I watch the orcs for a few more seconds. Not one of those six glowing red eyes is focused on me. They're locked on the warriors up ahead, who haven't the slightest clue what's coming. But the orcs aren’t charging, just posing there like they're waiting for a cue.

Whatever's holding them back, it’s the perfect window for me. I could warn my guys.

I slowly drop to my knees, trying to make myself as invisible as possible. The orcs are too busy to notice when I go full possum, lying there like I've been long dead.

First step: done. Now, onto business. I scroll through the Roben guy's system and pick everything that isn't crossed out. One mental confirmation, and a warm rush surges through me, making my chest feel like it's about to explode, suffocating me all over again. Gasping for air, I drum my chest, and just like that, the burn subsides. Weird problem, weirder solution. Something's definitely blocked in there. But that's a problem for another time.

I pull up my status window.

---- Status ----

Name: Colt Steel [Level: 0]

Race: Human (F)

Class: Grifter

Title: Player, Blade Purist

Tendency: Professional Grifter

----

Stats:

Appeal: 10

Constitution: 9

Dexterity: 8

Strength: 11

Perception: 14

Mana: 6

Intelligence: 13

Advance Points: 8

Skills: Basic Combat ┃ Basic Mana Handling ┃ Eval ┃ Steel Tie lvl - 1

----

And look at that—it’s actually been updated. Seems my system isn’t entirely useless after all. All I have to do is keep mooching off others, just like I’ve been doing for half my life. How profound. I’m practically moved to tears here. Thanks a lot, system.

Without wasting any more time, I assign my advance points: 4 to constitution, 2 to strength, and, for good measure, the last 2 to dexterity. Another warm rush hits, but thankfully, no choking this time. Well, that should at least patch up my stamina and dull the pain a bit.

I think about the Steel Tie skill, and it all clicks. It lets me bond with anything made of steel, making it obey my every command. Plus, it’s linked to the Blade Purist title, giving me better control and a bit more range when I stick to blades.

Pretty damn handy. Perfect for sending Nethan a nice little memo that he's well and truly fucked.

I let go of the blade in my hand. Shutting my eyes, I focus on creating a bond, like the connection you have with a loyal pet. I feel something, a faint tingle in my head that gets stronger by the second. My eyes snap open, and there it is—the sword, hovering just inches off the ground. I can sense it responding to my thoughts, its movements barely noticeable but definitely there. I’m holding its reins.

“Come on, Colt, you’ve got this,” I chant to myself, trying to sound like I actually believe it. I ready the blade for launch and prepare to sprint the other way. The orcs won’t miss the sword taking off, so I’ll have to beat them to it.

Through the mud and rain, I spot Nethan—or at least I think it’s him. He’s still dead-focused on what’s ahead, clueless about his wide-open back. And this guy calls himself a warrior? Ugh. I take a deep breath, count it down—3, 2, 1—and the blade shoots up, slicing through the bushes and into the fighters. I spring to my feet and bolt deeper into the forest.

Not five steps in, and I feel the blade come to an abrupt stop. Did Nethan catch it? He must have. Not that I can look back to check. Their battle cries will tell me soon enough.

I run, pushing my legs to the limit. Once I’ve put enough distance between me and the orcs, I bank left. That should let me circle around them and pop out on the other side. That’s where the battles between the goblins and the newbies went down, where most of the fallen lay.

I stumble a few times, but manage to avoid injury as I push through. The ground beneath is slick, and the way ahead is a blur of hellish rain. I’m struggling, but still hopeful—until I spot a pair of red eyes fixed on me from the left.

A shiver runs down my spine as I come to a slow halt. It’s an orc, towering over me, its head nearly brushing the tree branches. Just as massive as the last three—maybe even bigger. That makes it the fourth one... Wait—now that I look closer, behind the tree line, more shapes start to emerge. Orcs. Well-hidden by the rain and foliage. There’s at least six of them on this side, so it’s safe to assume they’ve got more on the other. The fighters… they’re surrounded. Outnumbered. Just perfect.

