The remaining seven orcs hesitated for a brief moment, their beady eyes flickering between the corpses of their fallen kin and the two humans who had cut them down with terrifying efficiency.
Five of their kind, slain in mere moments.
But the thought of retreating never crossed their primitive minds.
Their blood boiled with rage, and with a chorus of guttural roars, they charged.
Their massive feet pounded against the dirt, the force of their approach shaking the ground like a tremor.
Their clubs and axes gleamed under the dim sunlight, swinging wildly as they stormed forward like a pack of rabid beasts.
But Steven and Asael didn’t waver.
Their grips tightened around their swords. Muscles coiled, anticipation sharpening their senses.
Steven’s stance shifted, his energy surging like an uncoiling storm.
Sparks crackled beneath his feet, tiny arcs of lightning dancing up his legs as he propelled himself forward.
The first three orcs reached him at once, towering figures of brute strength and fury.
Steven met them head-on.
He jumped.
With a single precise thrust, his sword pierced through the chest of the nearest orc, sinking into flesh with a sickening crunch.
The moment the blade embedded itself, a violent surge of electricity burst from the wound.
The orc convulsed, its eyes rolling back as crackling tendrils of lightning spread through its veins, frying its insides in an instant.
Smoke curled from its mouth as its lifeless body crumpled.
But Steven didn’t stop.
His instincts screamed.
Another orc’s club was already descending toward him in a devastating arc.
Without hesitation, he wrenched his sword free and let go of it, dropping low in a rapid duck.
The club swung past, missing him by inches—but it didn’t stop.
The sheer momentum of the orc’s attack carried it straight into the face of its own ally.
A sickening crunch echoed as the victimized orc’s face caved in under the force of the blow.
Its skull shattered, eyes rolling up before it collapsed lifelessly to the ground.
The attacker barely had time to realize its mistake before it felt something unnatural—Steven’s hand, pressed against its chest.
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Electricity erupted.
Blue lightning surged from Steven’s palm, tearing through the orc’s body like living tendrils of destruction.
The creature let out a garbled cry, its muscles locking as it convulsed violently.
Its skin blackened, veins bursting from the sheer intensity of the surge.
Within seconds, the orc was nothing more than a smoldering corpse, twitching even in death.
Three orcs—gone in the blink of an eye.
But Steven wasn’t finished.
Even before the last orc’s body hit the ground, he reached out, grabbing the hilt of his sword and pulling it from the fallen enemy’s chest in one smooth motion.
The blade gleamed with residual sparks, faint wisps of smoke rising from its surface.
He stood straight, his breathing steady, not a single drop of sweat on his face.
His cold, piercing gaze shifted toward the remaining orcs.
The battlefield had gone silent, the tension thick enough to suffocate.
While Steven tore through his enemies with terrifying speed, Asael fought with a different rhythm—measured, methodical.
He wasn’t as fast as Steven, but he made up for it with precision.
As the first orc swung its massive club, Asael sidestepped just in time, feeling the rush of wind as the weapon smashed into the ground beside him, sending dust flying.
Seizing the opening, he swung his sword in a swift arc, slicing deep into the orc’s stomach.
The beast let out a guttural growl, its eyes burning with pain and rage—but it wasn’t dead.
Asael didn’t give it time to recover.
With a quick pivot, he dashed behind the creature and drove his sword straight into its back, the blade piercing through muscle and bone.
The orc let out a gurgled breath, collapsing onto its knees before falling lifelessly to the ground.
But Asael barely had a moment to breathe before another orc lunged at him.
The beast’s club came crashing down, and Asael barely managed to raise his sword in time to block it.
The impact sent a violent tremor through his arms, his muscles straining against the sheer force of the blow.
His legs buckled slightly, but he gritted his teeth and held his ground.
Then, he caught movement in the corner of his eye—another orc, charging toward him, weapon raised for a deadly strike.
He knew he wouldn't be able to block both.
Just as the second orc was about to bring its axe down upon him, a sudden blur of motion flashed behind it.
A bone-chilling slash.
A faint glimmer of steel.
The orc’s eyes widened in shock as its vision tilted—before it even realized what had happened, its head had been severed clean from its body.
A wet thud echoed as its decapitated head rolled across the dirt, its body collapsing soon after.
And standing over the corpse, blade dripping with blood, was Steven.
Cold. Unwavering.
The remaining orc, the one pressing Asael down, faltered for just a moment.
It was a mistake.
Asael saw his chance.
With a sudden burst of strength, he shoved the club away with his sword and lunged forward.
The orc barely had time to react before Asael’s blade plunged into its chest.
A choked grunt escaped its lips, its eyes filled with disbelief before all life drained from them.
Now, only one orc remained.
The last one stood frozen for a moment, its grip tightening around its weapon.
Fear flickered in its beady eyes, but its primal instincts refused to let it surrender.
With a desperate roar, it charged straight at Steven.
A mistake.
Steven didn't move. He didn’t even brace himself.
Then—flash!
A sharp arc of lightning burst through the air.
Before the orc could even register what had happened, its head was already falling, severed cleanly from its body.
A faint spark crackled along the wound as the corpse slumped to the ground, twitching before going still.
Silence fell over the battlefield.
Only the scent of burnt flesh and blood lingered in the air.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
The captured villagers stared in stunned disbelief, their terror slowly giving way to hope.
Anne and Kenta stood still, their breath caught in their throats.
Even Asael found himself momentarily speechless.
He turned to Steven, his gaze filled with awe.
"You’re strong," he finally said, exhaling.
He had fought Steven before. He knew that the man had held back against him.
But this…
Even now, Asael could tell—Steven hadn’t even used half of his true power.
---
Afterwards, without hesitation, the group rushed toward the captured humans, who were still bound in rough, crude ropes.
Anne knelt beside an elderly woman, her hands swiftly working to untie the knots that bound her wrists.
“Are you all alright?” she asked, her voice gentle but urgent.
The old woman rubbed her sore wrists, wincing slightly before nodding. “Yes… we are fine, thanks to you.”
Around them, others were being freed.
Some of the villagers murmured words of gratitude, while others simply wept—tears of relief after having faced what could have been a horrific fate.
Anne glanced at their exhausted faces, noticing how malnourished and battered they looked.
These people had clearly been suffering under the orcs for some time.
But something was bothering her.
"How did you all get caught?" she asked, her brow furrowed.
The old woman sighed heavily.
"We were on our way north… but then those beasts found us. There were too many to fight back. We tried to run, but they chased us down like animals."
"North?" Anne repeated, her curiosity piqued. "Why north?"
The woman’s expression softened with hope.
"There’s a resistance gathering there," she said, her voice steady despite the hardship she had endured. "Led by powerful people."
Anne’s eyes widened slightly as something clicked in her mind.
"A resistance… in the north… could it be—"
Before she could even finish her thought, Steven spoke, his voice quiet but firm.
"Marquis Hector."
A heavy silence fell between them.
Anne turned to him sharply.
“So… he’s alive.”
Steven didn’t answer right away.
His gaze was distant, lost in thought.
Marquis Hector was a name from the past—a man who had once commanded great respect, a warrior and leader who had vanished when everything fell apart.