CHAPTER 80: CRUEL!

A cruel practicality chained his hand.

Then I’ll let your own kind finish you... at least that way, your suffering ends faster.

Blood sprayed across Leon’s arm as another arrow struck the orc’s body. This time, he had shifted it perfectly, letting the shaft plunge straight through the orc’s heart.

The doomed creature screamed once before choking on its own blood, its wide eyes filled with despair and disbelief.

Leon’s jaw tightened. The pain of dying to your brothers’ arrows... must feel like betrayal. Even beasts like you don’t deserve that.

He sighed inwardly. He was no sadist—no masochist who enjoyed inflicting suffering. He killed because he had to. Because survival demanded it.

"Rest now," he muttered, tossing the limp body aside. The corpse finally dispersed into pixels, leaving him free to fight without a burden.

Now unhindered, Leon became a storm.

The crowd of orc civilians watching from afar turned pale as they saw him wade into their warriors with merciless precision. One after another fell—dagger slashing throats, piercing hearts, tearing tendons. Blood painted the ground, hot and steaming in the savannah heat.

Some of the wiser orcs in the crowd had already begun slipping away, sneaking out before it was too late.

But the foolish remained rooted to the spot, mouths hanging open, clinging to some fragile hope that their warriors would turn the tide.

Hope that was shattered with every orc Leon cut down.

Grunting coldly, Leon sped up his slaughter.

Two minutes later, more than half of the thirty-plus orcs surrounding him were dead, their corpses disintegrating into shimmering pixels that floated away like cursed fireflies.

The remaining fighters tightened their grips on their weapons. Pride burned in their eyes. They would not flee, not in front of the civilians watching. Not while their honor as orcs demanded they fight to the bitter end.

Their roars shook the air as they charged again. But it didn’t matter.

It didn’t take long for Leon to finish them all—each death as efficient and brutal as the last.

And the moment the last warrior’s body hit the ground, Leon turned toward the defenseless crowd with cold, murderous intent.

The civilians froze in horror.

Then chaos erupted. Mothers grabbed their young, stumbling as they tried to flee. The old tripped and fell, wailing. The younger orcs screamed, their guttural cries filling the air as Leon rushed toward them like a nightmare given flesh.

They ran, but Leon was faster. His blade flashed mercilessly, cutting them down one after another. Each scream was cut short, each plea went unanswered.

He didn’t understand their tongue—and even if he did, it wouldn’t have mattered.

By the time he was done, more than half the civilians lay dead, their bodies fading into pixels. Only a few stragglers remained, stumbling across the open savannah, their hope as thin as the blood trailing behind them.

Then—

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Leon’s ears twitched.

Hooves.

The sound of heavy hooves beating against the dirt.

His eyes narrowed, and he spun toward the direction of the sound.

Eight dark silhouettes emerged in the distance, riding swiftly across the savannah, kicking up clouds of dust.

Leon’s heartbeat quickened—not with fear, but with anticipation.

The figures drew closer.

And soon, he saw them clearly.

Eight muscular orcs, towering and broad, each riding a massive horse. Not ordinary steeds—but mutant warhorses, their bodies plated with natural bone-like ridges, their hooves glowing faintly with energy. They were powerful, dangerous, bred for war.

Leon whistled under his breath. To tame mutant horses... impressive. Very impressive.

Six of the orcs carried swords larger than Leon’s entire body. Another wielded a massive battle-axe. And the last—the one at their center—carried a long, gleaming spear.

His presence radiated authority. His armor was thicker, better forged than the rest, inlaid with crude but intricate markings. His horse was draped in lavish armor decorated with bone spikes and war-paint.

Leon’s eyes narrowed. That one... he’s no ordinary fighter.

The civilians who had been fleeing moments ago immediately dropped to their knees at the sight of this new group.

One of them, the same orc Leon had cornered before the riders appeared, collapsed onto the ground, bowing so low its head nearly buried into the dirt.

Leon blinked. His chest tightened as realization struck him.

Don’t tell me... the spear-wielder is the Orc King. And the seven others... his generals?

