CHAPTER 82: GAMBLE!

Leon glanced back briefly at the orc still kneeling, head pressed to the ground in reverence. He exhaled coldly. You’re lucky your King and generals came when they did. I would’ve killed you where you knelt. Don’t worry though—once I’m done with them, I’ll come for you too.

The elite army parted smoothly to make way as the General led Leon deeper into their encampment. Their eyes followed him with suspicion, but not one dared move against him without their King’s command.

Leon leaned slightly forward on the saddle, his eyes narrowing as he thought. Man... this is the hardest dungeon raid ever. These intelligent creatures are driving me insane with their cunning. But if everything goes according to plan... this dungeon might just turn out to be the easiest raid I’ve ever cleared.

He grinned to himself, a predator’s smile.

At an open field, Leon could be seen clashing fiercely with one of the seven generals of the Orc King.

"Aren’t you a little too weak!?" Leon mocked as his crystalline daggers danced in his hands, striking and deflecting with casual precision.

"Hmph!" the Orc snorted, rage filling its eyes. Its pride as a general burned with shame at those words. To be mocked by a mere human—no, by something it considered inferior—was the gravest insult. Its every swing grew heavier, its steps more desperate.

Yet no matter how much effort the Orc poured into overpowering Leon, he was effortlessly suppressed. Leon treated every strike as if it were nothing more than a child’s tantrum, redirecting blows with his daggers, his movements calm and fluid, his grin only widening with every failed attempt the Orc made.

The watching army of orcs roared, shouting encouragement to their general, their voices thunderous like a stadium of warriors cheering for blood. Even as their general was being pushed back, they continued to hope, screaming his name, believing that somehow, he would find a way to triumph.

But hope was nothing against Leon’s precision.

The battle ended with brutal finality—Leon’s dagger sliced through the general’s guard, forcing him into defeat before the entire crowd. The general staggered away, his pride bleeding as much as the shallow cuts covering his body.

When he reached the front of the crowd where the other six generals sat, he lowered himself into his chair silently, ignoring the mocking sneers of his comrades. The surrounding orcs booed him loudly, their faces twisted with disdain. To them, failing against this human was a disgrace.

And sitting in the center of them all, unmoving, was the Orc King. He didn’t mock or cheer—he only stared at Leon with a cold, sharp gaze, as though dissecting him with every glance.

"Next!" Leon’s voice cut through the noise like a blade. His tone was commanding, mocking, yet calm.

One of the generals rose instantly, eager to erase the shame of his comrade. He shot a smug look at the defeated general as if to say, You were too weak. Watch how easily I’ll finish this human. The defeated general didn’t even spare him a glance, his silence cutting deeper than any words.

Enraged by the lack of acknowledgment, the new general snorted coldly and strode toward the arena with exaggerated majesty. He pointed toward the edge of the field, signaling for Leon to quit while he still could—or face humiliation.

The crowd roared with joy at the bold gesture. Their confidence returned, their voices shaking the air. This was what they wanted to see—pride, arrogance, the embodiment of what it meant to be an orc.

But Leon only yawned, tapping his dagger against his shoulder lazily. Another fool wasting my time.

The battle began—and ended even quicker than the last. The sword-wielding orc, so prideful only moments ago, was defeated in less than half the time it took Leon to beat the first. His overconfidence became his downfall.

The crowd went silent.

The third general entered, full of pride. Defeat.

The fourth general stepped forward. Defeat.

The fifth... defeat.

The sixth... defeat.

Each battle ended with Leon standing tall and each general walking away in shame. The silence of the crowd deepened with every loss, their earlier thunderous cheering now replaced with disbelief. Their faith wavered.

From their perspective, only a King could defeat a general. It was unthinkable that an outsider—especially a human—could bring down one, let alone six. Yet Leon had done it, and he made it look almost effortless.

By the time the sixth fell, the crowd no longer booed or cheered. Their mouths hung open, their expressions blank. Reality itself seemed to tremble in their eyes.

But then—hope returned.

