Orc Hunt
The Low District. Blackwater Pier Three, Dock 4-B Unloading Terminal.
The destination was obvious. It wasn’t even an unfamiliar place. This was the very spot where Lord Bawry had shown his goodwill by helping Solomon obtain the Black Bird Spirit Bracelet.
The Low District, after so long away, even carried the comforting scent of home. Solomon immediately released several shadow spirits from the bracelet.
Because the unloading yard was a labyrinth of cargo crates weighing tens or even hundreds of tons, Solomon synchronized with the aerial view of the shadow crows and looked down over the entire area.
At a glance, he saw the unmistakable scene of shady criminal outfits huddled together, plotting.
Orc gangs.
What they were doing varied. Every imaginable type of crime that could occur in a maritime logistics zone was unfolding before him.
On ground sticky with black oil, orcs in leather boots and suits stood guard with murderous glares. Soon one of the crates was pried open and its contents hauled out—clearly not obtained through any legitimate channel.
Weapons, of course. Bundles of bloodstained cash, along with items faintly imbued with magical power…
Smuggled goods, huh.
Solomon hid himself in the shadows of the unloading yard and observed the scene through the eyes of the shadow crows.
So the target’s among these bastards.
Even amid the busy movement of the suited orc gangsters, spotting the target wasn’t difficult. In a sense, the figure stood out more than anything else—standing perfectly still while everyone around him scrambled.
There he is.
The Priest of Pain. Unlike the typical green orc skin, his was blood-red. On top of that, his size was overwhelming even by orc standards. Easily three meters tall, with a presence that radiated raw power.
Though he too wore a suit, Solomon could sense some kind of ritualistic energy from the dense tattoos covering the skin beneath the fabric.
A Blood Orc.
Just as human skin tones differed from elven ones, orcs were no exception.
That was when it happened.
“We brought him, Your Eminence.”
THUD!
An orc gangster in a blood-soaked shirt dragged someone forward and forced him to his knees. The victim was so drenched in blood it was hard to tell at first, but he was a dwarf sailor still barely clinging to life.
“Kuh, hrk!”
The dwarf coughed up bloody foam in agony. He had clearly been tortured extensively; from a distance, there wasn’t a single spot on him that looked unharmed.
“Speak.”
The blood-red orc in the suit—the Priest of Pain—opened his mouth toward the dwarf.
“Where did you divert the merchandise?”
Merchandise. Solomon’s ears perked up at the word.
“I-I don’t know anything! I just handed over the cargo to the smugglers’ guild as ordered…!”
The moment the dwarf tried to continue, the Priest of Pain stomped on his pleading hand with a dress shoe.
CRACK!
The sound of fingers twisting into impossible shapes was followed by another ear-splitting scream.
“GYAAAAAAGH!”
The sound of bones shattering. Yet the blood-red orc didn’t care. He simply pressed down harder, literally grinding the dwarf’s bones into fragments.
“I’ll ask again. Where did you divert the merchandise?”
“Hiiik…!”
As the dwarf writhed in pain, the Priest of Pain asked once more.
“I-I really, truly…!”
“This is exactly the time to borrow the wisdom of our ancestors.”
The Priest of Pain glanced at the begging dwarf. Ancestral wisdom.
“Our wise old ancestors always said that water knows the answer.”
“!”
Water knows the answer.
At those words, several orcs dragged the struggling dwarf to a crane on the pier’s outer edge and hung him from it. One orc climbed into the operator’s seat and worked the lever. At a nod from the blood-red orc, the crane’s chain sank beneath the sea. The dwarf, dangling from the hook, was lowered into the water.
SPLASH!
An eerie silence. When the hook was reeled back up, the dwarf finally began thrashing desperately, fighting for life.
CLANK!
“Guhk, blub, gahhhk! P-please! Spare me! I-I really, glub glub, don’t…!”
“Let’s make it five minutes.”
“W-wait…! Blub, gluuuurp! Gahk!”
Before he could finish, the lever was pulled again. Despite the dwarf’s wretched screams, his body sank beneath the water once more.
Fucking psycho.
Solomon clicked his tongue at the sight. If he charged in now, he’d have to fight the entire gang. But the longer he watched, the more the dwarf’s unknown crime weighed on him. A situation where his conscience might force him to take the risk.
Then an idea struck him.
Maybe this could trigger a sudden quest or some kind of reward.
It wasn’t uncommon for saving someone in a crisis to lead to bonus quests or unexpected treasure. Having thought that far, Solomon steeled himself.
Time to move.
Not out of conscience or morality, but purely from the mindset of a TRPG player.
Thanks to the overhead view provided by the shadow crows, Solomon was able to slip skillfully through the maze-like walls of cargo crates.
Soon the cold night air, the pier’s oily stench, and the smell of the sea stung his nose.
The orc gang had lined up at the edge of the pier, staring out at the dark sea. They were betting on whether the drowning dwarf would still be alive after five minutes.
Perfect.
Solomon concealed his presence and soundlessly crossed behind them. Going straight for the target was an option, but he deliberately avoided it.
He intentionally stayed out of their line of sight and took a slight detour to the end of the pier.
The first target was the crane operator sitting in the control seat. Like a snake, Solomon climbed the heavy machinery with practiced ease and drove a strike through the window before the man could make a sound.
CRUNCH!
“Guhk…!”
The blade came down with no chance to resist. A silent death. Even as the man died and blood sprayed, none of the orcs gathered on the pier noticed anything wrong.
