CHAPTER 87: AGAINST AN ENTIRE ARMY...

The King’s gaze sharpened like a blade, scanning Leon from head to toe, his eyes studying every inch as if he could peel the boy open. "Tell me. Did the same happen to you?"

Leon leaned back in his chair, pretending to mull it over, though his mind was already racing. ’So his Qi was replaced with mana... but me? I never used Qi in my life. Since the day I was born, mana has been my core. That means... unlike him, I’ve never been swapped. That alone puts me in a different category.’

He nodded slowly. "In some ways... yes."

The Orc King sighed heavily, relief and frustration mixing in his voice. "Then it seems we share the same curse. Tell me, human—how many years have you been trapped here? How many dungeons have you escaped?"

The generals, chewing again, froze in unison, pretending not to listen but straining their ears.

"Years?" Leon raised a brow. "I was only teleported here yesterday. Escaped three dungeons already. And from what I’ve observed, once I clear this one, I’ll be back outside." He spoke with a casual tone, but his eyes swept the generals carefully, studying their reactions. His fingers tapped against his thigh under the table. ’Come on... the effect should start soon. Show me the opening I need...’

The Orc King straightened at his words. "Are you certain? Are you certain this information is authentic?" His voice trembled, almost betraying the excitement beneath his cold exterior.

Even the Orc generals, who normally kept stoic faces, exchanged looks. Excitement flickered in their eyes like flames. A chance... a real chance to leave this endless prison.

The King clenched his spear, his knuckles whitening. After all these years... freedom?

Leon nodded again, nonchalant, stoking their hope like a cruel puppeteer dangling a string. He wasn’t in a hurry to reveal the truth. The more they wanted it, the sharper the knife he could twist.

The Orc King leaned forward, his eyes burning. "I have answered your questions. I have fulfilled your wishes. Now tell me. What is your secret?" His tone was low, deadly, almost trembling with suppressed eagerness.

Leon sighed, leaning back as though the weight of what he was about to say was too much. He tapped his dagger lightly against the table. "With all due respect, you won’t like my answer. The secret to escaping this dungeon isn’t something you’ll like hearing. Especially if you value family."

A storm rolled across the King’s face. His jaw clenched so hard his tusks ground together. His fists curled until mana began to shimmer visibly around them, glowing like molten iron. The air grew thick. Heavy. Suffocating.

"Do not toy with me, boy," the King growled, his voice low and shaking with rage. "Do not go back on your words. If you think I won’t crush you and drag the secret from your corpse, you are gravely mistaken."

The generals sneered, their eyes narrowing with contempt. To them, Leon was playing with fire. They knew the temper of their king. They knew what happened to those who pushed him too far.

Leon raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning crookedly. "Okay, okay, don’t blow a vein. I was only warning you. I’ll tell you. I wasn’t planning to hide it anyway."

Still, his eyes never left the King’s fists. The sheer mana condensed there was terrifying. If even one of those punches connected, Leon knew he’d be paste on the floor—even with his mana barrier active. He studied it warily, memorizing the flow of mana, the way it twisted and coiled around the knuckles.

’If I get hit by that, I’m screwed. Even with elixirs, I won’t last. I need to tread carefully... but at the same time... this is the leverage I need. This is the opening.’

He smirked faintly, leaning closer across the table. "Fine. I’ll tell you, Orc King. But don’t say I didn’t warn you..."

"The Secret to get out of this dungeon is simple..." Leon’s silver eyes gleamed coldly as he spoke, his voice calm but edged with steel. "It’s to be the last man standing."

The words fell like a hammer. Silence gripped the tent. But Leon’s body didn’t relax—no, he immediately became alert, every muscle tensing, his instincts screaming. He readied himself for the inevitable. His hand brushed against the hilt of his crystalline dagger, mana coursing faintly beneath his skin like fire in his veins.

The Orc King froze for a single heartbeat, then his massive frame trembled with rage. He understood the implication—understood all too well. But belief was a different matter. His tusked jaw clenched. His blood-red eyes burned like twin furnaces. Finally, with a deafening roar, he snapped.