The seventh general stood, gripping his massive axe. The atmosphere shifted instantly.

Unlike the others, this one carried himself with quiet calm. He didn’t sneer, didn’t mock, didn’t flaunt. He simply walked forward, his steps heavy and assured, the aura around him suffocating. The moment his hand tightened around the haft of his axe, he looked exactly as an orc warrior should—unyielding, terrifying, the pinnacle of brute force and experience.

The army erupted in cheers again, their faith reignited. This was the one they were waiting for. The strongest general. The axe-wielder. To them, he was the hero who would restore the pride of the orc race, the one who would cleanse the shame that Leon had brought.

Leon tilted his head, a sly grin spreading across his lips. Finally. A worthy opponent.

The two warriors faced each other, the tension so thick it silenced the crowd. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.

The general moved first, charging with the speed of a beast, his axe cleaving the air with terrifying force. Leon met him head-on, his crystalline daggers clashing against the axe with a metallic screech that sent sparks flying.

The ground trembled beneath the impact. Neither gave way.

For the first time, the crowd was dead silent, their eyes wide, their bodies leaning forward in anticipation. Even the Orc King, who had worn an expression of boredom throughout the previous fights, now leaned slightly forward, his gaze sharp with interest.

The seventh general fought with precision, his strikes calculated, his footwork uncharacteristically refined for an orc. He wasn’t just swinging wildly—his every move was measured, his every attack layered with experience.

Leon’s eyes gleamed with excitement. That’s it... continue! This isn’t the straightforward, brutish style of the others. This one fights with cunning. But when it comes to cunning... the Divine Thief Dagger Sutra is unmatched.

He weaved through the general’s attacks like smoke, his Light Steps carrying him just out of reach. Every slash of his daggers was laced with deceptive angles, striking at openings invisible to the untrained eye. Slowly, steadily, Leon began to tilt the balance in his favor.

The crowd’s cheers died again, replaced with nervous silence. Their strongest was struggling.

And Leon, his grin widening, thought to himself: Now this... this is a fight worthy of me.

Leon had the upper hand, but at some point, a daring idea crept into his mind—an idea that was both reckless and brilliant.

Maybe I should cancel Light Steps and only use the dagger sutra to fight. That would give my body real training, push me beyond comfort.

---

In the familiar dark space, the Crystal pulsed with a sharp glow the moment Leon’s thoughts surfaced.

"Interesting..." it muttered, its voice echoing like an ancient whisper in the void.

It had been quietly observing Leon’s dungeon raid without interference, offering little guidance. This was Leon’s most dangerous, most adventurous dungeon run yet, and the Crystal could not help but acknowledge the audacity of his choice.

---

With a deep breath, Leon deactivated Light Steps. Instantly, his body felt heavy again, his feet pressing firmly against the cracked earth. The sudden drag of gravity threatened to slow his movements, but he didn’t care. This was training—pure, unrefined, brutal training.

As soon as he canceled Light Steps, the axe-wielding general surged forward, seizing the chance. The massive axe descended with crushing force, and for the first time in the battle, Leon was forced on the defensive.

The once-silent crowd of orcs erupted into thunderous cheers. Their roars filled the open field, echoing through the savannah-like landscape. Dust and sweat mingled in the air as their champion regained the upper hand.

On his throne-like chair of rough-hewn wood, the Orc King let out a low sigh, his deep voice carrying across the battlefield.

"Perhaps he has finally grown tired after all these fights..."

But Leon wasn’t discouraged. His grin only widened. Despite the strain on his body, despite the danger, excitement coursed through him like wildfire.

The crystalline daggers in his hands trembled and vibrated, almost as if they too were excited. A cold essence spread from the weapons, seeping into his arms, his veins, his very core.

Then—new information poured into his mind, searing itself into his consciousness. His vision flashed, and his understanding of the Divine Thief Dagger Sutra deepened in an instant.

Leon’s eyes widened. The sutra... it’s leveling up! My gamble worked! By stripping away Light Steps and relying only on the sutra, I forced my body to its limit—and it’s paying off!