"What? An Ambush?"
Yoahim's shout had Ronin leaping to his feet first. As expected of a leader, his reflexes were sharp. He drew his sword in a flash and scanned the surroundings.
The other mercenaries roused one by one. The one Yoahim had kicked awake with his boot was the last to stir—and an arrow whistling from the darkness struck his forehead, dropping him dead.
"Wh-what's going on?"
The merchant, jolted from sleep by the commotion, clambered down from his wagon. Ronin shoved him roughly back inside.
"We're under attack! Stay put and keep your head down!"
"A-attack?"
The merchant yelped and obediently hunkered down in the wagon.
One mercenary down from the initial ambush. That left Yoahim and five mercenaries. No sign of the enemy yet. Were they planning to stay hidden and pepper them with arrows?
Another rustle from the bushes. Shadows emerged from behind the trees—one, two, then more. Tall, hulking brutes. Humanoid, but no humans. Green skin, jutting tusks, bulging muscles.
Their identity was obvious without explanation: Orc Warriors, Lv.20.
Yoahim swallowed hard after spotting the names and levels hovering over their heads.
Ten of them. Nearly double their numbers—a threat in itself—but the real problem was their levels. Even the strongest mercenary, Ronin, was barely Lv.20. And every single orc was Lv.20 too.
Could they win this?
No, this is actually an opportunity.
Thanks to Haellagos's blessing, Yoahim punched above his weight at over Lv.30 in combat power. His actual level was 21, though. In other words, taking down these orcs would net clean EXP without any losses—easy leveling.
But why do those bastards look so off?
The orcs' eyes gleamed bloodshot red, not just tinted but glowing with feral menace under the night sky. Drool dripped from their gaping maws. No one would call that normal.
At least their names are visible, so they're not like those kobolds.
If they'd been juiced up by some evil force like the dungeon kobolds, their names wouldn't show. Whatever was wrong with these orcs, it wasn't enhancement. No need to worry.
"Too many of 'em! Stick together! Don't fight alone!"
Ronin clashed blades with the first orc warrior. Even match between warriors of the same level. But numbers told. Two more orcs piled on, and Ronin clicked his tongue, falling back.
The other mercenaries joined in, but their lower levels meant they couldn't hold their own.
Yoahim's eyes darted, hunting the archer who'd loosed the first arrow. Nothing. No bow-wielding orc in sight.
The real pain in a fight was the ranged DPS sniping from safety. He was about to prioritize the archer when a charging orc forced him to swing.
Clang! Sparks flew from the sharp clash of metal.
Yoahim didn't fluster. He whipped his blade back and drove it deep into the orc's chest with brutal precision. He knew exactly where to strike for maximum efficiency. No mistakes—one shot, done.
A few more clashes, then he severed the orc's head.
EXP Gained!
Always a thrill to hear.
Yoahim kicked off the ground, shoulder-checking the orc harassing Ethan. The sudden hit crumpled the orc's stance; Yoahim slashed its axe-wielding arm to ribbons. The weapon clattered free. One thrust to the heart finished it.
"You saved my ass, Yoahim! You're tougher than you look!"
Yoahim smirked at Ethan, still yapping even now. Guy'd float to safety on his mouth if he fell in a river.
"Ethan! Yoahim! Over here—Miller's in trouble!"
At Ronin's call, Yoahim and Ethan moved—but in different directions. Ethan rushed to Miller; Yoahim charged another orc.
Different paths, same result. Ethan pulled Miller out; Yoahim gutted the orc closing on them.
"Grraaagh!"
Ronin downed one orc; Yoahim three. Still too many left. The mercenaries were barely helping—and arrows from the dark were picking them off one by one.
Got to kill the archer.
Even Yoahim couldn't block every arrow in this chaos. But calling for a switch meant the others couldn't handle the warriors. No one but Ronin could.
Another arrow—straight through Miller. Now just Ronin and Ethan.
No choice.
Yoahim focused his mind, mana gathering at his fingertips. A sharp swing and shout:
"Rise!"
Necromancy raised one fallen orc warrior. His skill level was too low for more. But it'd buy time.