“They’re dead… I’m dead,” I mutter, shoulders slumping as my last shred of hope fizzles away.

But then I perk up. Outnumbered, sure. But are they outmatched? I evaluate the orc right in front of me—one will reveal the truth about them all.

---- Results ----

Name: Raider Orc [Level: 57]

Race: Orc (D)

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Tendency: Brainless Brute

Stats:

Appeal: 10 ┃ Constitution: 78

Dexterity: 67 ┃ Strength: 71

Perception: 32 ┃ Mana: 0

Intelligence: 4

Skills: Indomitable Strength, Savage Combat

----

I can’t speak for the other warriors, but this orc—and likely the rest of its brutish kind—is definitely outperforming Nethan. They could easily overpower him and finish him off. But if he’s smart enough, he might turn the tables with his mana and intelligence. And who knows? Maybe the others can, too. They’ve got to be higher-level players, right? Must be.

There’s a chance. All they need to do is make their move while the orcs are waiting for some divine order.

“Come on, act, damn it!” I curse under my breath, expecting the fighters’ war cries—something that should have blasted through the rain ages ago. I wait and wait, keeping my eyes locked on the orc, but nothing happens.

Did they still not see the orcs? Where the hell are their enhanced senses? What are they doing with my warning? Fuck, this is getting frustrating. You just can’t rely on anyone, these days.

It’s up to me to save myself. I make a decision—one that sounds ridiculous, but given the circumstances, might actually work.

Taking a deep breath, I extend my hand and call out to my sword. There’s some initial resistance, like Nethan’s still holding on, but it snaps free and flies back to me. As soon as it’s in my grip, I sprint to my right, away from the orc and back on my original path—one that cuts across the other orcs. I silently beg them not to react, even though all signs point to them not doing so. And they don’t.

I dash past one, two, even three orcs, each watching me but staying put. Seems like they’re under some kind of oath to be passive observers. Fine by me—I’m free to keep moving—

Crackle! Lightning blinds me in an instant, and something comes crashing down from the sky, hitting the ground with a bang that sends shockwaves rippling. I’m thrown through the air, crashing into a tree with a jolt that knocks the breath out of me.

Groaning and reeling in pain, I push myself up, wiping the mud from my face. The rain has stopped, though the sky is still threatening to split in half with lightning and thunder. But the weirdest part? The orcs—those bastards—are all kneeling. And to whom? A mere man.

That doesn’t seem right, I’m about to say, but then I notice something strange—patterns burned into the ground, still smoldering. The earth itself looks like it’s been branded. This guy’s no ordinary; he came straight from the heavens, dressed head-to-toe in white. Must’ve brought divine orders with him. Speaking of orders and the way the orcs reacted to his presence, could he be the region boss?

He raises a hand, and all the orcs rise in unison. Yep, definitely the boss. Weapons at the ready, the fighters snap into battle stances like they’ve been waiting for this all along. Then the hand drops, and the orcs unleash a deafening roar, charging straight at the fighters. And just like that, the battle begins.

The battle reaches its peak in seconds, with both sides fighting like it’s their last stand. I watch the ground shatter, steel break, blood fly, and fireballs explode—spectacles I’ve never seen before. But honestly? It gets dull pretty quickly. No one’s landing a decisive blow. So, I lower my head, letting the chaos play out while I catch a breather.

But then it hits me—I’ve got things to do. With a grunt, I pin my hands to the ground and drag myself up. It’s a struggle, but I manage, scanning the area for the bodies. I spot them, away from the main clash but annoyingly close to the heavenly show-off. Just my luck. I stretch, a series of cracks shooting through my bones—painful, but oddly satisfying. Sheathing my blade, I start limping out.

Head down, I hobble closer to the white-cloaked boss. He turns slowly to watch me, his face hidden under that damned hood. Not much to see there, except that he's keeping a hawk’s eye on me. Since he hasn’t acted on me yet, I guess my saving grace—my very low level—is doing its job.

What’s his level, anyway? Scratch that, what is he? Curiosity gets the better of me, and I try to evaluate him.

