Chapter 29: Resistance Army (1)
―Chwik! Dekum tribe over there!
Just like before, a village packed tightly with huts came into view.
A hundred orcs armed with tools approached in grand formation, prompting the enemy orcs to come out and greet them.
‘Looks like about a hundred fifty.’
Orc village populations seemed pretty similar across the board.
A hulking orc stepped forward and demanded,
―Chwik! Why’ve you come here?
“You the chief?”
―Chwik? A human?
The orc eyed Kim Minwoo suspiciously as he strode forward.
Soon enough, the orc nodded.
―… That’s right. I’m Dekum, the chief!
“Join our resistance army.”
―Resistance army? What’s that?
“A group that hunts witches.”
Murmurs rippled through the orcs.
Hunt witches?
To orcs long oppressed, the name “witch” meant pure terror. For a human—not even an orc—to show up out of nowhere and declare it was bewildering.
That was when Urkan stepped forward.
―This human beat me, Urkan—a true warrior! And he’s my big brother!
―Chwik? How’s a human your brother?
―He said the weak ones are little brothers!
―Chwik! I only believe what I see with my own eyes!
Dekum raised his axe.
‘As expected.’
When subjugating orcs, proving your strength beat talking every time.
And this one didn’t even look like the boss type, unlike Urkan.
“Come at me.”
Better wrap this up quick.
Kuuueeek!
A pitiful squeal soon echoed out.
* * *
Dekum tribe, Twin Axe tribe, Stonehead tribe…
Every orc tribe nearby had been subjugated.
It wasn’t all that tough.
Rush in with an orc pack, take on the tribe’s top warrior—the chief—in a one-on-one duel right in front of everyone, smash him, and they’d all swear loyalty. He’d already racked up twelve little brothers.
Wriggle wriggle!
Over a thousand orcs trailing after him like baby chicks!
‘… Gonna be real busy from now on.’
Just their daily chow was insane—enough to make his head spin already.
He checked the faction status.
[Current Resistance Army Faction Status]
[Leader: Kim Minwoo]
[Members: Human 1, Orcs 1,322]
[Level: Clumsy primitives]
[Avg. Level: 118]
[Food Situation: Very poor]
[Morale: Not bad. Devoted to their mighty leader.]
[Enemy Alert Level: 0 (They don’t even know the resistance army exists)]
In just one day, the orc count had exploded past a thousand.
And right now, their numbers were still climbing. Word of a massive united tribe had drawn in every stray orc from the area.
“Urkan. Round up all the little brothers.”
―Chwik! On it!
Soon, the twelve orc chiefs gathered in one spot.
―Chwik! Big bro! What’s up?
“Heard there’s a cockatrice pack nearby. Anyone know where?”
At that, the twelfth-ranked chief, Maktun, raised his hand.
―Chwik! I know—Maktun knows!
“Yeah, alright, little guy. Lead the way.”
The orc horde surged forward.
―Chwik! Meat! Big bro’s gonna feed us meat!
―Chwik! Cockatrice meat’s sweet as honey! I’ve had it!
―Me too! I’m starving!
No discipline or order, but brimming with savage ferocity!
They were charging off to hunt cockatrices a full hundred levels above them, yet morale was through the roof.
Before long, on the snow-covered plains…
A stampeding monster herd came into view.
Heads like chickens.
Bodies well over three meters.
Sharp beaks and talons glinted in the sunlight.
Easily over a hundred cockatrices.
‘Plenty’ll die today.’
No hunting these without casualties. Even with him joining.
‘Survival of the fittest.’
Only the strong would survive.
They’d be culled down that way.
“Rip into the meat! Charge!”
―Orc! Orc!
The orcs—brave to a fault, otherwise just cannon fodder—rushed in axes high.
[Summoning Cedric!]
[Skeletons…]
The skeleton unit charged too, weaving through the orcs toward the cockatrices.
The cockatrices’ eyes turned feral as they warily watched the orcs.
―Cock-a-doodle-doo!
―Kwaaa!
These things were battle junkies just like the orcs.
The moment they collided…
―Puke!
Crunch!
Splat!
Orcs started dropping in droves. Every beak stab punched holes through them; every massive leg kick sent them flying dozens of meters.
The orcs didn’t sit idle.
Urkan’s axe cleaved into a cockatrice’s blood-smeared head. Its neck snapped with a crack as it shrieked. The orc pack swarmed it from all sides.
―Koooo!
Screeching pitifully, the monster vanished under the orc wave.
Kim Minwoo was tackling one cockatrice himself.
Orcs had the body to tank.
‘I’ll handle the damage.’
He jammed his blade into its rear—making the monster practically cream itself.
‘Gotta milk this honey pot.’
That’s what made building the unit worthwhile. After thirty minutes of brutal combat, the cockatrice pack was wiped.
[Your level has risen by 2.]
[Skeleton unit’s average level has risen to 20!]
[Skeleton unit’s combat experience has risen greatly!]
[Concentrated combat experience has created a new skill!]
[Skeletons can now use Close Combat Technique (F)!]
[Skeleton Mage unit’s combat experience…]
‘Huh?’
He rubbed his eyes.
Gaining combat experience wasn’t weird.
Death Lord and Cedric’s titles handled that.
But…
‘Skeletons created a skill?’
That was beyond imagination. Skeletons were bottom-tier summons you could call at level 1.
