CHAPTER 74: LEON VS ORCS (2)

But it was too late.

The last thing he saw was Leon’s dagger flashing toward his throat.

Before he could even raise his axe, the blade cut through.

His world spun. His head was no longer attached to his body.

The head hit the ground with a heavy thud, eyes still wide with disbelief, before everything turned black.

The towering corpse stood for a heartbeat, then collapsed heavily onto the dirt.

The surviving orcs froze in shock, horror etched on their faces.

But what unsettled them even more was what came next—the corpse disintegrated into glowing pixels.

Something they had never seen before.

They had killed countless beasts in their lives, but none had ever vanished like this. This was new, terrifying, and incomprehensible.

And it had happened because of this strange creature—Leon.

They gulped heavily. Instinct screamed at them to run.

But they were orcs.

Orcs never ran. Pride was more important than survival. They would rather die than flee.

With roars that shook the savannah, they charged at Leon, their hearts boiling with rage.

Their twisted faces distorted further, filled with hate unlike anything Leon had ever seen.

When Leon had first struck them, they had thought him nothing but an insignificant creature daring to bite at giants.

The shallow injury he dealt one of them had been almost insulting.

But when he had flown into the air, they gave up chasing him. After all, they couldn’t fly.

They let him leave.

Or so they thought.

They hadn’t expected him to dive back down with lethal intent and decapitate their leader.

Now, their pride demanded his blood.

Meanwhile, Leon smiled coldly.

Even though these creatures were four levels higher, he still had the advantage. Superior speed. Superior intelligence.

And he wasn’t about to waste it.

The orcs spread out, surrounding him, axes raised.

’At least you know to use numbers. But you’re still forgetting one thing...’ Leon grinned.

As their weapons swung toward him, he activated Mana Jet, launching himself three meters into the air before twisting and dropping behind one of them.

But the orc had anticipated this and spun, its axe already swinging toward him.

Leon darted back, narrowly avoiding the heavy strike, then lunged forward again with lightning speed.

His dagger struck.

This time the wound was deeper than before.

Leon focused on that single orc, dodging the other five’s frenzied attacks while relentlessly targeting his chosen prey.

Wound after wound began to accumulate. Blood poured freely, weakening the beast.

The orc swung with desperate power, knowing that if it didn’t end this quickly, it would die.

But Leon’s movements were fluid, serpent-like, weaving past every strike, his blades cutting in response.

At last, the orc gave one final roar before collapsing to the dirt, its life draining away.

Leon exhaled slowly, eyes locked on the corpse.

’Two down... five more to go.’

Leon was not surprised when nothing dropped from the orc’s corpse.

He was very much expecting that.

But it still pained him to know that items and coins would no longer drop from his kills. The empty ground around the fading pixels felt like an insult.

Ignoring the feeling in his heart, he turned and continued fighting the remaining five orcs.

The orcs were tough—brutal and iron-bodied—and even with his superior speed, dealing real damage to them was hard.

He focused on one enemy, keeping it in front of him, while relying on instinct and battlefield sense to dodge the other four.

Trying to split his attention across five opponents was hellish—especially when his opponents were seasoned orcs with thick skin, long reach, and axes that could shatter boulders.

And he did not have infinite stamina. He knew that if he kept dancing around without thinning their numbers, he would tire, slow, and then one clean hit would end him.

He gritted his teeth and kept going, his face set with stubborn determination.

No matter what, he could not die in this dungeon. If he died here, everything he had done so far would be for nothing.

He exhaled sharply and pressed the attack.

Just then, one of the orcs swung its axe with terrifying speed and practiced skill. Leon barely slipped past the main arc.

The side edge scraped his shin, tearing skin and leaving a hot, burning line across his leg.

Pain flared. He crushed the urge to cry out.

For someone at level twenty-one, such pain was nothing. He could endure it.

Compared to the agony of his System Awakening, this was child’s play.

