with savage discipline. Across the clearing, Goch let out his own shout, rallying his warriors as well.
Axes, blades, and clubs gleamed in the light of the fires as the two forces began to advance toward the crater, boots crunching over shattered earth.
Smoke and dust rolled thick through the air. Slowly, a figure emerged from the center of the destruction.
Atuk's eyes narrowed. It was a human.
Not armored like a knight. Not robed like a mage. Just a massive man standing alone amid broken bodies and splintered ground. Taller and broader than most humans, yes, but still only one.
Atuk's surprise twisted into a cruel smirk.
"One human?" he rumbled. "You fell from the sky just to die alone?"
Before the thought fully settled, the man moved. The human drew his arm back, muscles tightening like coiled steel, and then drove his fist forward.
The punch never touched flesh, yet a crushing force erupted from it, a continuous wave of raw power that tore through the front ranks of orcs. Bodies were lifted off the ground, armor bending, bones snapping as warriors were flung backward in a violent cascade, smashing into tents, fires, and each other.
The ground split under the pressure. Atuk's smirk vanished. His eyes widened as he felt the shockwave roll past him, the air itself trembling.
"This…" he growled, planting his axe into the ground as his blood began to boil.
"…might be worth my time after all."
The man did not slow down. He continued throwing punches in every direction, each strike releasing a crushing wave of force that tore through tents, sent orcs flying, and shattered the ground beneath their feet. Every movement was precise, controlled, as if he were clearing space rather than fighting for his life.
Atuk's brows slammed downward in rage.
A deep red glow spread across his axe as his mana surged, veins bulging across his arms and chest. With a furious roar, he activated his berserk form, his muscles swelling as heat rolled off his body. The earth cracked beneath his feet as he charged forward, closing the distance in a blur.
The man noticed him instantly and threw a punch straight toward Atuk.
The impact slammed into Atuk's chest like a moving wall, the force ripping the air apart and pushing him backward, but it didn't stop him. Gritting his teeth, Atuk forced himself forward through the pressure, boots carving trenches into the ground as he swung his axe with all his strength.
At the same moment, the man's fist met the edge of the axe.
The collision released a thunderous shockwave that blasted dust and debris into the air, knocking dozens of orcs off their feet. What shocked Atuk most was not the impact, but the fact that his axe failed to cut. The blade bit into flesh, yet the man's hand remained intact, barely scratched.
Before Atuk could react, a massive shadow descended from above.
Goch Ragesword burst through the dust cloud, his enormous hammer already swinging toward the man's skull. The strike carried enough power to crush stone, but the human twisted backward at the last instant, narrowly avoiding the blow as the hammer smashed into the ground, shattering it into fragments.
The man landed lightly, feet sliding back, then straightened and assumed a calm battle stance. His fists were raised, body relaxed, eyes sharp.
It was as if he were inviting them to try again. The sight only fueled the chieftains' fury.
With enraged roars, Atuk and Goch charged together, their attacks overlapping, axe and hammer striking from different angles, waves of power ripping through the air. Yet every blow was stopped, redirected, or narrowly avoided. The man's movements were economical and terrifyingly efficient, blocking their weapons with his bare hands and countering with sudden punches that demolished parts of the camp behind them.
Each time his fist moved, another section of the battlefield was erased. Atuk's rage reached its peak.
He threw his head back and roared as molten lava surged from his body, wrapping around him like a second skin. Heat distorted the air around him as he leapt forward, axe raised high, bringing it down with enough force to split the earth.
The man met the attack head-on.
Fist and axe collided again, the explosion of force throwing both of them backward. Atuk skidded across the ground before regaining his footing, steam rising from his molten form as he looked up.
That was when he saw it. A thin scar marked the man's knuckles, a single line of blood seeping through the skin.
Atuk's lips curled into a savage grin.
"Finally," he growled, tightening his grip on the axe.
"My attack works."
The hunt had truly begun.
…
While fighting the orcs, Paul was not only attacking, he was learning. Every brief moment he gained experience. Every half second between clashes, he focused inward, forcing control over the unfamiliar blood power surging through his body. He could feel it clearly now: the blood within his veins responding to his will, strengthening his muscles, sharpening his senses. Vampire Gaze came to him instinctively, but the transformation was still crude, unstable. He had power, but not mastery.
The moment Paul saw the two orc chieftains fully unleash their power, he understood it was time to leave. If they were forced this far, then the S-rank orc who had led them earlier might sense the disturbance and return. If that happened, Paul wouldn't stand a chance.
The molten orc chieftain charged again, lava dripping from his body as his axe tore through the air. Paul didn't retreat. Instead, he drew his arm back and slammed his fist hard into the ground.
A violent shockwave erupted outward in a perfect circle, ripping through the camp like an invisible explosion. The ground cracked and buckled, tents were torn apart, and dozens of orcs were thrown into the air as dust, fire, and debris swallowed everything. The entire camp trembled, as if struck by a natural disaster.
By the time the dust finally settled and the smoke thinned, the battlefield was silent.
Paul was gone.
Only shattered ground, scattered bodies, and the fading echo of his strength remained behind.
…
Alina watched through the shadows as Paul turned the orc camp into chaos. Fires burned, tents collapsed, and the movements of the orcs grew frantic. As their confusion increased, so did the number of patrols sent out to secure the perimeter. One such group, only two orcs, was heading straight toward Dave, who stood in the open with a glowing spell circle beneath his feet.
Sooner or later, they would see him.
Alina remained perfectly still within the darkness. Even the weakest orcs were said to rival a B- rank warrior, while she was only C+. Still, her month of brutal training had sharpened her far beyond what her rank suggested. More importantly, she had something else, the element of surprise.
The two orcs finally noticed Dave and began shouting in their harsh language, their voices filled with excitement and anger. Axes were raised as they broke into a run, closing the distance rapidly.
When they were only a dozen steps away, Alina struck.
She burst from the shadows with all her strength, her movement so sudden that the first orc barely had time to react. Her dagger slid cleanly into his throat, and blood gushed out as his body staggered forward. As his hand reached out for her, she twisted the blade free and leapt back, narrowly avoiding his grasp.
The wounded orc clutched his neck, but the blood refused to stop flowing.
The second orc roared and charged at her, swinging his axe with brute force. Alina knew she couldn't match him head-on, so she relied on speed, dodging from side to side as the blade tore through the air where she had been moments earlier. Still, evasion alone wouldn't win this fight.
As she searched for an opening, a warm, golden aura suddenly wrapped around her body. Power surged through her limbs, lightening her movements.
She glanced toward Dave and saw him smiling.
A buff spell.
With renewed strength, Alina pushed off the ground and rushed forward. The orc swung his axe again, but she was already past him. She moved in a blur, circling him, and with every motion of her dagger she carved shallow wounds across his body. In less than a minute, his skin was covered in bleeding scars.
Instead of falling, the orc grew furious.
He roared as molten lava coated his axe, heat distorting the air around him. A red aura wrapped around his body as well, signaling another skill activating. He raised his weapon, preparing a devastating strike, and then something slammed into him from above.
Alina instinctively covered her eyes as dust and debris exploded outward. When the air finally cleared, she lowered her hands and saw Paul standing where the orc had been, his presence alone enough to silence the battlefield.
"Well done," Paul said with a small smile as he looked at her. "Now let's go back."
Alina nodded without hesitation. Together, they rushed toward Dave, and in the next moment, all three vanished.
The wounded orc, still clutching his throat, had watched everything. He tried to shout, to warn the others, but his strength failed him. Blood drained from his body, his vision darkened, and he collapsed lifelessly into the dirt.