Chapter 105: Demonic Assassin vs Orc General

Luke peeked through the window, and his heart froze. More orcs were emerging from the trees. These weren’t the mindless, feral kind. These were captains. They came with sharp fangs, towering bodies, thick leather armor, and weapons forged for bloodshed. Blades carved from bone. War axes stained with old gore. Each one looked like a walking execution.

Then came the others: orcish war musicians, wielding crude instruments, horns made from animal bones, drums fashioned from stretched hide and hollowed logs. The sounds began to rise, low and primal, pulsing like a heartbeat from the earth itself. One by one, the rest of the orcs joined in, stomping in rhythm, pounding the dirt in unison until the entire forest echoed with a tribal song of blood and war.

Guttural chants layered over the rhythm, a cacophony of voices vibrating in the air with raw hate.

It wasn’t just a battle. It was a ritual. A siege.

At the center of it all, the orc leader raised his sword high.

[Morvat, the Orc General – Lvl ??]

“The time has come to feast on your blood,” he roared.

The orcs answered with a chorus of rabid, murderous zeal.

I’m screwed!

Luke gripped his kukris tightly, his heartbeat thudding louder than the drums. They were surrounded.

“Luck always had a limit, huh?” he muttered to Charlie. “Since that damn dungeon, we’ve been dancing on a knife’s edge.”

She understood.

“It’s better if you return to my soul, Princess Charlie…”

She shook her head.

Luke smiled. “Thanks for that.”

He glanced back out the window. Morvat stood motionless, waiting. One signal, and the entire wooden cabin would be reduced to splinters. He saw spellcasting captains lining up, magic flickering at their fingertips.

“But the edge is where we always found a way out,” he whispered. “I just have to push through, like I always have.”

He stepped outside and stared down the army. Morvat raised his hand. Three spears of fire hovered in the air above him.

“Finally! Your head is mine!” he shouted, stepping forward with a sneer. “What are your last words, human?”

The captains lifted their weapons. The silence thickened. They waited for Luke’s answer before the slaughter. Mages readied their spells, hands glowing with lethal power. Luke tilted his chin up, eyes locked on Morvat. He stepped forward with calm defiance, kukris clenched. Charlie stood at his side.

Then Luke smiled. Slow. Controlled.

“When I cut you down, scream loud,” he said. “I want to hear how far it echoes.”

Morvat’s face shifted. The mockery vanished. His jaw clenched.

“KILL HIM!”

The fire spears launched. Arrows blackened the sky. Magic howled like thunder. The captains surged like a wall of muscle and rage.

And then—

Luke exploded.

A massive burst of black mist erupted from his body, drowning the battlefield in living shadow. Vision disappeared. Sounds dulled. The world was plunged into pure chaos. Within the darkness, the massacre began.

Luke moved like a phantom. Kukris carving through flesh. Slicing. Vanishing. Reappearing. The mist obeyed his will, wrapping around enemies, disorienting them. He was everywhere and nowhere. A wraith. A demon.

Charlie followed in his wake like a wall of steel, spinning with her Orcslayer sword in hand. Steel and skill merged in brutal harmony, her blade cleaving enemies with precision and force.

Together, they danced in the dark.

Demonic Blade Dance.

Luke locked onto Morvat’s position and shot forward like a living shadow, his feet barely touching the earth. Kukris drawn. Morvat grinned and raised his massive sword to meet him. Steel met steel. The ground shook.

Luke and Morvat collided like twin storms of violence.

“AAARGH!” Morvat roared, his voice a brutal echo of war, and a crimson aura detonated around him.

His flesh bulged with monstrous power as jets of flame burst from his skin, volcanic steam erupting from every pore. Luke’s blades cut into the general with surgical precision, exploiting every opening. But then came more fire.

The heat exploded outward in a shockwave. Morvat became an inferno, a walking blaze of muscle and rage. From above. Charlie dropped like a hammer, Iron Fist ablaze as it slammed directly into Morvat’s skull. But the fog was thinning. The captains surged through the darkness, unrelenting, guided by rage. Steel crashed into steel.

Luke dodged, struck, deflected. Arcs of electricity shattered through the chaos. He grabbed an orc, used him as a shield, then leapt over, slicing through the mage behind. His kukris flew, splitting midair into duplicates. Multiple targets fell. The blades returned, humming with killing intent.

Charlie fought beside him. Spectral chains wrapped around orcs, yanking bodies into killing range. Her blade spun with brutal elegance, finishing what the chains started.

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Morvat roared again. He leapt, and the earth shattered. A crater opened where he landed. He was a living siege engine, charging forward with his blade raised high.

Luke met him. But the blow landed hard. He was launched like a broken doll, slamming through tents and debris. Where was Allison? That icy control… it had crippled Morvat once before. Now, her absence was screaming.

Morvat came again, sword raised high like an executioner’s axe. Luke dodged by mere inches as the blade crashed down, sending a shockwave through the earth. The ground split beneath the impact. Tents tore apart. Orc bodies were hurled through the air.

He hit the ground hard. Pain exploded through him—sharp, immediate. Before he could recover, the captains descended.

A spiked club slammed into his ribs, crushing them with brutal force. A spear followed, piercing deep into his thigh. A heavy blow from behind shattered his backplate, and then the club came again, sending him crashing into a tree.

Blood filled his mouth. His vision blurred. Mana reserves were nearly gone—just thirty seconds before the black mist would vanish.

Still, he didn’t run.

He moved—ducking, slipping between strikes, fighting for every breath, every heartbeat, every second.

Morvat charged once more. Charlie intercepted, colliding with him in a flurry of steel and grit—sword against sword, fist against armor. But he was stronger. He threw her back. Then again. And again.

Luke pushed forward as more captains closed in.

[Basic Dark Dash].

He struck—a blur of movement, a single clean slash. An execution.

[You have slain an Orc Captain – Lvl 20]

He pounced like a predator. The next orc punched. Luke blocked with his bracers. Twisted. Ripped across the face. Kicked the jaw. Confusion. Then blood. Twin kukris tore down his body.

[You have slain an Orc Captain – Lvl 21]

*Your class [Demonic Assassin] has reached Level 22! (Class Bonus Points Acquired)*

Damn!