But the sudden injury was still a slap to the face. He had thought he dodged cleanly, but he hadn’t.

Wounds began to stack up—small cuts, shallow gashes, a dozen burning stings that stole breath and focus.

And though his injuries were mounting, the orcs were bleeding too.

Albeit more slowly.

Finally, an opening. The most heavily wounded orc overextended—its axe dipped a hair too low. Leon’s crystalline dagger flashed and punched into the beast’s chest, angling for the heart.

The orc let out a rough groan, eyes flicking once to its companions with a confused, almost human look—then it collapsed.

Seeing another of their number fall, the remaining four bellowed in rage, throats raw and eyes bloodshot.

At first, they had thought Leon was a lowly creature from a weak race—lucky, at best—who had killed their leader by chance.

But three of their brothers were dead now.

This was no longer a joke.

If they didn’t take him seriously, they would be next.

The fact that Leon was wielding a small, unimposing dagger while slowly carving them apart shook their pride to the core.

And the harder they fought, the faster he adapted.

They had been fighting for nearly an hour straight, and Leon was scraping the bottom of his stamina.

He had to end this. Now. But no matter how he dug through his mind, he couldn’t find a perfect finish.

What terrified him most was their monstrous endurance.

From what he knew of orcs back on Hearth, even the weakest of them could fight at full tilt for hours without faltering.

They might not realize it, but Leon knew the truth: if this dragged on, they would grind him down.

He snarled and shoved mana through his pathways twice as fast.

At level twenty-one, his control had sharpened since level fifteen—cleaner cycles, tighter channels, quicker recovery.

His pool was deeper too. His health bar thicker.

He poured more mana into the crystalline dagger until it hummed faintly and began studying their rhythm like a predator reading the tide.

The orcs were straightforward. Their patterns weren’t subtle—they were power wrapped in momentum.

He hadn’t tried this kind of read before, but desperation had a way of unlocking new edges.

Axes were terrifying, yes, but not versatile. They crushed and hewed; they didn’t weave.

With monstrous strength, these beasts swung without effort, and that single overwhelming trait had likely carried them through dozens of fights—one blow, two at most, and their enemies were ruined.

That simplicity bred arrogance. A habit of dominance.

Unlike the goblins, they had not been wary of him even when facing a human for the first time.

If they had been cautious, Leon would never have killed their leader so quickly.

Their pride had opened the door.

But now that pride was gone. Now they fought like executioners—disciplined arcs, guarded steps, no easy mistakes.

Even so, axe techniques were narrower than sword or dagger work.

And a narrow path could be trapped.

Leon slipped inside a swing and drove his dagger into an orc’s thigh.

The blade bit deep—through leather, through corded muscle—until it kissed bone.

The orc roared and dropped to a knee, bracing on its axe at the last instant. Blood poured in a hot sheet down its leg.

Leon’s lips curled. With that wound, you won’t be moving right for a while. Once I get an opening, I’ll finish you.

The orc clutched the gash and bellowed—anger, pain, fear all mangled together.

Then, as if lit by a final spark, it rushed him with reckless fury.

It knew it was dying, but it wanted to drag Leon with it.

In its frenzy, it forgot one thing: Leon could fly.

The orc hurled its axe like a spinning slab of iron, then lunged behind it with frightening speed.

Leon’s instincts screamed.

He blasted Mana Jet, vaulted skyward, and the axe ripped through the space where he had stood a heartbeat ago.

He exhaled once, cool and sharp, as the wounded orc stared up in shock, unable to process what it was seeing.

Forgot I could fly, didn’t you? Leon’s grin turned cruel.

He dove. The dagger kissed the orc’s neck and carved deep.

A brittle snap sounded under flesh.

Blood sprayed hot across his arm. The orc’s eyes bulged with fury and terror, already dying, still trying to swing.

Leon gave it no chance. He tilted, slipped a wild cut from another orc by a hair, and ended the dying beast with a clean finish.