Let’s see… the lever…
Solomon examined the crane’s controls. He had no experience operating heavy machinery, but he figured he could at least manage pulling the clearly marked lever back and forth.
CLACK!
As expected, when he pulled the lever, the hook that had submerged the dwarf began rising. Fortunately, the dwarf was still alive.
“Huuuuurk! Blub! Gahk! Glub glub!”
While the dwarf convulsed, vomiting what seemed like a lifetime’s worth of seawater, one of the orc gangsters spoke.
“…Has it already been five minutes?”
The moment his gaze turned toward the crane’s control seat, Solomon pulled the trigger of his Nightfall automatic crossbow.
A silent shot. The bolt of silence flew.
From trigger pull to impact, the entire sniping process occurred in complete silence. Not even the sound of the bolt cutting through the air could be heard.
It was the effect of the Deadlock Workshop’s special modification and the silence spell embedded in the crossbow itself.
“!”
THWACK!
The silent bolt pierced the orc’s throat, killing him instantly. The remaining orcs whipped their heads around, but Solomon was already gone.
All that remained in the operator’s seat was a corpse.
“Who the hell’s there!”
One orc gangster shouted in panic. By then, Solomon had already left the area and was moving toward his next target.
While everyone’s attention was focused on a single spot, he targeted the defenseless prey whose backs were completely unguarded.
The distance closed within the darkness.
SHUNK!
At the edge of the group, in a blind spot, Solomon struck the back of an isolated target. He never missed an exposed rear.
The victim died without even realizing it, his life snuffed out like a candle.
SPLURT!
Blood exploded outward the instant the ambush landed. The moment the other orcs tried to locate the source of the sound—
Now.
Veil of Darkness
Tags — Level 2 Spell, Shadow Attribute, Enhanced Tuning (Lord of the Veil)
Deploys a veil of darkness, treating all the caster’s attacks within the area as ambushes.
Within the veil, the caster gains increased defense and evasion rates. Enemies suffer reduced accuracy.
A curtain darker than the night itself descended over the unloading yard.
“Shadow magic…!”
“It’s an ambush!”
“Where the hell did he come from!”
While the orc gangsters openly burned with fighting spirit, Solomon didn’t stop.
Next.
Level 3 spell, Black Sword.
Within the shadow-magic veil, the tip of Solomon’s blade radiated an exceptionally dark, ominous edge.
Black Sword
Tags — Level 3 Spell, Shadow Attribute
Forges the blade with shadow magic, adding 4 damage to attacks.
Damage is doubled on ambush.
The combo of Veil of Darkness and Black Sword. Since every attack was treated as an ambush, its power was nothing to scoff at.
The nearest orc gangster pulled out something resembling a police baton and swung it.
WHOOSH!
But to Solomon, the movement was laughably clumsy and slow. It was even inaccurate. The effect came from the defense and evasion bonuses granted by the Level 2 spell. With the added accuracy reduction on the enemy, the gap felt even wider.
CRUNCH!
The instant Solomon made a show of meeting the blow, he slipped past like a snake and drove his blade in.
In truth, he didn’t even need the spells to know. The orc gangster before him had never been his match to begin with.
SPLURT!
From behind an orc who had lost his sense of direction in the darkness, the blade plunged in again.
Blood gushed. Aside from the spraying blood, there were no screams or sounds. It was like watching a silent horror film.
“Where are you, you son of a bitch!”
“Don’t think you’ll die easily!”
There were only two kinds of people here: the hunters and the hunted. Solomon’s senses had never been sharper.
That was when it happened.
Just as he was about to resume the hunt from within the darkness, Solomon’s movement halted.
An unknown killing intent swirled violently at his feet.
!
He kicked off the ground and created distance. The moment he did, an absurd sight unfolded.
SPLASH!
A pillar of blood erupted as if tearing through the Veil of Darkness Solomon had cast. The color of the blood didn’t matter. Whether it was the orcs’ green blood or the dwarf’s red, the liquid rose like a dragon and pierced straight through the veil of darkness.
CRACK!
“!”
It was exactly as it sounded. The swirling pillar of blood shattered the veil like a spear piercing a shield.
In that state, the blood-red orc in the suit revealed himself.
Within the swirling vortex of blood, the tattoos engraved on his body blazed like flames.
“…Priest of Pain.”
“Oh? I didn’t expect the hotel’s cleaner to show up so soon.”
The Priest of Pain, the blood-red orc, laughed with clear delight.
“You’re certainly different from the small fry I’ve dealt with so far. I can tell just by looking.”
“I’m flattered.”
There were no living subordinates left around them. No—Solomon understood.
The blood pillar from earlier had been a ritual that used the lives of the living orc gangsters as sacrifices.
Blood magic. Blood magic.
It wasn’t surprising. In this world, magic had nothing to do with old-fashioned scholars shut away in towers. It was far closer to the path of martial artists endlessly pursuing strength.
He didn’t care about the lives of his subordinates. In the first place, the man before him wasn’t even a formal member of the gang.
Whatever his goal was—whether it was the pursuit of the demonic path or something else—Solomon didn’t care. A cleaner’s virtue was simply to erase problems cleanly.
“As a proud son of the Blood Moon Tribe, I offer my thanks.”
“…Thanks?”
“The pain that fails to kill us only makes us stronger.”
“Pain that fails to kill, huh.”
The Priest of Pain spoke as if addressing a sacrifice meant for him. Seeing this, Solomon let out a hollow laugh.
“Too bad.”
“What is?”
After laughing, he spoke.
“That only applies if you survive.”
As if declaring an inescapable fate of death.