Oliver felt his bones rattle. The sound coming from Neer was so primal, so filled with pent-up rage that he barely managed to get up. "Enough!" she bellowed, shaking the clearing.

Hussa grinned widely, the challenge lighting up her eyes. "Finally," she dropped into a combat stance as she beheld Neer. "I was wondering when you'd show some spine." She roared back, the two warriors now locked in a standoff that crackled with tension.

Oliver used the moment of stillness to cast [Heal] on himself. He wasn't really hurt, but being forced to withstand such powerful auras while tired and achy when he could do something about it was stupid.

Neer didn't hesitate much longer. She jumped at Hussa with a speed and ferocity that would have surprised most Experts. The massive orc, however, was ready. She met Neer's charge head-on, and their weapons clashed with deafening force. Sparks flew from the impact, the sheer power behind their strikes sending shockwaves through the clearing.

Neer's movements were fueled by righteous anger; she obviously aimed to quickly take down the arrogant orc who dared threaten her and her companions. But Hussa was no slouch either. She blocked and parried with skill, grinning all the while as if she was enjoying every second of it.

"You think you're better than me, half-blood?" Hussa taunted between clashes. "You think following a human makes you stronger? You're nothing but a puppet!"

Neer's eyes blazed with fury, but she didn't let the words distract her. She pressed her attack, forcing Hussa to retreat a step. "You don't know anything about me or why I fight!" she snarled.

Hussa let out a derisive laugh, "Is that what your master has been filling your head with? Empty words to keep you in line? Orcs don't need ideals—we need strength, blood, and victory!"

Neer ducked under a wild swing and delivered a punishing strike to Hussa's side, sending her stumbling back. "And what's the point of strength if you're just another mindless brute? You talk about freedom, but all you care about is being a slave to your own instincts!"

Hussa roared in frustration and came at Neer with renewed fury. To Oliver’s eyes, their fight was now a blur of motion and raw power. The ground repeatedly cracked under the force of their blows, forcing him back.

He watched from the sidelines, heart pounding in his chest as the two titans warred. He knew better than to interfere—stepping in would only worsen things for Neer. And yet, he couldn't help but feel a strong desire to help her. She was good, but so was Hussa, and this fight could easily go either way.

Helpless, Oliver kept staring, clenching his fists, torn between his instincts to help and his understanding of the situation.

Neer and Hussa's brutal fight kept escalating with every passing moment, their strikes growing heavier and more desperate. Blood already dripped from cuts and bruises as they fought far more savagely than any duel he had ever witnessed, even during the war. They were genuinely trying to kill each other, and the more they fought, the greater the damage was done to the training grounds—Oliver was sure that the mess had woken everyone in the camp by now.

Neer was incredibly talented, gracefully moving through skills, aiming to maximize the damage every time she landed a hit. But Hussa had the advantage of raw physical power and relentless experience. She absorbed blows that would have felled lesser fighters, grinning through the pain as she used her size and strength to overwhelm Neer little by little.

As the fight raged on, Oliver found it more challenging to stay on back. His hands twitched at the hilt of his sword, and he grew weary at every swing of Neer's blade, every counterattack from Hussa. He could see Neer starting to falter, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her once-perfect footwork slipping as she struggled to keep up with her opponent's relentless assault.

That's when he noticed movement from the corner of his eye. A figure approached him from the main camp—one of the younger orcs he had chatted with during the earlier ceremony. Timor, if he remembered correctly. Only this time, his friendly demeanor had vanished, replaced by a cold expression.

"Stay out of it," Timor growled threateningly. He wasn't carrying any weapons aside from leather gauntlets, but the tension in his stance made it clear that he was ready to fight if necessary.

Oliver's heart sank. Orc customs were strict when it came to duels—interfering was seen as dishonorable, even cowardly. But as much as Oliver wanted to respect their traditions, he couldn't just stand by and watch Neer be killed. Sir Leonard would understand.

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"She's going to die if I don't help," Oliver muttered, more to himself than to the orc in front of him.

"That's her fight," Timor replied harshly. "She chose this. Interfering now would dishonor her more than losing."

Oliver clenched his fists, his mind racing. He knew the orc was right from his perspective. He knew Neer would hate him for stepping in and treating her like she couldn't handle herself, especially since he was a whole tier below her and would put himself in grave danger if he interfered. But he also knew that if he let this continue, she would be killed.

His decision was made in a heartbeat. Neer's life was more important than any custom or code of honor. Leonard had given him orders to keep things from escalating should anything happen, but this mess had already gone too far. He couldn't let Neer die for the sake of tradition.

Without another word, Oliver drew his sword. The young orc's eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly recovered, a snarl forming on his lips.

"So be it," he growled, stepping into a fighting stance.

Oliver just had the presence of mind to realize that his mentor's burning presence was coming closer, that Timor was on him, swinging a meaty fist that would have splattered his face on the ground had he been a little slower.

