CHAPTER 89: SLAYING THE GENERALS

He danced around them like a phantom.

They paused, panting, eyes wide with disbelief. They remembered injuring him before, matching his speed. How was he so fast now?

Leon smirked. "You were only able to touch me because of luck. And before I forget..." His tone dropped into a whisper sharp enough to cut. "You’re under the effect of my poison."

Their weapons froze mid-swing.

Shock rippled through them. Their minds reeled. Pieces fell into place. Their sluggishness, their lack of power—it wasn’t just fatigue.

The meal. The fruits. The boy.

They had been poisoned.

Leon’s smirk widened, cruel and mocking. "I fed it to you during dinner. I didn’t think it’d work at first... but it did. You’ve been weakened this whole time."

The Generals’ roars faltered. They staggered slightly, their eyes burning with disbelief.

"I thought you’d keel over immediately like the mutant leopard I tested it on," Leon admitted, twirling his daggers. "But you Orcs... tch. Your defense is monstrous. Even poisoned, even weakened, you’re still this strong. If humans had defense like yours, poison would be a joke."

He sighed theatrically, his grin never leaving. "Still... doesn’t matter. Because this battlefield belongs to me."

The Orcs tried and tried, swinging their weapons with fury, but no matter what they did, they couldn’t even touch a single strand of Leon’s silver hair. To them, Leon wasn’t just fast—he was untouchable, slippery, more elusive than an eel in water. Every step he took seemed calculated, every dodge effortless, every counterstrike dripping with disdain.

Done with his warm-up talk and mocking taunts, Leon muttered under his breath, his eyes glinting with killing intent.

"Let’s end this."

His body blurred into motion, faster than their eyes could fully register. The Orc who had once injured him—the one who had mocked him with pride when it landed that shallow blow—was his first target. Leon appeared before him in a flash, his crystalline dagger infused with void essence.

"Void Slash!"

The blade hummed, tearing through the air like an echo of nothingness. With one clean strike, it ripped across the Orc’s thick neck, slicing flesh, tendons, and bone as if they were paper. The void-infused edge nullified resistance itself—blood spurted out in a geyser, spraying hot crimson across the dusty ground.

The Orc stumbled back, both hands instinctively clutching its ruined neck. Its eyes widened in shock, disbelief flashing across its brutish features. It had thought its body, hardened by bloodline and countless battles, was unbreakable. Yet before Leon’s void slash, all that defense was meaningless.

The other Orc Generals froze for a heartbeat, stunned by the sheer power Leon had revealed. They had known he was dangerous, but none of them had imagined he had been hiding such terrifying strength. Their gazes turned sharp, a mix of awe and dread.

As for the Orc who had wounded Leon in the spar, its pride crumbled instantly. Fear wrapped around its heart like iron chains. It remembered Leon’s hateful expression back then, the way his eyes had promised vengeance. Now, as its own blood poured down its chest, it realized with chilling clarity that Leon’s hatred hadn’t faded—it had grown sharper, colder.

The wounded Orc’s gaze darted desperately to its brothers, seeking comfort in their eyes, searching for anything—reassurance, solidarity, hope. But there was nothing. Only grim silence. Only the reflection of its own impending death.

At that moment, it understood: I’ll be the first to die.

Leon’s smirk widened as if he had read the creature’s thoughts. His dagger dripped with blood as he leaned forward, voice carrying malice.

"You must be thinking I’ll kill you first. No... I won’t." His tone dropped, icy and venomous. "I’ll torture you. I’ll make you watch your friends die one by one. I’ll make you regret the day you dared to hurt me."

With that promise hanging in the air, Leon vanished again. His next strike found another General who had let its guard slip for just an instant. The poor beast hadn’t even registered Leon’s movement before its throat was cut open. Blood bubbled from its lips as its eyes dimmed. The General toppled lifelessly, its head rolling free from its shoulders with a dull thud.

The other Orcs roared in rage, but their anger was hollow. They could do nothing but helplessly watch their brother’s corpse slump to the ground and dissolve into pixels.

The injured Orc, still clutching its neck wound, realized with horror that Leon had held back. The cut he’d given it wasn’t fatal—it was deliberate, a cruel reminder. Leon wanted it to suffer, to watch, to despair.

