Chapter 70: The Blood Demon’s Roar

Luke froze inside. “The King? The Midnight King?” But he didn’t have time to finish the thought — Orbald charged.

The twin axes came down in a storm of violence, faster than any creature that size had any right to be. Luke dodged with short bursts of movement, his body reacting on instinct — even as his mind spun faster than his feet.

Orbald slammed a fist into the ground. A shockwave rippled out — and before Luke could even recover, a kick caught him mid-step. His body launched like a ragdoll, crashing into a tree with bone-snapping force.

No air. No breath. No time. The orc was already there.

Luke ducked low just as the tree behind him exploded into splinters. The axes came next — spinning, screeching through the air like screaming steel.

“Shit!” Luke growled, bolting into a run. Orbald was right behind him.

The orc leapt. Luke dove sideways, sliding across the dirt. His kukris slashed across Orbald’s side, carving a deep gash. The orc spun — and they clashed.

Steel rang out like war bells through the trees. Each impact jarred Luke’s arms, his strength fading fast. One blow slipped through. Then another. One kukri flew from his grip. The second failed to block.

A hatchet cut deep across his ribs.

Health Points (HP): 86/540

A brutal wound.

Luke fell to his knees, blood dripping from his mouth. But he didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. He opened the system and allocated all three remaining stat points into Vitality.

Stats Updated:
Vitality: 54 -> 57
Free Points: 3 -> 0
Health Points (HP): 86/540 -> 116/570

Just enough. A few more breaths. A chance to survive.

Orbald leapt. Luke rolled aside just in time.

Basic Blood Regeneration?

No. Too much mana for too little healing. If I lose dash… I’m dead.

He stood, blood trailing from his side, vision blurred—but still upright. Still alive.

Orbald grinned. Luke ran. Dodging every swing, every leap, every deathblow. Behind him, Orbald gave chase, twin axes flashing, laughter echoing through the darkening forest. The trees grew darker. Quieter.

And Luke understood. The orc was herding him, away from Charlie, away from Allison, away from any chance of backup.

But Luke didn’t stop. He climbed, leaping from branch to branch, higher with each movement, trying to stay above, trying to stall, trying to pull distance. Orbald followed, leaping with absurd strength, closing the gap midair with spinning steel. He crashed down like a meteor, axes cutting through bark and trunk.

Luke rolled aside. Blades slashed. Dodges answered. But Luke wasn’t fighting back. He didn’t need strength—not now. He wasn’t armored. He wasn’t stronger.

But he had something better: speed. Perception. Clarity.

He focused. Drew into himself. The essence of his class. What made him a Demonic Assassin.

For just a fraction of a second, he closed his eyes. And when they opened—darkness embraced him.

His Demonic Perception surged.

The world shifted.

Contours glowed.

Edges vibrated with intent.

Every breath—every shift of weight—was a signal. A sonar of killing instinct.

Orbald roared and attacked.

But Luke saw it all.

Every swing. Every shift in pressure.

Each motion slowed in his mind.

Every strike—evaded by millimeters.

Every breath—timed to survive.

“STAND STILL!” Orbald roared.

He slammed a fist forward—

Luke flew, crashing into another tree.

Bones groaned beneath the force.

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Orbald was already closing the gap, one axe raised for the kill—but Luke rolled aside just in time. The axe cleaved into the roots, shattering them like glass.

He didn’t stop. He moved like a shadow made flesh. He cut the orc, used a tree as a springboard, leapt, slashed again. Jumped from trunk to trunk, each movement smoother, faster, deadlier. Every strike left a crimson trail.

Orbald howled, spinning wildly, trying to land a blow, but Luke was everywhere and nowhere. Then he leapt straight into the orc’s face. His kukri ricocheted off Orbald’s tusks. The scream that followed was inhuman.

The orc charged, maddened. Steel clashed. But now, Luke wasn’t just dodging, he was reading, responding. His Demonic Perception surged to its peak.

Toc. Toc. Toc. Movement. Echo. Pattern. The world pulsed like a rhythm under his skin. Orbald attacked. But Luke felt the intent before the motion—a leap, a slash across the chest. Blood flew.

Orbald slammed both axes into the ground to trigger a shockwave—but Luke had already read it. He jumped—midair—then hurled both kukris.

THUNK. THUNK.

They sank deep into the orc’s shoulders—then snapped back into his hands.

And then, the world slowed.

The sphere of perception expanded in his mind like a blooming void. Everything lined up: the tension in Orbald’s muscles, the eyes—too fixed, too confident. The arms—about to move. The speed—slightly off.

An opening.

Perfect.

Basic Dark Dash.

Luke vanished—and reappeared in motion. The blade drawn. The line set.

Then the forest lit up. Figures emerged from the trees, survivors carrying torches, lighting the chaos. They had arrived at the exact moment they were needed.

But Luke—wrapped in the black veil of Dark Dash—was already moving. Dodging with inhuman precision. Dancing between death and destiny.

Then he jumped—drawn to his prey like iron to magnet. Or maybe… assassin to judgment.

The world paused.

Sound died.

Time bowed to the moment.

Like a writer placing the final period.

Like a conductor raising the final note.

Like a camera catching the eternal frame.