Again, Oliver barely reacted in time, instinctively ducking under the orc's fist. The sheer force of the punch whistled past his ear, leaving him acutely aware of just how dangerous his opponent was. Timor might not have been as skilled as Neer or Hussa, but he was still an orc warrior—strong, fast, and unrelenting. If Oliver wasn't careful, this fight could end badly for him before he even got to help Neer.

But Oliver had something Timor didn't. With a flick of his wrist, he activated [Anointment], channeling the Light into his sword. The normally blunt and harmless training blade now gleamed with a faint, holy glow. It wouldn't cut as deep as his personal sword, but it would cut. And that was all he needed.

Timor hesitated for a fraction of a second, eyes narrowing at the sight of the newly glowing weapon. That was all the opening Oliver needed. He dashed forward, slashing at Timor's midsection faster than the orc expected. The blade bit into the tough, leathery skin—not deep enough to cause serious damage, but enough to draw blood and make Timor grunt in surprise.

The orc stepped back, instinctively bringing a hand to his wound. His eyes glowed with anger, and he let out a bellow of pain. He charged again, this time with even more fury, swinging wildly with both fists.

Oliver sidestepped the first punch, then ducked under the second. Timor's strength was terrifying for a Journeyman—enough to put him on par with a weak Expert, if on that aspect alone— but his attacks were predictable, telegraphed by his frustration. As the second punch failed to get anywhere near him, Oliver saw his opening. He darted in close, slamming the pommel of his sword into the orc's chin with all the force he could muster.

Timor's head snapped back, and Oliver didn't waste the opportunity. He followed up with a devastating kick to the orc's gut and then drove his knee into the vulnerable spot just below the ribs. Timor doubled over, gasping for breath, and Oliver brought the flat of his blade down on the back of the orc's head in a single, powerful motion.

The impact sent Timor crashing to the ground, unconscious before he even hit the dirt.

Oliver stood over the fallen orc, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the Light mana coursing through him, stronger than ever before. Victory surged in his veins, filling him with a sense of power and purpose that was almost overwhelming. But there was no time to dwell on it—not with Neer still in danger.

He turned, eyes locking on the duel between Neer and Hussa just in time to see Hussa deliver a brutal kick to Neer's side. The sickening crack of ribs breaking reached Oliver's ears, and his blood ran cold.

Neer staggered back, clutching her side, her face twisted in pain. Hussa loomed over her, grinning savagely, clearly enjoying the sight of her opponent's suffering.

Oliver didn't think. He moved.

With a burst of speed that surprised even himself, he sprinted toward the duel, his sword glowing with enough Light to drive the night back. Hussa barely had time to react before he was upon her.

The orc still managed to jump back, dodging his strike by a hair's breadth. Her grin faded, replaced by a look of shock and irritation. "You!" she snarled, her eyes blazing with fury. "This isn't your fight, human!"

Oliver didn't respond. He was too far gone, too full of holy fervor to care about anything but stopping her. He pressed his attack, his strikes coming faster and faster, each forcing Hussa to retreat or dodge. She was stronger than any opponent he had faced before, but at this moment, Oliver felt invincible.

Hussa swung her warhammer, aiming to squash him. But Oliver moved with unnatural speed, ducking away from the deadly strike and countering with a slash aimed at her leg. Hussa leaped back, avoiding the blade by inches, but she was on the defensive now. For the first time, Oliver saw fear in her eyes.

It was then that he realized what had happened. He had done it—he had achieved his third blessing. The holy Light burned brighter within him than ever before, filling him with strength, clarity, and purpose. Every movement felt effortless, every strike perfectly timed. He was no longer just a warrior—he was a vessel for the Light, a conduit for divine power.

Hussa roared in frustration, swinging wildly at him, but Oliver was beyond her now. He dodged and weaved through her attacks, his own strikes forcing her back step by step. He wasn't just slowing her like he had first planned—he was overwhelming her, pushing her to the brink.

Oliver laughed madly.

The Light was with him! Every worry, every foolish thought was put to rest. How could he ever be wrong when the greatest force in the universe stated its support for him so clearly?

Any thought about his mentor was forgotten in the wake of the overwhelming might coursing through his veins.

He needed to punish this infidel. Show the world why the Light was so worshipped. Why he, Sir Oliver, would lead its armies!

Hussa's green skin took a reddish hue, and even through the haze, Oliver realized that she was finally taking him seriously. Runes he didn't recognize appeared on her chest and face, and the she-orc let out a roar so powerful it shook the earth below them for hundreds of feet.

Oliver grinned, ceding even more of himself to the divine to face the monster. His training sword was barely recognizable now, so infused with Light it was. Its wood had long since disintegrated under the strain, and only the bone pommel remained, acting as a conduit for his power.

He took a step, lifting his weapon and preparing to end it.

Everything went black.