They leveled up eventually, sure—but they were still skeletons.
Zero learning ability, so their combat sense stayed trash.
Usually, they were just meat shields.
Swarm and flail.
Something’d land eventually.
That was the gist.
But these guys created a skill?
That was high-level awakener territory.
“Death Lord teacher…”
Just how far do your powers go?
Kim Minwoo steeled his resolve.
From today, he’d become one with the Death Lord.
He checked the Skeleton Summon skill.
[Skeleton Summon (F)+9]
[Skill reinforced to its limit.]
[Consume 10 mana to summon 2 (1+1) level 20 skeletons.]
[* Possesses Close Combat Technique (F).]
[Close Combat Technique (F): All melee weapon damage +10%.]
‘Kya!’
Insane.
Worth handing out all those weapons.
Still…
‘Happy’s happy, but…’
Gamers didn’t just celebrate—they analyzed the root cause.
Why the skill?
‘From mass summoning?’
Group intelligence was terrifying.
Even if skeleton learning was average-joe level, hundreds stacking up? Efficiency skyrockets.
Hundreds swinging and stabbing. If that experience condensed into a skill, it tracked.
‘Hold up?’
A horrifying possibility hit him.
“This learning ability… does it have to be combat-only?”
Learning ability.
Literally the power to learn.
He’d tossed skeletons into fights ’cause meat-shield image, but no need to limit it.
‘What if they learned production skills?’
Blacksmithing, alchemy—anything.
All good.
Group intelligence learning it? Related skills’d generate fast, right?
‘Worth a shot.’
Even now proved it.
Orc gear was sorely lacking.
He’d dumped spare inventory junk in a pinch.
But arming over a thousand? Pipe dream.
Most had one axe and leather undies.
Officers at best wrapped in hides.
Clumsy primitives? Spot on.
Orcs in nothing but drawers.
One skeleton production skill would’ve spared that mess.
They’d have crafted something from the hides, feathers, bones.
But now?
Zero production classes.
Hides made junk gear—no effects. Minor defense and weak insulation at best.
‘Even gotta make that crap…’
He eyed the orcs.
“Peel the hides, bones, feathers—gather ’em up!”
―Orc!
Orcs started flaying cockatrices with their axes.
Drool pouring at the thought of meat. Nearly two hundred kin wiped in one fight, yet spirits high.
“Gather the chiefs!”
―Chwik! Urkan here!
―Dekum here!
Rushing chiefs.
“Where’s the little one?”
―Chwik. Maktun’s dead! I’m Falkun—the new little bro!
“… Yeah, okay.”
―Chwik! No sulking, big bro. Dying in battle’s a blessing. Sadness is an insult to us!
He nodded.
Orcs saw battle-death as blessing. They feared dying weak and old.
“Roast half the meat. Wrap the other half in hides and store it.”
―Chwik! Hungry! That won’t fill us!
“Tch. Talking back to your bro?”
―… Got it. Half stored!
Second bro Urkan instantly cowered.
Chiefs bowed like dominoes.
He wanted to stuff ’em full, but that was a one-way to ruin.
Monsters were finite.
Gorge daily? Starvation tomorrow.
‘Need to push their avg to at least 150…’
Minimum ten thousand numbers too.
To stand a chance against fortress monsters.
Checked faction status. Battle bumped it from 118 to 122.
‘… Still a long way.’
Sizzle—that was when meat-roast smells wafted up.
Tiny shapes appeared in the distance.
‘Hm?’
He squinted.
“… Dwarves?”
A small dwarf band headed their way.
Orcs bristled—old enemies.
―Chwik! Shorties!
Impatient ones already gripped axes tight.
“Hold!”
―…
“I’ll talk to ’em. Eat the meat.”
He stood.
Soon close enough to make out dwarf faces.
“Human! We wish to parley!”
“State your identity and purpose.”
“I’m Thuron, chief of the Black Rock tribe! Heard you clashed with the corpse collectors—is it true?”
“Yeah.”
The dwarves buzzed briefly.
Then Thuron approached.
“Rumors of a mad human resisting the witch—you’re him?”
“How’d you know?”
Thuron grinned and pulled a telescope from his pouch.
“Far-seeing tool. Been watching orc movements. Scouts reported—a lone human not just smashed the corpse collectors, but uniting orcs too.”
“…”
He held his tongue.
The desperate always spoke first. Dwarves were desperate—they came.
Thuron’s face grew grave.
“The witch has begun her purge. Refugees say three tribes already gone. An army’s coming our way soon.”
“I know. Orcs nearly got it too.”
Thuron nodded.
“Simple offer. If you’re truly resisting the witch… we want in with you.”
“You orcs don’t seem chummy. That cool?”
Thuron gave a wry smile.
“Who picks sides on an empty stomach? True, we’ve clashed over food. But that’s not the point now. We offer full cooperation.”
“Cooperation how?”
“We’re no good at fighting, honestly. But gear? We craft the best. We’ll supply weapons. In return: protection and food.”
“Sounds good.”
He grinned.
Orcs were brave but underarmed. Dwarves sucked at combat but were gear masters.
Perfect symbiosis—covering each other’s weaknesses.
Same enemy too.
No reason to say no.
‘Plus…’
Chance to teach the skeletons production skills.
From the best teachers: dwarves.
He clasped Thuron’s hand.
They both grinned.