Chapter 79: Lost in the Orc Forest

Luke jumped. Allison in his arm. No plan. No strategy. Just instinct. Just the only way out.

The cliff stretched into nothing—a drop without end. The fall was chaos, violent. Wind screamed past. The world spun.

And then—water.

SPLAAASH!

The river exploded around them. Cold. Crushing. They were swallowed whole.

Darkness wrapped around him like chains as the current tore them apart.

“Allison!” Luke thrashed, spinning, reaching blindly through the murk. His lungs screamed for air. His vision blurred.

Then—Basic Dark Dash.

A flicker of shadow in the deep. He surged forward like a spear of midnight, cutting through the water. His hand found her—barely. With the only arm he had, he clung to her, driving his legs and body to the limit, propelled by sheer will not to let her sink.

They broke the surface, gasping, choking. He dragged them toward the shore, each kick weaker than the last. Mud met his hand. He clawed forward—collapsed.

Allison lay beside him—still, silent. He turned her gently and rolled her onto her side. A breath. Shallow. Fragile. But there. Alive.

Luke fumbled for the Artemis Pendant. Fingers shaking, he pulled out one of the last healing potions from the Orc village.

He uncorked it, tilted her head back, and poured. Nothing.

Then—a cough. A twitch of her eyes. Alive.

Relief broke through him. He cradled her gently, easing the rest of the potion past her lips—slow and careful, as if anything more might shatter her.

And that’s when he felt it.

His left arm—or what was left of it. The bleeding had stopped. Black fluid oozed over the wound, sealing it with unnatural calm. Hardening like armor. Dark Blood. The skill had activated on its own. He hadn’t even noticed.

He grabbed another potion—for himself—and downed it in a single swallow. Warmth rushed through him. Torn skin stitched. Bones aligned. But the arm—gone. Sealed. Stabilized. But lost.

He slumped into the mud, into the cold, beneath a sky that looked half-burned, half-forgotten.

Then—he looked up.

High above, perched on the cliff’s edge—two glowing red eyes.

The Midnight Warden.

Still watching.

Then—gone. Vanished into the stone.

Luke pushed himself up. Staggered. Barely upright. One arm. But still breathing.

He turned slowly, surveying the land. This wasn’t just the Wild Zone. It was deeper. Darker.

The Deathwood. Orc territory.

He glanced back at the cliff. No way up. No retreat.

Shit.

He exhaled sharply and pulled up his interface:

Name: Luke
Level: 7
Rank: F
Class: [Demonic Assassin (Lvl 15)]
Race: Half-Demon
Profession: –
Title: [Dark Lord]

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Bloodline: [Bloodline of the Dark Demon]
Health Points (HP): 298/700
Mana Points (MP): 368/470
Stamina: 123/290
Soul Fragments: 28/1000

Stats:
Strength: 64
Agility: 72
Endurance: 29
Vitality: 70
Perception: 69
Intelligence: 47
Free Points: 3

He stared at the screen. No hesitation. +3 Vitality.

Stats Updated:
Vitality: 70 -> 73
Free Points: 3 -> 0
Health Points (HP): 298/700 -> 328/730

Two potions left. He wouldn’t waste them, not unless he had no choice.

Luke closed the window. Cold wind swept across the riverbank, whispering through the trees with a sharpness that cut deeper than the air.

Then came the sound: footsteps, low grunts, muffled voices.

He turned sharply.

Between the trunks, torchlight flickered. Shadows moved. Large, broad-shouldered, armored. Orcs. At least fifteen. Marching in sync. Disciplined. Not hostile yet.

But they were tracking something. They’d heard the Midnight Warden’s roar, and now they were here to investigate.

Luke’s eyes snapped to Allison, still unconscious. Fragile.

If the orcs found them, they’d alert the tribe. And then it wouldn’t just be a patrol.

It would be a warband. A full-scale hunt.

He clenched his jaw.

Wounded. One arm. Enemy territory. Carrying a half-dead ally. No backup. No reinforcements. No time.

And the hunt had already begun.

***