The orc's roar shattered the silence like thunder cracking through the night. Its eyes—glowing a dull, hateful yellow—locked onto Noa, who staggered back, his sword slick with blood that now dripped onto the packed dirt below.
"Grrrahhh… Human… kill…?" the orc growled, its voice rough like gravel grinding in its throat. It pulled itself up, looming over Noa like a mountain risen from sleep. Even lying down it had been massive—but awake, it was a towering beast of raw muscle and rage.
Noa clenched his jaw and took a step back, adjusting his grip on the sword. Damn it…
The orc charged, swinging a tree-trunk-sized club it seemed to pull from nowhere. Noa barely leapt aside, feeling the wind from the swing brush past him like death itself. The impact hit one of the huts behind him—wood splintered like paper, the roof collapsing with a crash.
Noa didn't have time to admire the destruction. A pair of goblins, now fully awake and screeching in panic, rushed him from the side. He turned and kicked one square in the gut, sending it sprawling into a firepit. The other lunged with a crude dagger.
He caught its wrist mid-thrust, twisted it brutally, then slammed his forehead into its nose with a sickening crack. The goblin crumpled with a squeal, clutching its face.
More were waking now. Groggy, confused—but aggressive.
"Just… keep coming then," Noa muttered through clenched teeth, blood running from his split lip. His smile curled—crooked, bitter, almost amused.
He ducked as another goblin lunged, then slashed upward, carving a deep line from gut to chest. Its body fell at his feet with a thud. Another tried to sneak behind him—Noa spun and slammed the hilt of his sword into its temple. The goblin dropped like a sack of meat.
But then the shadow loomed again.
The orc leader, slower but purposeful, stomped toward him, crushing a dead goblin underfoot without a glance. Its expression was twisted in fury and something else—confusion.
"Human… strong… why…?"
Noa didn't answer. He couldn't. His chest heaved, lungs burning. His arms ached, legs nearly buckling—but his eyes stayed sharp.
The orc charged again, and Noa tried to sidestep—but not fast enough. The club grazed his shoulder and sent him flying into a wall. He crashed through it with a grunt, dust and wood raining down around him.
For a moment, everything rang. The stars overhead swirled.
But then Noa sat up—bloodied, bruised, and smiling.
"That all you got…?" he spat out, wiping blood from his mouth. "Then I've got nothing to be afraid of."
The orc roared in answer and stomped forward.
Noa stood slowly, sword hanging at his side. His body hurt—bad—but something burned beneath the pain now. A heat. A fury. A spark of something deeper.
He raised the blade again. His legs shook. His breathing was ragged.
But he was still standing.
And this time, he ran toward the monster.
Noa darted forward, swinging his sword low toward the orc's thick arm. Steel bit into flesh—just barely—before the beast snarled and reacted with terrifying speed.
The massive club came hurtling sideways like a blur of death.
Noa's eyes widened.
Shit—!
He twisted his body and dove back just in time, the club missing his head by inches and slamming into the dirt with a deafening boom, sending up a spray of dust and debris. The shockwave nearly knocked him off his feet.
He landed hard, rolled, and popped back up, breathing fast. His shoulder stung from a graze—if he'd been just a second slower, it would've taken his entire torso.
Still catching his breath, Noa smirked, voice laced with pain and sarcasm.
"Aren't you a little too fast for a fat pig?" he said, spitting blood from the corner of his mouth.
The orc bared its yellowed tusks and growled deep, chest rumbling like a distant storm. It stomped forward again, cracking the ground beneath its feet.
Noa's fingers tightened around the sword. His arms ached, and his heart was thundering in his ears—but he wasn't backing down.
Not now.
The orc charged with another roar, swinging the massive club with both hands. Noa ducked low, the wind of the swing brushing the tips of his hair as it passed. He stepped in close, slashing at the orc's thigh—drawing a thick spray of dark blood—but the beast didn't even flinch.
Noa leapt back just in time to avoid a counter-punch, its fist crashing down like a hammer where his head had been a second ago.
He's not just strong—he's used to pain.
From the corner of his eye, Noa caught movement. Goblins, a whole swarm of them, now fully awake and screeching with high-pitched snarls, began pouring from behind the huts and tents. Their yellow eyes locked onto him like starving wolves.