[Target acquired. Evaluating. . .]

It’s taking too long, and time’s not on my side. I can’t just stand here gawking at him. I dismiss the screen and turn my attention to the fallen comrade a few feet away. Kneeling beside the body, I act like the figure isn’t there, though every nerve is on high alert.

Clasping my hands together and donning a mask of genuine sorrow, I mumble a prayer for the fallen to find some peace. I mean it, really. These weren’t battle-hardened warriors—just rookies who got chewed up and spit out. Using their deaths for my gain without at least giving them a proper send-off? That’s a bit much, even for me.

I’ll bury them once this mess is over, I tell myself, waiting for the system to work its magic and set up whatever it needs to.

[System root access available. Direct Data transfer enabled.]

[Please specify items: ]

Name: Philip Hade

Class: Warrior (Heavy)

Title: Base Title

Stats: Base Stats & Advance Points: 3

Skills: Base Skills

[Reversion not available]

Three stat points? Seriously? I think, but I shove the thought aside, realizing I'm disrespecting the dead. It’s not like he’s got nothing to offer. Besides, I’ve got plenty more bodies to check.

There’s no warm, fuzzy feeling as I collect the points—just a cold acknowledgment that they're mine. With a grunt, I push myself up, give a respectful nod to the fallen, and toss a half-hearted smile at the mystery man. Then, I shuffle over to the next fallen comrade, doing my best not to limp too obviously.

Standing over the mangled remains of a kid who couldn’t have been much older than twenty, I let out a sigh. This isn’t the kind of sight I’m usually interested in. I would’ve liked to see the kid get into trouble, maybe have a close call and come out on top. Not end up with half his head smashed in by some goblin.

“May your soul find the peace you truly deserve,” I murmur, dropping to my knees and clasping my hands together in a prayer.

A few seconds later, a soft glow envelops the body—hopefully, it's just for my eyes—and I gain root access. The guy’s name was Troy Adams—a light warrior with everything at base level. All advance points spent, no skills to speak of. He’s got nothing for me. Still, I give a respectful nod and move on to the next.

For the next twenty minutes or so, it’s the same routine—kneel, pray, take what’s available, and move on. All the while, the white-cloaked man never takes his eyes off me. After paying my respects to twenty fallen comrades, I find myself on the other side of the battlefield, finally settling down under a tree. The battle rages on with no end in sight, but I’ve earned a break.

Might as well put those points to use and check out any new skills I’ve picked up.

Summoning my status window, I see I’ve got twenty advance points. I don't just dump them into my stats right away. First, I check my skills—got to understand their benefits to make the most effective upgrades to my stats.

The skills—just seeing their names gives me all the details I need, clear and straight to the point.

Crystal Eye: Courtesy of an archer. It sharpens my vision and boosts perception over time. Great for reading people and tracking enemies when fights break out. No-nonsense, solid support.

Mana Shield: Borrowed from a caster. It’s a mana barrier that sticks right to my skin. It burns through mana quickly but blocks almost anything. Reliable defense; should keep me safe.

Mana Spear: Taken from a warrior who looked experienced but ended up dead anyway. It’s an elemental spear—pure energy, pure destruction. It drains a lot of mana, but it hits hard. Exactly the kind of skill I can get behind.

Now I just need to pour some points into mana since almost all my skills are powered by it. It’s the lifeblood of magic, after all.

So, I allocate ten points to mana. The second I do, that all-too-familiar burning in my chest flares up, the suffocation right behind it. I thump my chest, waiting for it to ease like it usually does, but this time... nothing. The choking just gets worse. No amount of pounding clears the blockage. I fall to the side, thoughts slipping away, vision going black. Is this it? Is this how it ends?

As I lie there on the wet ground, gasping for breath, I see the boss man approaching. Of course, he’s going to kill me while I’m at my weakest. Real brave move, that. But if I’m going out, I’d rather it be on my own terms, by my own blunders, not his. Just hang in there, buddy—I won’t last much longer like this.

I should’ve taken it slow instead of diving in blind. This one’s on me. Let it end that way, please.