The eight riders slowed their pace, the thunder of hooves easing into silence as they drew closer.

The spear-wielding orc directed his horse forward, and the other seven immediately fanned out around Leon, forming a perfect circle.

The precision of their movements made Leon’s gut twist—not from fear, but from recognition.

These aren’t the same mindless brutes I’ve been fighting. These ones... they’re trained. Disciplined. Intelligent.

The horses snorted and pawed the ground, their eyes glowing faintly, their riders staring at Leon with cold, merciless intent.

The air grew heavy.

The bowing orc still lay flat on the ground, trembling, not daring to raise its head. It didn’t move an inch—it didn’t need to. Leon understood.

This was respect. Reverence.

The Orc King had arrived.

And now, the real fight was about to begin.

After the horse stopped, the Orc King, spear in hand, fixed his fiery, blood-red eyes on Leon.

That stare alone made Leon gulp. The weight behind it was crushing, like a predator regarding prey. No, more than that—the Orc King looked at him as if he were nothing but dust beneath his boots.

The orc that was still bowing at the King’s feet did not even receive a glance of recognition. The Orc King’s attention was fixed entirely on Leon. It was like a god staring at a mortal.

After studying Leon in silence for a while, the King finally lowered his spear and leveled its sharp, deadly tip toward Leon’s chest. His deep, guttural voice carried through the savannah air like thunder.

"How did you get in here!?"

Leon froze. His brows furrowed in confusion. What the hell does this monster mean by that question?

"What do you mean?" Leon asked aloud, his voice carrying an edge of defiance. "Do you mean how I got into this village?"

The Orc King’s tone sharpened, his voice cold enough to pierce bone. "Don’t feign ignorance. Your life is on the line here. Don’t dare play word games with me."

Leon swallowed hard. A second gulp. His instincts screamed that this enemy, this spear-wielding king, was not one he could simply cut down with brute force. Especially not with the seven mounted generals flanking him.

But then—Leon’s heart nearly stopped.

Just behind the Orc King, stretching some thirty meters into the distance, was a sight that made his blood run cold.

An army.

At least four hundred—no, closer to five hundred—orc warriors. All armed. All armored. All standing in ranks with discipline that belied their brutish appearance. Their weapons gleamed in the sun. Their eyes glowed with savage anticipation.

Leon’s stomach twisted. This... this isn’t like the goblins. These aren’t weaklings with crude bows and poison arrows. These are soldiers. Trained. Ready. Even if they’re blunt and straightforward, their sheer numbers alone could crush me.

Caught staring behind the king at the vast army, Leon didn’t immediately answer.

That only seemed to fuel the Orc King’s irritation.

"Do you realize," the Orc King growled, his voice like stone grinding against stone, "that I could end your life here and now for ignoring me?"

The words snapped Leon out of his thoughts. He blinked and stared back at the King in shock. Not because of the threat, but because of something far more unnerving.

He... he can speak English? He understands human tongue?

Leon’s mind raced. This wasn’t some beast roaring incomprehensibly. This was a monster that could communicate fluently.

Leon tried to hide his surprise, but his voice still cracked slightly as he asked, "A-are those... your army?" He gestured faintly to the massive host behind the King, as if to buy himself precious time.

The Orc King’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He did not answer the question. Instead, his grip on the spear tightened. "At least you know your boundaries. Answer me. How did you get into this place? Tell me, and you will walk free."

Leon’s chest tightened. He didn’t know the answer. He was stuck in a dilemma that made his palms sweat.

Crystal... does it know what this monster is talking about?

"Crystal," Leon whispered in his thoughts, "what is he asking? Do you know?"

The System’s voice answered almost instantly, cool and detached:

"He is asking you how you entered this dungeon."

Leon bit his lip. And what the hell am I supposed to say?

"Tell him you got teleported here," the System replied. A pause, then almost as an afterthought it added: "And also..."

But the Orc King cut the moment short. His fiery gaze never leaving Leon’s face, he advanced, each step heavy enough to make the ground tremble. The massive warhorse beneath him snorted and pawed at the earth, echoing its master’s fury.