"No rest for the damned," Noa muttered, backing toward the edge of the firelight.
One goblin rushed in with a rusted dagger. Noa kicked it square in the chest, sending it flying into a pile of its kin. Another leapt at his side—he spun and slammed his fist into its skull, cracking it against the wall.
He barely had a moment before the orc's club came crashing down again.
Boom!
The earth trembled. Noa was thrown off balance, rolling away in the dirt as the club carved a deep crater just feet from him.
The goblins didn't care that the orc was attacking too. They came at him from all angles now—mindless, desperate, swarming like insects. But the orc, wild with fury, struck indiscriminately.
Another goblin tried to get close, only to be crushed under the orc's backhand swing, its body splattering against a wall.
That's the only advantage I've got, Noa realized through gritted teeth. He's not thinking. He's just lashing out.
Blood dripped from his cheek. His legs were tired, and his lungs burned from effort—but he grinned anyway. Something in him stirred—dark and sharp, like the edge of his blade.
"You're strong," he muttered under his breath, eyes flickering with something twisted. "But so was the pain they gave me."
He lunged forward.
With a sick grin spreading across his dirt-streaked face, Noa darted forward once more. His blade glinted in the firelight, a streak of shadow as it carved through the air.
The orc roared, swinging its club in a wide arc with crushing force.
But Noa was faster.
He dropped low and rolled beneath the strike, dust billowing around him. As the club passed harmlessly overhead, Noa surged up from the ground like a viper, gripping his sword tight with both hands.
"Now!" he snarled—and slashed.
The blade bit deep into the orc's thick neck.
Dark blood sprayed across Noa's chest and face, warm and heavy. The beast howled, stumbling back, clutching its torn flesh. It didn't fall—but the hit had landed. Deep.
Noa took a shaky breath, heart hammering, body trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and something else—something feral. His smile widened, lips curled in a way that barely resembled joy.
"You felt that, didn't you?" he hissed, eyes locked on the bleeding orc. "Yeah… you're not invincible either."
The orc stared at him, snarling, thick saliva mixing with blood dripping from its tusks. Rage burned in its eyes—but there was hesitation too now. Wariness.
And behind them, the goblins shrieked, confused and frantic. Two of them charged Noa again from behind.
He pivoted sharply, driving an elbow into one's skull and smashing its face into the dirt. The second tried to stab at his side, but Noa brought his knee up with brutal force, knocking the goblin flat before slamming his boot down on its head with a sickening crunch.
Then he turned back to the orc, blood dripping from his sword and his hands shaking—not with fear, but from the sheer intensity of it all.
"I'm not the same loser you left to die," he muttered under his breath. "I'll carve my way out… even if I have to drown in blood to do it."
The orc roared again and charged.
And Noa, grinning through blood and pain, charged right back.
Breathing hard, Noa wiped a line of blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. His body ached, his clothes were torn, and his hands trembled from the strain—but his eyes burned with wild light.
The orc roared again, blindly charging in its wounded fury.
Noa sidestepped, barely evading the swing of the massive club. Dust kicked up around them. Blood stained the ground.
"Come on," he growled, voice low and hoarse. "You fell for it once, don't tell me you'll fall for it again."
He watched. Waited.
Then—as the orc brought the club around once more in a wide, predictable arc—Noa darted in again.
One slash.
Another.
And another.
Blood flew with each strike, the same angle, the same ruthless precision. The orc was strong, terrifying even, but it was predictable.
"You really are just a dumb brute," Noa spat.
With a final, desperate cry, the orc lunged. But it was already too late.
Noa spun, his blade flashing like a whisper in the dark—and drove it deep into the orc's neck. This time, all the way through.
The beast staggered back, choking on blood, and then crashed to the ground with a thunderous thud, sending a wave of dirt and dust into the air.
Noa stood over the corpse, chest heaving, blood-soaked and wild-eyed. Then—he laughed.
A broken, unhinged sound that echoed through the quiet night.
"You motherfucker…" he gasped between breaths, laughing harder. "You fell for the same trick again and again!"