Their blood boiled with fury, but even with their bloodline active, even with their strength magnified, they couldn’t lay a finger on Leon. He slipped through their every attempt like smoke, his dagger flashing faster than their eyes could follow.

One by one, he cut them down. The battlefield that had once echoed with the stomps and roars of Orc pride was now a stage for slaughter. Every time a General fell, the despair in their eyes grew deeper.

Soon, only one remained. The axe-wielding General. The strongest among them.

It stood its ground, massive chest heaving, tusks bared. Unlike the others, it didn’t lunge recklessly. It just stared at Leon with dark, conflicted eyes.

It knew Leon’s words were true. Deep down, it knew their king didn’t care about them. They weren’t comrades or trusted generals—they were tools. Disposable tools. The revelation cut deeper than any wound Leon could inflict.

For the first time, the General’s respect for its king wavered. Anger burned within it—not at Leon, but at the betrayal of the one it had served all its life.

Still, the General wasn’t coward enough to flee. If it was destined to die, it would die with axe in hand, as an Orc should. And maybe... just maybe, it could injure Leon enough to tilt the scales for its king later.

With a guttural roar, it brandished its colossal axe and charged. The weapon carved through the air with destructive force, the ground cracking beneath the weight of its swing.

Leon met the strike head-on. Void clashed with steel, sparks and shadows erupting. The General fought with everything it had, desperation fueling each blow. But Leon was faster. Sharper. Cunning.

Within moments, the General’s chest was split open. Its roar of defiance turned into a strangled gasp as Leon’s blade pierced its heart.

The strongest of them fell.

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

[Host has slain the main boss monster!]

[Axe-wielding Orc]

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

[Host has accumulated enough EXP]

[Leveled up!]

Host’s Current Level: LVL 28

Five Stats Points have been added to each of Host’s Stats!

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

[Host has accumulated enough EXP]

[Leveled up!]

Host’s Current Level: LVL 29

Five Stats Points have been added to each of Host’s Stats!

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

When Leon had been massacring the army before, cutting down waves of Orcs like grass, he had climbed from Level 22 to Level 27. Now, with the death of the axe-wielder, he stood at Level 29—just one step away from Level 30. One step away from freedom.

He stared at the glowing notifications with a long exhale. His chest rose and fell. His body ached, blood and sweat dripping, but his grin was wide.

’Status.’

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

Supreme Thief System.

─────⋅☾ Host’s Details ☽⋅─────•

Name: Leon Dragovic

Title: Supreme Thief

Fame: 56 (in this world)

Physique: Supreme Thief physique.

Level 29

Hp: 15,500

Mp: 16,000

─────⋅☾ Stats ☽⋅─────•

Strength: 165

Stamina: 165

Agility: 165

Defense: 150

Intelligence: 165

Perception (Hunter’s Instinct): 150

Luck: 5

(Available points to distribute: 0)

─────⋅☾ Hall of Skills ☽⋅─────•

Hall of Skills (9) (unchecked)

Skill Points (0)

─────⋅☾ Dungeon and Shop ☽⋅─────•

Dungeon (Host is in the Dungeon)

Shop: (Open?)

─────⋅☾ Missions ☽⋅─────•

Tap to see more

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

Leon smirked, wiping blood from his cheek. "Phew... now, time to hunt down the rest of those rats."

He remembered the few Orcs who had fled or hidden themselves when the king and generals first appeared. The ones who thought they had escaped his wrath.

Not for long.

He wanted to fight the Orc King last.

The village lay before him, eerily quiet now. Once, it had been lively with roaring warriors, chanting women, younglings watching their fathers boast of strength. Now it was desolate. Silent. Empty—except for the ghosts Leon had made.

If not for the dispersing pixels, the ground would be buried under mountains of corpses. Instead, there was only blood, dust, and silence.

The remaining Orcs hid, trembling. They had seen him cut down their kind like animals. They knew he would find them.

And he did.

Leon moved through the huts and shadows like a predator. His perception, sharpened to the level of a hunter, sniffed them out easily. One by one, he dragged them from their hiding places and cut them down. Pleas meant nothing. Language barriers meant nothing. Even if he had understood their words, nothing would have changed. Their fate was sealed the moment he set foot in the dungeon.

Pixel by pixel, they vanished.

Pixel by pixel, they vanished.