"Why should I believe you!!!?"

His voice was thunder. His body surged forward, his spear rattling against the ground as he abandoned it. He didn’t need it. His fist alone was destruction.

He crashed through the thick wooden table as if it were paper, splinters flying in every direction. The fruits Leon had just eaten were crushed under the force of his step, juice splattering like blood across the floor. His arm, wreathed in crackling mana, swung forward in a punch that carried the weight of a mountain.

Leon’s instincts screamed. Danger. Death. He tried to dodge, to sidestep, but he wasn’t fast enough.

The blow connected.

BOOOOM!

The impact was like a thunderclap. Leon’s ribs rattled, his chest caved in pain, and his body was sent flying like a ragdoll. He smashed through the tent flap, tumbling through the air, flung dozens of meters away. His trajectory carried him straight toward a thick ancient tree, its bark jagged like blades.

Shit!

At the very last moment, Leon forced mana into his legs, igniting Mana Jet. His body jerked midair, twisting violently as jets of energy burst from his boots. He steadied himself, the acceleration breaking his fall just before he would’ve been skewered against the trunk. Even so, the backlash was brutal.

Blood gushed from his mouth. His knees buckled as he landed hard, barely catching himself before collapsing. The coppery taste of iron filled his tongue, and his chest throbbed as if it had been split apart.

Still, he grinned bitterly. That monster... if I hadn’t used Mana Jet, I’d already be dead.

He stayed crouched for a moment, spitting out blood, then slowly pushed himself to his feet. His silver hair clung to his sweat-streaked forehead. He straightened his spine, forcing his trembling body to obey. Then he turned his head toward the wrecked camp, where the Orc King had struck him from, and narrowed his eyes.

Calmly, he waited. Calmly, he stared into the distance. But inside, his mana was already surging. He silently activated Light Steps, his feet growing weightless. He circulated mana into his core, his stats climbing, strength flooding back into his weary muscles.

With a thought, he summoned his trusty dagger from his Soul Subspace. The crystalline blade materialized in his hand, gleaming faintly with void energy, hungry for blood.

Soon, movement stirred.

The seven Orc Generals emerged from the ruined camp, striding forward in unison. Their weapons gleamed—greatswords, axes, spears—all raised and ready. Their tusked faces were carved into expressions of pure hostility. Behind them followed the thunder of footsteps—the Orc army itself, the same horde that had once cheered during the spar.

Leon’s brows furrowed. His stomach twisted. Something was wrong.

The King... isn’t with them.

His eyes narrowed, scanning the crowd. The towering figure of the Spear-wielding Orc Sovereign was nowhere in sight.

’Did he... believe me?’ Leon thought grimly. ’And now he wants to sacrifice his army before stepping in himself? Tch. Ruthless bastard. He really would throw away his entire race just for a chance to escape. He’s willing to sacrifice them all for freedom...’

The Generals knew it too. From the beginning, the Orc King had seen through Leon’s act, knew he was hiding his true strength. The Generals might delay him, might even wound him, but eventually, Leon would carve through them. And as for the army? They were ants before a storm. If Leon unleashed his full power, it would take him minutes at best to massacre them all.

But the Orc army didn’t know that.

The rank-and-file Orc soldiers still thought Leon had been sparring earlier, a guest of sorts, an ally even. They hadn’t understood the tension under the surface. But then they remembered—the injury. The way Leon’s arm had been sliced. And now... that injury was gone.

The Orc soldiers blinked, confusion dawning. If they hadn’t seen him bleed, they would never believe he had been wounded at all.

Then realization struck them: the human was declaring war.

Fear rippled through their ranks, but Orcs were Orcs. Prideful. Brutal. Their hearts steeled instantly. If Leon was their enemy now, then they would meet him with axe and blade. If they were to die, they would die fighting. To them, nothing was more honorable.

With snarls and guttural cries, the Orc army quickly snapped into formation.

Leon’s gaze sharpened. His silver eyes tracked their movements, cataloguing every flaw, every strength.