He stepped onto the orc's lifeless chest, raising his arms slightly, like a victorious gladiator soaked in blood. The remaining goblins stood frozen around him, their greenish faces pale in the firelight.
Noa turned to them slowly, mock smile curling across his lips.
"Oooh? What's the problem?" he said, his voice full of cruel amusement. "Your boss died and now you're too afraid to come at me?"
His eyes gleamed as he stared them down, daring them to move.
"Go ahead," he whispered. "Let's see who's next."
It didn't take long after that. The goblins, stunned by the fall of their leader, became little more than moving targets.
Noa dispatched them one by one—quick slashes, well-placed kicks, a crushing stomp when one tried to crawl away. The chaos faded into silence, broken only by his labored breathing and the soft dripping of blood soaking into the dirt.
He stood in the middle of the carnage, surrounded by twisted limbs and lifeless eyes, then let out a long breath and dropped onto the nearest orc corpse like it was a throne.
"Status," he muttered, letting the word slip through cracked lips.
A faint shimmer pulsed in the air before his vision filled with glowing letters.
Name: Noa Itsuki
Level: 25
Class: —
Strength: 41
Speed: 50
Agility: 40
Stamina: 37
Endurance: 44
Active Skills:• [Crown of Dread] – Opponents below your level feel unexplainable unease and creeping fear when they meet your gaze.
Passive Skills:• [Devour] – Increased chance of acquiring skills from defeated enemies.
Elemental Affinity: —
Noa let out a short, breathy laugh. It was almost bitter.
"Like I thought…only got more levels, not much stats." he said under his breath. "The more I struggle, the more I grow."
He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, letting the blood on his hands smear against his sleeves. His face was expressionless for a moment—then a flicker of regret crossed it.
"I shouldn't have killed the other four orcs while they were sleeping," he murmured. "Would've been a hell of a boost if I'd fought them properly... Oh well, I got a badass skill at least."
His fingers tapped the hilt of his sword absently, his eyes lost in the flickering shadows cast by the moonlight.
"Next time... I'll make it count."
Noa rose slowly from the cooling corpse beneath him, blood clinging to his clothes, the sticky scent of death thick in the air. His legs ached, but not enough to stop him from limping toward a nearby wolf carcass—one that must've been brought in as a goblin offering.
He crouched down, wiped the blade once against the beast's fur, and began carving a slab of meat from its flank. It wasn't clean work, but it didn't need to be. Hunger gnawed at him more than the thought of taste or manners.
With practiced care, he carried the chunk over to the dying embers of the goblins' fire. He stoked it back to life with a few twigs, then set the meat on a makeshift skewer made from a snapped spear handle. The flames licked at the flesh, sizzling and spitting fat into the coals.
He sat, knees drawn up, sword within arm's reach, eyes constantly scanning the dark just in case. The meat cooked unevenly, but it was enough.
He took a bite—hot, greasy, and rough.
"Aaahh..." he exhaled, his voice low with relief. "That's better... I was starving."
He chewed slowly, savoring it despite the burn on his tongue. "Could really use some salt, though," he muttered with a dry chuckle.
His gaze drifted upward, catching a glimpse of the night sky through the treetops. The stars shimmered faintly, unfamiliar and distant—just like everything else in this world.
"I wonder what kind of threat these orcs really are," he said to no one in particular, speaking to the darkness. "I can't even tell if they're supposed to be strong or not... I killed them, yeah, but that sword—" He glanced at the obsidian blade now resting beside him. "—is ridiculously sharp. Like it cuts through anything."
He leaned back on one hand, the other still holding his roasted meat. A faint sigh escaped his lips.
"I really need to learn more about this world…"
His eyes narrowed, memories stirring.
"That bitch Seraphina didn't tell me shit. Said I needed to 'train my physique' first." His voice twisted into mocking imitation for the last words.
He scoffed, then took another bite.
"Guess I'm on my own now. Fine. I'll figure it out... just like everything else."
A cruel smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he stared into the fire, the flickering flames reflecting in his eyes.
"…And I'll take my sweet time killing them," he muttered, almost to himself—then let out a quiet, unhinged giggle.
It wasn't forced. It wasn't loud. Just the sound of someone who had been broken—and was slowly piecing himself back together, shard by bloody shard.