"Wh-what the hell? The corpse is moving!"
Ronin and Ethan gaped at the rising orc—then again as it swung at its own kind.
Undead orc vs. live orc. Yoahim slipped in another kill during the distraction.
His blade reaped mercilessly. Each slice through orc flesh sent a chill thrill up his spine. It fueled him. He charged without hesitation, cutting them down.
Three left. Easy.
He booted one down, raising his sword for the heart—
Thwip! An arrow punched through his shoulder with a sickening crunch.
Yoahim's mind snapped alert. A groan escaped his gritted teeth.
"Urgh!"
Crack! A club smashed him airborne. Another orc swung its axe for his skull. Yoahim rolled desperately, yanked the arrow free, and lunged—impaling its heart.
Blade out, he smashed a fist into the next orc's face, then beheaded it.
One remained. Yoahim charged without pause.
The orc met him axe-first. Yoahim parried, flowed the momentum into an opening, then thrust with a kiai.
"Guh... urk."
It crumpled like a marionette with cut strings.
Yoahim flicked blood from his blade and tuned his ears to the surroundings. An arrow streaked in on cue. He sidestepped—and bolted toward its origin.
The orc archer, nocking another behind a tree, swung its bow like a club. Too slow. Yoahim's sword flashed, cleaving the bow in half. Then a flurry of merciless cuts. The archer collapsed, lifeless.
Ding!
Hunting same-level orcs had pushed him over. Yoahim allocated points as usual and exhaled.
Sweat soaked him from the frenzy. Another breath, and he turned back to camp.
Then—a prickling chill down his spine. He whipped around. The "dead" orc archer glared with gleaming eyes. Ominous.
What the—?
Yoahim gripped his hilt tighter, tensing.
The orc's mouth moved.
"Thought you were just some two-bit mercenary, but you wield necromancy? With that amateur skill, must've bailed on training."
"...Weren't you dead?"
"This orc is dead, sure. I'm just borrowing its body to chat. Feel the gap in our power? That's necromancy."
Don't care. Yoahim readied to silence more drivel.
"If I'd been there, I'd have drilled that power difference into you. Hate posers like you most."
"A coward yapping through a corpse doesn't scream 'strong' to me."
"Insolent whelp. I didn't show because no point. Do you slaughter chickens with cattle blades? Waste for a black mage like me to handle mercenary trash personally!"
The unseen voice called itself a black mage. Controlling the orcs' minds for this raid? But dominating ten Lv.20 orcs needed at least Lv.50. No way.
Yoahim doubted it. A real Lv.50 would've appeared when he wiped the orcs—not hid behind a corpse, flapping gums.
"You control these orcs?"
"'Control' is harsh. We had a mutual deal. I blessed them with berserker fury; they fought for me."
As expected. Not Lv.50. Slightly stronger than the orcs, tops. Yoahim's gut screamed victory.
"So why hit the caravan? Money?"
"Yeah, living solo out here makes food scarce."
"Aw, my bad—starving you out."
"Hmph, no issue. I'll handle it myself. Stay put."
Annoying. Yoahim tsked.
"No need to come. I'll find you. Where are you?"
"What?"
"Where? Looks like you've got a workshop nearby. Hang on—I'll head over."
"You think a scrub like you can—"
Crunch! Yoahim's sword pierced its skull mid-sentence. Head lolled limp.
Two reasons to hunt the mage: Fat EXP. And loot in that workshop.
Simple, solid.
Yoahim confirmed the kill and turned for camp.
Ding!
The Evil Purple Crystal has absorbed a soul!
Current Souls Absorbed (5/500)
What the—crystal?
Yoahim startled as smoke from the orc's mouth funneled into his body.
"Wait—don't tell me?"
He yanked open his inventory in a panic. Pulled out a faintly glowing purple crystal. Checked its info.
◈ Absorbs souls to restore its original power.
◈ Current Souls Absorbed (5/500)
The description had changed. Yoahim bolted for camp. No clue how, but it seemed the crystal could suck souls from orc corpses too.