The world blurred in blood and steel.
Red stood ankle-deep in corpses, his breath ragged, body trembling not from fear, but from exhaustion. His sword was slick, his left arm numb, and yet his feet remained planted.
Around him, a storm of death brewed.
"Orcs don't do this," he muttered under his breath.
Red: They don't train. They don't parry. They don't counter.
But these did.
Every movement had discipline. Every swing was deliberate. Every step they took formed a wall, an unbreakable tide of muscle, metal, and malice.
And behind them, the orc leader… was laughing.
The massive brute leaned on his glaive like a shepherd watching wolves tear through sheep. His dark yellow eyes gleamed with intelligence—unnatural intelligence for an orc. His lips curled, and then—
"You're weak, human,"
Spoken.
Not growled.
Spoken.
Red's eyes widened for a moment.
Orcs didn't talk.
Not like that.
Not with clarity. With control.
But before he could respond, a distant voice pierced the chaos.
"Halt! In the name of the Silverhaven Patrol!"
Six knights on horseback, clad in polished steel and blue capes, charged into the clearing from the southern ridge, their swords drawn, standard flying. They had seen the smoke. They'd seen the bodies.
And they came to help.
"No!!!don't come!!" Red shouted, eyes snapping toward them.
Red: Fall back! Fall....!
Too late.
The orcs moved with horrifying precision.
In an instant, they shifted formation, three breaking off the line with speed not befitting their size. The horses neighed in panic, cut off mid-scream.
It took less than ten seconds.
One knight's head flew from his shoulders. Another was split down the middle. The third was dragged from his horse and torn apart limb by limb.
The remaining three didn't even scream.
Only the silence of steel through flesh.
It wasn't a battle.
It was butchery.
Red's heart sank.
Even trained knights… were nothing to them.
He didn't wait.
He ran.
His legs burned as he dashed back toward his fallen comrades.
He had made a mistake.
He left them behind.
And now, if he didn't act, they'd all die.
He reached them just as a trio of orcs moved to finish off Yuzu and Rika.
He stepped in with a savage swing, cleaving two at once. The third stabbed toward him—he twisted, grunted as the blade sliced his ribs, then headbutted the attacker and drove his sword through its chest.
More surrounded him.
Five. Ten. Twelve.
The leader still didn't move.
He didn't need to.
His troops danced the edge of death like trained gladiators. Their coordination was too smooth. They used formation, left shield up, right axe down. One defended, the next struck. When Red broke their stance, another filled the gap.
Their aim was no longer just to kill Red.
It was to break him.
Red's grip tightened on his sword.
Around him, his team moaned weakly, still breathing, but barely. The potions they'd taken had closed the wounds, but not restored the blood they had lost. Healing magic only went so far.
They needed real treatment.
Transfusions.
Sanitation.
Time.
And they had none of those.
He couldn't use the potions now, they would be wasted.
"Stay with me," Red growled under his breath, not sure who he was talking to, his team, or himself.
Another swing.
Another parry.
He blocked a strike aimed for Hina's throat, barely sending the orc's axe skittering across the dirt.
But for every one he stopped, another advanced.
He fought without rhythm now.
Not in form.
In instinct.
Desperate.
Because he couldn't focus.
Because he couldn't breathe.
Because he couldn't leave them.
If he moved too far, they'd die.
If he stood still, he would die.
And still… no help came.
The Mysterious Woman watched from afar, lips pursed, fingers steepled beneath her chin.
"I must say," she murmured, "it's almost charming how hard he tries."
The mysterious man beside her frowned.
"This isn't a test anymore," he said. "This is execution."
She nodded.
"And yet… still he fights."
She tilted her head, golden eyes narrowing slightly.
"He's stalling," she whispered. "He's hoping. But there's no one left to come."
The man said nothing.
Because he knew she was right.
The guild didn't know.
The White Storm Party had long retired.
Even the Midnight Pact had limits.
And Volette, she was far away still.
But Red didn't stop.
His blade blurred again.
Three orcs down.
Four more took their place.
The leader stepped forward now.
Looming.
Laughing.
"I thought humans were smarter," he said, voice like gravel. "But here you are. Alone."
Red didn't answer.
He was too busy bleeding.
Too busy thinking.
Because the truth was, he didn't know how to win.
Not yet.
But he knew what would happen if he lost.
Selena would die.
Hina would die.
Lio. Rika. Yuzu.
All of them will gone.
And then the orcs would move south.
Silverhaven would burn.
He couldn't let that happen.
He wouldn't.
So he kept fighting.
Not because he believed he could win.
But because someone had to stand between death and the ones who couldn't.
His sword clashed with the glaive.
Sparks flew.
Muscle screamed.
Steel howled.
The orc leader grinned.
Red gritted his teeth.
And in the distance… thunder rumbled.