Chapter 68: The Call of the Orc War

The Special Mission had appeared for everyone.

Luke’s eyes scanned the glowing system prompt still hovering in front of him.

[Special Reward: Orc Captain’s Weapon]

He glanced to the side.

Allison was staring into the air—no doubt reading the same thing on her interface.

“You got the special mission too?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she replied softly, eyes still locked on the screen.

Before they could speak further, Paul’s voice rang out as he emerged from the tent.

“Anyone who can fight, gather here! Now!”

Luke, Allison, and Princess Charlie moved toward the command tent. In the rush of people arming themselves and shouting orders, no one even noticed the knight in full armor silently walking beside them.

Inside, a crowd had formed around an injured scout, his shoulder soaked in blood. Thiara knelt beside him, casting healing magic with steady focus.

“How many?!” Angelica demanded, her voice sharp with fury.

“A-at least… a hundred orcs,” the man rasped. “Some… mounted on beasts.”

“Shit…” Angelica gritted her teeth.

She turned to face the room, sweeping her gaze over the assembled fighters.

“For the newcomers—listen up. These events don’t happen often. But when they do, they’re brutal.”

The room quieted.

“When it starts, orcs—or worse—head straight for the major Safe Zone camps. Maybe it’s the scent of blood. Maybe it’s just numbers. Who knows? But they don’t stop until sunrise.”

She let the silence settle.

“There’s only one way to survive: delay them until dawn. When the sun rises, they retreat.”

Just then, Paul rushed back in.

“Another scout’s calling for help,” he said, out of breath. “They won’t hold out much longer. We need to move—now.”

The group stirred.

People spilled out of tents, strapping on armor, grabbing weapons. Luke and Allison fell into step beside Angelica, who marched forward with fire in her eyes.

“I don’t get it,” Allison said. “What about Bartholomew’s men? They’re part of the Safe Zone too. Can’t they help?”

“No,” Angelica snapped. “When the orcs attack, they split their forces. One group hits Bastion. Another hits us. It’s designed to divide.”

She looked back at them.

“And Bartholomew? He doesn’t care. After the orcs finish slaughtering everyone, they vanish into the woods. You think he’ll lift a finger to save a rival faction?”

“Marshall’s probably dealing with the same shit right now,” Paul muttered.

Luke listened closely.

The pieces were falling into place—the factions, the power plays, the rot beneath the surface of survival.

“But… what about the Special Mission?” he asked.

This time, another voice answered.

Jonathan.

His tone was calm, but his eyes were sharp.

“It’s a gamble,” he said, stepping in beside them. “During events like this, only one Orc Captain is ever sent. Just one.”

Luke frowned. “But there are three major bases…”

“Exactly,” Jonathan said. “Two in the Safe Zone, one in the Wild Zone. Ours, Bastion, and the Renegades’ camp. We just have to hope the Captain didn’t come here.”

He paused, voice lowering.

“Because if he did… we’ve got a real problem.”

***

The group moved fast, racing across the rooftops of the ruined city, boots slamming against broken tiles and splintered wood. Some roofs were connected by crude planks and ropes—makeshift bridges built by survivors over the years to move above the danger without touching the streets.

Luke ran with them, heart pounding in rhythm with his steps. He still had unspent stat points—both his and Charlie’s. Part of him wanted to assign them now, but he held off. If things got bad, he’d need flexibility.

Vitality in case he started bleeding. Mana if he wants to drain the enemy’s HP or cast throwing knives from the holster.

Thirty people moved in loose formation. Watching them, seeing the discipline and urgency in their movements, Luke understood something: this tutorial wasn’t just about personal survival. If the strongest kept disappearing into the Wild Zone to chase missions, who stayed to defend the Safe Zone? What would be left when they returned?

Maybe nothing. Maybe the walls would fall. Maybe the weak would already be dead.

This system forced them to make impossible choices. Missions. Power. Escape. But at what cost?

And worse—he finally understood the fear around activating the third mechanism. Because doing so would summon the Midnight Wardens. And they wouldn’t arrive in pairs or patrols. They’d come as an army.

Up ahead, a rope arrow soared into the sky. Archers zipped across to higher rooftops using the lines. Someone pointed across the rooftops, yelling, “There!”

But Luke had already heard it—steel clashing, voices shouting, the hollow beat of war drums. He leapt to a new rooftop, and froze.

His stomach dropped.

Below them, chaos.

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Over a hundred orcs were flooding the streets. Some mounted on wolves, others sprinting through the alleys. They carried axes, spears, hammers—roaring with bloodlust. The city below had erupted into war. Civilians ran. Some screamed. Others fought back or tried to help.

Archers on the rooftops loosed volleys of arrows. Mages tried to cast through trembling hands. And down in the streets, the tanks—armored warriors with shields—formed barricades, desperately holding the line.

But they were exhausted. Many bled from gashes in their arms and sides. Their armor was cracked. Their footing uncertain.

Luke saw it all. This wasn’t a raid. It was a battlefield.

Angelica’s voice rang out like thunder. “ATTACK!”

She leapt from the rooftop, axe raised, and cleaved through the first orc before it could raise its weapon. The rest of the squad followed. Trained. Focused. Deadly.

Anna and Cecília darted between rooftops, firing mana-infused arrows that exploded on impact. Jonathan dropped straight into a wolf rider, twin sabers flashing as he struck. Paul was already at Angelica’s side, blades spinning in tandem—a perfect rhythm of offense and defense.

“There’s only one way to help,” Allison said. She drew her sword and jumped.

Luke watched her fall, fast and clean, like a streak of silver. She landed in a roll and, with one fluid motion, sliced an orc’s hand off before it could bring down its axe. Its scream echoed through the street — and just like that, the battle had begun.

Luke turned. Charlie stood at his side, armored, silent, sword in hand. Together, they jumped.

They hit the ground hard, dust exploding around their boots. Luke’s breath caught — a spear hurtled through the smoke, shattering the stone where he’d just stood. He rolled aside as growls rose around them. The orcs had seen them.

Luke gripped his blades tighter and glanced at Charlie.

She nodded.

And they charged.

An orc lunged — fast and brutal — but Charlie was faster. She activated Basic Spectral Charge, her form blurring into a silver streak across the cracked stone. Her blade tore through the orc’s chest, forcing it back with a roar.

Massive. Green-skinned. Tusks jutting like a boar’s. Muscles carved from corded steel. No armor — just bloodstained fur slung around its waist.

“AAARGH!”

It charged like a bull.

Luke reacted instantly, kukris spinning in his hands as he darted forward. The orc didn’t slow — it tanked the strikes with bare arms, ignoring the pain, letting flesh tear without flinching.

Then a crimson aura exploded around its body.

It screamed — and moved faster.

Berserker.

The punch came like a cannon. Luke dodged — barely — but the orc was gaining on him.

At the last second, Charlie leapt in. Her sword sliced through the beast’s arm. It caught on bone, but she didn’t stop. She activated Iron Fist and slammed her gauntlet into its face with brutal force.

The orc reeled. Its arm dropped to the ground, severed.

Luke stepped in to finish the job — but Charlie was already moving. She raised her blade and ended it in one clean strike.

[Princess Charlie has slain an Orc – Lvl 15]