NOVEL NEXT Chapter 142: The Orc Den
The trees thinned, and the stench hit them first. A clearing stretched ahead, and in it sprawled a crude orc encampment—a place that could barely be called a village.
Crude tents stitched from animal hides, sharpened stakes in disarray, and scattered fires smoking with half-burnt meat. The air was thick with sweat, iron, and rot. Dozens of orcs moved through the space with no discipline, no order.
Some brawled savagely over scraps, others smashed crude mugs and snarled at each other. Ethan's eyes narrowed when he spotted a pair coupling openly in the mud, grunting and howling as if the world outside did not exist.
Sixty… no, closer to Eighty. Most of them hovering around the strength of mid-level threats. Not weak enough to underestimate, not strong enough to ignore.
Lirael's lip curled. "Disgusting creatures… this isn't a settlement, it's a pit of filth." Her fingers flexed against her bowstring, itching to loose an arrow.
Sylvie shuddered, turning her face aside. "I… I don't even want to look at them."
Seloria and Nyxfang had already halted. Their keen senses picked up the density of enemies. Both crouched low, surveying from the shadows, ready to pounce but waiting for the signal.
Ethan exhaled. "This will drain me if I go all out…" He extended a hand, summoning his soldiers. One after another, armored men rose from the earth, ten in total. Their metal armor clinked faintly.
Then his eyes shifted toward Sylvie. He pulled out a silver ring, its faint glyphs pulsing as though alive.
"Here. Wear this."
Sylvie blinked, startled. "M-master, I… I don't need—"
"It helps regenerate mana." His tone was steady. He tilted his hand slightly toward Lirael, who already wore the twin of it. "See? Lirael has one as well. Don't misunderstand—this is for efficiency."
Sylvie swallowed, a faint blush coloring her cheeks, and accepted. The moment the band slid onto her finger, a tingling warmth rushed through her veins.
Now three of them shared the enchantment, and the invisible current between them surged. Mana recovery—quicker.
> [Shared Mana Recovery: +75%]
Ethan steadied himself, then pushed two of his stat points directly into his mana. A rush answered immediately.
> Mana: 4.0 → 6.0 [+2.0]
The flow was sharp. For the first time since entering the forest, he felt fully primed.
He clenched his hand, then raised it toward the wolves. "No holding back. Rip them apart."
The Black lupines didn't wait for another word. Their eyes glowed like coals as they lunged from the treeline, a blur of shadow and fangs. The ground shook with their charge.
Lirael sprang upward, vaulting into the branches with predatory grace, her bow already drawn. From the canopy, she had the high ground, her silhouette blending with the leaves.
Sylvie remained grounded, two soldiers flanking her like iron guardians as she advanced carefully. Her staff pulsed faintly with divine light, ready to mend flesh or bone.
Ethan's voice carried over the roar of wolves crashing into orc flesh. "Sylvie! Remember—you can heal them. Wolf or soldier, even dead, they're bound to me. Your light restores their shape, and it saves me mana."
Her eyes widened, Dead can heal? But she believed Ethan. "Yes, Master! I… I'll give them everything I can."
A storm of growls, war cries, and shattering bone erupted ahead as the battle began.
The first wolf hit like a boulder. Its jaws clamped around an unsuspecting orc's throat, snapping it clean before the brute even had time to roar. Blood sprayed, and in that instant, the entire village was alarmed.
Then chaos.
Orcs bellowed, grabbing their crude axes, spiked clubs, and jagged blades. Some scrambled half-drunk, others already foaming with rage. The clearing erupted into a frenzy as dozens of green-skinned savages surged toward the intruders.
Ethan was already moving. His blade whispered free, the edge gleaming faintly with reddish hue. He met the first rushing orc head-on—one clean swing split its chest from collar to gut. Another followed, and Ethan's foot crashed into its knee, caving it backward before his blade sheared its head clean off.
Orc Slain - 16,500 XP
The wolves tore through the ranks like living nightmares. One leapt, dragging an orc down by its shoulder, crunching bone with every bite. Another rammed two into the dirt, ripping and thrashing until the ground turned dark with gore. Their howls shook the clearing, drowning out the panicked shrieks of the dying.
Behind them, the soldiers advanced in formation. Though weaker than the wolves, they were relentless, disciplined. Two to Three surrounded a single orc at a time, spears piercing from every angle. Blades scraped and hacked, shields held firm against crude swings. For every soldier that staggered, another filled the gap.
An orc's axe cleaved into one Soldier's helm, shattering the head . Sylvie gasped, clutching her staff tighter.
"[Luminous Mend]!"
Light cascaded over the soldier, knitting broken mana-threads together. The Bloodied warrior's helm reformed, its stance steadying as though it had never faltered.
Again and again, Sylvie's magic flared. Wolves with torn flanks rose snarling once more, soldiers pierced through with spears stood again in silent defiance. Each time they should have drained Ethan's reserves to rebuild, Sylvie's healing cut the cost away, patching the summoned forms before they collapsed. Ethan felt the difference—his mana pool remained steady, even as the battlefield burned.
High above, Lirael's arrows whispered through the air. One shaft buried itself between an orc's eyes just as it was about to crush a soldier's skull. Another pinned a snarling brute to the dirt through its throat, cutting its war cry short. Each kill was precise, merciless, and before each arrow left her string, Ethan already knew where it would land.
Their link carried her voice to Ethan—flashes of movement, the angle of an orc's rush, the blind spot in their defenses. Ethan shifted his blade in perfect rhythm with her warnings, cutting down threats just as they appeared.
The orcs' numbers pressed harder. A hulking brute with tusks longer than a dagger roared, swinging a spiked mace. Ethan met it head-on, soldiers flanking to distract while his blade carved a line across its ribs. The wolf slammed into its back, dragging it to the ground as Ethan's sword pierced its skull.
Sylvie's voice carried through the din, breathless but steady. "Master! The left flank—three breaking through!"
Ethan didn't even look—his soldiers pivoted at his silent command, shields locking as spears bristled forward. Lirael's arrow immediately clipped one of the three in the leg, toppling it before it reached Sylvie. The wolves finished the rest.
The battle was brutal, but it was no contest. For every orc's roar, there was the crunch of bone under a wolf's jaws. For every blade that broke a soldier, Sylvie's light bound them whole again. And for every savage who thought to slip past, Ethan's sword or Lirael's arrows found them first.
The village of chaos was becoming a slaughterhouse.