CHAPTER 84: NONE

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. A

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.

He could feel his combat instincts sharpening, his movements becoming smoother, deadlier. It was as though every clash with the axe general was carving new expertise into his bones.

"Master... Master..."

The voice rang in his head again.

Leon stiffened. The crystalline daggers were... speaking?

"What the f*ck—why are they calling me master like this?!" His voice nearly cracked in his mind, confusion threatening to break his focus.

"Because you are our master," a voice responded—clearer this time, no longer just repeating the title.

"What!?" Leon’s breath hitched, his concentration faltering for a heartbeat.

The crowd gasped as the axe swung down, aiming straight for Leon’s exposed flank.

"Watch out!" the daggers’ voices screamed in his mind.

Before Leon could react, the crystalline blades moved on their own, pulling his body with them. His arm jerked awkwardly, yet the daggers intercepted the axe perfectly, sparks exploding as steel met crystalline edge.

To the onlookers, it appeared clumsy—an unbalanced block that should have failed. But in the end, Leon had stopped the blow cleanly.

He exhaled sharply, regaining control of himself. What the hell was that...? These daggers... they’re alive in ways I never realized.

The general pressed forward, but Leon’s grin returned. Minutes later, with sweat dripping from his brow and his lungs burning, Leon twisted and delivered the decisive strike. The crystalline dagger tore across the orc’s chest, blood spraying as the massive general stumbled and fell.

The crowd roared in outrage and disbelief, their cheers turning to furious bellows.

Leon, drenched in sweat, raised his daggers and signaled to the Orc King with a mocking grin.

Before this fight began, he had made a bet with the King: he would defeat all seven generals within thirty minutes. The King had scoffed at the idea, certain Leon could not manage it.

Now six generals lay defeated, their shame heavy in the air, and the seventh had just fallen before them all.

The King’s cold eyes narrowed as Leon stood tall, grinning like a madman.

But Leon wasn’t finished.

He remembered why he agreed to this spar in the first place. This wasn’t just about victory—it was training. The perfect opportunity to push his body, to hone his skills against intelligent foes who could strategize, unlike the mindless mutant beasts.

Beasts relied on instinct. Orcs relied on both instinct and crude intelligence, their brutality sharpened by cunning. They were perfect sparring dummies. And Leon intended to wring every last drop of growth out of this opportunity.

The King relayed Leon’s earlier demand to the generals—that they all fight him together. At that, the generals stiffened. Only now did they realize Leon was using them as tools for his growth.

Rage ignited in their eyes. Their pride had been trampled again and again, and now, to be treated as training fodder? It was unbearable.

Their teeth ground audibly, their grip on their a a q