Chapter 47: Assassin’s Precision, Warrior’s Power

The orc collapsed lifeless at Luke’s feet, its weapon clattering to the ground beside it. And yet, something felt off. His gaze swept across the battlefield.

The village had descended into chaos, flames licking the shattered remains of cabins, thick smoke twisting into the night sky in choking ribbons. Some of the destruction was their doing. But most of it was the orcs. They fought with savage brutality, tearing through everything in their path. Beasts that knew no fear.

Across the clearing, Allison and Charlie were finishing off the last of them, their blades gleaming with brutal precision in the firelight. Luke took a step forward, and his Perception screamed.

He turned on instinct.

WHOOSH. A spear sliced through the air, grazing his arm with a whisper-sharp edge. Blood welled in a hot, narrow line. Pure reflex. He hadn’t seen it coming. The strike came from behind, out of the darkness.

He knew who had warned him: his Demonic Perception.

He pressed a hand to the wound, feeling the sharp sting begin to set in. Then he looked toward where the spear had come from, eyes narrowing. His perception dug into the dark, unraveling what hid beneath the tree line.

They had arrived. From the shadows, a second wave of orcs emerged. Different. Faster. More disciplined. These weren’t scattered brutes. They were trained fighters.

Downhill, Charlie and Allison had just cut down their final opponents. But behind them—more orcs stepped into the torchlight. The patrol sent to investigate the forest fire had returned. They froze, their eyes scanning the carnage. Mutilated bodies. Blood in the soil. Slaughtered kin. Silence tightened like a noose.

And then—

“ROOOOOAR!”

The night shook as dozens of orcs roared in unison, a thunderous war cry that tore through the air.

“We’ve got a problem!” Allison called out, rushing to regroup.

Luke, Charlie, and Allison formed up, backs to one another, weapons raised as the orcs encircled them. And then the charge.

Luke raised his kukris. Allison, his katana. Charlie gripped her longsword in one hand and raised her other, fist clenched. Broken bones or not, the skeletal warrior was still ready to fight.

As the orcs barreled toward them, whistles cut the air.

The arrows came next. Dozens of them.

“Split!” Luke commanded. Charlie and Allison nodded and scattered.

The trio moved at full speed, weaving through the barrage with fluid precision. An orc rushed in—Charlie drove a fist straight into its throat. Allison dropped from above, katana cleaving the beast in a single clean stroke.

Another orc charged—but twin black kukris flew through the night, slicing into its leg and dropping it mid-run. Charlie followed, her fist crashing down with punishing force.

Then—more whistles.

Arrows again.

A cluster aimed directly at Allison’s chest.

But he moved like light—dodging mid-leap, steel flashing. His blade was a streak of motion, faster than the eye could follow.

But the orcs were adapting. One lunged, spear aimed straight for Allison’s chest.

He turned to counter—too late to see the second orc flanking from the side.

THUD! The blow struck his ribs. A sharp gasp escaped as the air was knocked from his lungs.

Luke sprinted to help, but another orc was already on him. Wild eyes. A crude iron-tipped spear.

He raised his hands, calling his kukris back to block the strike, but… too late.

CRASH! The blow hit first. Luke was launched into the side of a wooden hut. The wall exploded into splinters as his body crashed through it.

“AAARGH!”

He hit the ground hard, rolling, shards of wood embedded in his flesh. The scent of blood and iron filled the air—his own. But he pushed to his feet. His hand ached, wounded.

The orc with the spear charged again.

SWOOSH! SWOOSH! Thrusts came fast, aimed at his chest, throat, eyes. No space. No time. But Luke didn’t need time. He needed a clean opening.

He raised both kukris—

CLANG! The blades crossed, trapping the spear’s shaft.

CRACK! The wooden shaft splintered in two.

Before the orc could react, Luke rolled beneath its legs.

SHUNK! The kukri slashed cleanly across the backs of its knees. The beast roared, toppling forward just as Luke drove a blade deep into its spine.

SQUELCH. The scream ended in a wet gargle.

[You have slain an Orc Scout – Level 10]

Luke’s eyes snapped toward Allison. He was holding his ground. Safe for now. He was bloodied, hurting, but still standing. Still fighting.

He scanned for his closest ally.

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“Charlie!” he called.

Leaving her alone, especially in her damaged state, was a risk he couldn’t afford.

But then—

SWOOSH! Luke’s instincts screamed again. He dove sideways just in time. A spear whistled past his head.

He hit the wall of a hut hard. His heart pounded.

He wasn’t dodging by luck anymore. This was Perception, maybe enhanced by his level-up or a raw manifestation of his demonic class. Whatever it was, he needed to understand it.

He couldn’t rely on luck. Quick reflexes meant nothing if he wasn’t fast enough to use them.

Grimacing, he raised his kukris with effort, eyes locking on the source of the spear.

There, another orc. Taller. Stronger. Smarter.

It picked up a spear from a fallen comrade and growled low, voice guttural and cold.

“ROOOOAR!”

The big orc charged, and two others joined him. Luke didn’t hesitate. He hurled a kukri at the charging brute, forcing it to dodge. In the same motion, the orc grabbed another spear from the ground. Luke’s hand wasn’t broken, but gripping the handle hurt like hell.

The orc lunged. Luke blocked the strike, but the pain from the impact surged like lightning up his arm. The orc spun the spear.

WHOOSH!

BAM! The butt of the weapon cracked against Luke’s skull. The world reeled. He staggered, stumbling like a drunk. He flung another kukri but missed completely.

Another orc rushed him head-on, slamming Luke into a wall. The second kukri clattered to the ground. Luke grunted, straining and pushing against the orc. He rammed the brute toward a wooden post where a torch burned.

THUD! The orc slammed into it and dropped.

“Shit!” Luke gasped, gripping his bleeding head. “I can’t die…”

A wave of nausea hit as Luke tried to steady himself. More orcs closed in. His kukris were somewhere on the ground.

His heart pounded. Weaponless, he turned sharply, reached to the holster on his thigh, and summoned throwing knives.

SWISH! SWISH! SWISH! The blades flew with deadly precision, striking three enemies before they could react.

Luke sprinted toward the advancing orcs, activating Magnetic Return. His kukris snapped back into his hands like shadows pulled on a string, and he launched into the fray.