Chapter 80: No Escape in Orc Realm

The orcs advanced, heavy feet pounding over root and stone, following tracks too small to be their own. Human.

Their guttural voices echoed low beneath the trees, barely louder than breath. From the ridge above, they’d heard it—the unmistakable roar of a Midnight Warden. A predator had struck. Now the trail ended here.

They’d already found the first corpses—scouts near the riverbank, throats torn out, blood drying on moss. Another body now lay face-down in the dirt, its neck opened wide, the soil still wet with red. Unforgivable. Humans, alive. In their domain. The Lord had spoken: no survivors.

Up ahead, a shape near the water. Hunched. Motionless. Shrouded in cloth. A figure cloaked and still, crouched in the reeds.

The lead orc growled a signal. Three spears flew. They struck clean.

But the figure didn’t move. No scream. No blood. Just fabric. A tarp. A folded chair. A bundled blanket. The wind caught the edge and lifted it, revealing nothing beneath. A decoy.

The orc barely had time to snarl before something shifted at the edge of his vision. Steel flashed. The first orc dropped, throat opened clean. The second turned in time to see the blade arc through his chest. Frost bloomed instantly. His skin split. His body crystallized and shattered mid-step.

The others surged forward, but she was already among them. Allison moved like smoke over glass—graceful, lethal. Every step was measured. Every cut precise. A swing ended one life. A sidestep spared her own.

The orc commander bellowed and raised his war spear, but a shadow slipped behind him. No sound. Just movement. Then a line of red opened across his throat. He collapsed, gasping. The last thing he saw: glowing eyes. Luke. Calm. Blade low. Already gone.

He drifted through the remaining orcs like a phantom. Efficient. Silent.

Then silence.

The forest hushed once more. Broken bodies lay scattered in the clearing. Limbs twitching. Blood steaming.

Luke wiped a smear of red from his jaw, teeth clenched. “Damn it… Still not level eight.”

His whole body ached. And his left arm—gone. Without it, the Demon Blade Dance was useless.

From the trees, Allison emerged, holding the tarp, the chair, the folded blanket.

Luke nodded. “Thanks.” He dismissed the items into his storage with a flick.

She had baited the trap. He had scouted the kill zone. Clean. Effective. But it wouldn’t hold.

“Allison,” he said, scanning the shadows, “more will come. If we stay near the river, they’ll find us.”

She nodded. “They know this land like it’s their own skin.”

Luke turned toward the dense woods ahead. No roads. No patrols. Just dark. “Then we go deeper. No more paths.”

Allison sheathed her sword. Mist curled faintly from the blade as the ice magic faded.

“You’ve gotten stronger,” Luke said, watching her.

She smiled faintly. “I stopped wasting mana pretending to be someone I’m not.”

Of course. Her old disguise had drained her constantly. Now, unbound, she was faster. Sharper. Herself. More dangerous than ever.

She could meditate. Restore mana. Heal. Luke couldn’t. Not yet. But he’d learned to move anyway. Learned to keep going.

Allison turned toward the treeline, eyes narrowing. “We should move.”

***

They were being hunted.

There was no mistaking it now. The forest wasn’t just dense—it watched them.

Orc patrols moved in tight formation through the undergrowth, spears at the ready, eyes sweeping with trained precision. But the soldiers weren’t the worst part.

The traps were.

Concealed pits lined with spikes. Pressure snares hidden under moss. Taut cords strung across roots, rigged to drop logs or trigger nets. Not the work of brutes. This was deliberate. Calculated. Professional.

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Luke nearly stepped into one—only his sharpened Perception had caught it in time. But that wasn’t the real danger.

Every trap, even when sprung without a victim, did something. It announced. An alert system, maybe—a passive skill that warned nearby orcs the moment a snare triggered.

Which meant this wasn’t just a hunt. It was surveillance. Not wilderness. A battlefield.

They climbed into the upper canopy, concealed by thick leaves, and peered down toward the river.

Allison’s eyes narrowed. “Shit…”

The riverbank below swarmed. Dozens of orcs stood like sentries, unmoving, spears angled toward the water, gazes sweeping the trees. Reinforcements marched in from the flanks—an unbroken line that stretched beyond sight.

“They’re cutting off escape routes,” she said under her breath.

Luke didn’t answer. Ahead, cliffs dropped sharply—but even if they could reach them, the crossing was impossible now. The orcs weren’t patrolling anymore. They were closing in. Tightening the net.

Allison exhaled, low and steady. “We’ll have to go deeper.”

Luke’s eyes shifted south. Beyond the forest and fog, the land rose into jagged mountains—black ridges shaped like broken fangs against the sky. The Orc Lord’s territory.

He felt it. Deep in his core. Even skimming the edge would be suicide.

But behind them, the forest was sealed. The river—cut off.

And ahead? Villages. Fires. Patrol camps. The entire region pulsing like a single, living organism.

Luke clenched his fist. One arm. One wounded ally. A growing army behind them.

No way forward.

No way back.