NOVEL NEXT Chapter 143: Orc Warlord
The clash raged, but no matter how many orcs fell, more kept pouring from crude huts and dens. Their snarls grew louder, their eyes bloodshot with frenzy. For every one torn down by wolves, three more pushed forward, hacking with rusted blades and clubs.
Ethan's brow furrowed. This isn't going anywhere…
Then, the thought struck him. A spark.
He stilled himself, shutting out the screams, the clashing steel, even the smell of blood. For one heartbeat, he reached deeper. He could feel it—threads of fire, water, wind, and earth swirling all around him, eager to obey. His hands came together, and he pulled.
Heat gathered in his palm. A sphere of flame began to form, at first flickering, unstable. He pressed harder, forcing more and more of the fire element into it. It followed his will as naturally has it seemed, like it was meant for Ethan to control them. Sweat beaded his brow, his breath slowing as he focused everything.
The orb deepened in color. From red… to orange… and finally, a burning cerulean. The flames swirled tight, dense, vibrating with restrained fury.
Ethan's eyes sharpened. "Go."
He hurled it forward.
"That...that took way more mana than I espected..."
The orb streaked across the battlefield like a comet. The orcs barely had time to register before it smashed into one of them. For half a second, silence—then an earth-rending detonation.
BOOOOM!
Flame erupted outward in a ten-meter sphere. Orcs were hurled screaming, their flesh blackened, their bodies torn apart. Those caught in the center were reduced to smoldering husks in an instant.
The air shook. Smoke, blood, and fire rippled across the clearing.
> Orcs Killed × 8 – 114,500 XP
Ethan stared at his hand, chest heaving. Damn… that… that was powerful.
Lirael's voice pierced through their link, sharp with disbelief. "Ethan! What was that?! That power—!"
Sylvie followed, her tone bursting with awe. "Master! So strong! I've never seen such magic!"
Ethan let out a low laugh, half-exhilarated, half-stunned. "Heh… even I'm shocked. Looks like I've been holding back. Maybe it's time to use magic more often."
The blast had done more than kill—it shattered the orcs' will. Many froze, their eyes wide with primal fear. Some snarled weakly, but more began to retreat, stumbling and shoving each other in panic.
The tide was breaking.
But before Ethan could press the advantage, a shadow loomed.
WHOOOSH—CRASH!
A massive cleaver came down, the blade wider than Ethan's torso. He barely managed to raise his sword in time.
BOOOOM!
The impact rang like thunder, sparks erupting as steel met steel. Ethan's arms screamed under the force, and the ground cratered beneath his feet. The sheer power flung him backward like a ragdoll.
He smashed into a tree trunk with bone-jarring force, the wood splintering on impact. Bark and dust exploded around him as he tumbled to the ground.
Pain shot through his body, but worse was the sudden silence in his lungs—air knocked clean out of him.
"Ethan!!" Lirael's voice ripped through his mind, sharp with fear.
"Master!" Sylvie cried, her staff flaring as she stumbled forward.
Through the haze, Ethan's eyes lifted.
And there it was—towering above the battlefield, stepping out from the smoke. A massive orc, nearly twice the size of the rest. Its muscles rippled like stone, and the cleaver it wielded looked like a butcher's blade forged for a giant. Its tusks gleamed wet with saliva as it roared, shaking the air.
The true leader had arrived.
[Inspect]
Target: Orc Warlord
Level: 51
Strength: 66
Vitality: 54
Constitution: 61
Agility: 46
Stamina: 51
Intelligence: 36
Mana: 38
The system window flickered across Ethan's vision. His jaw tightened.
Sylvie's staff blazed again as she channeled every drop she had left. Greenish light wrapped around Ethan, knitting torn muscle and closing gashes. His ribs, which had screamed with every breath, steadied. His stance straightened.
"Ethan! That's… that's an Orc Warlord!" Lirael's voice cracked across their link, sharp with urgency. "That's Rank A! We should run—now!"
Ethan exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulder. The ache dulled under Sylvie's spell. He spared her a glance. "Thanks, Sylvie. You saved me big time."
Her cheeks flushed even in the chaos. "Anything for you, Master!"
But before another word could pass, the ground thundered. A lupine roared and hurled itself at the Warlord, fangs bared and eyes burning with vengeance. Another followed, claws digging furrows into the dirt as they lunged.
The Warlord snarled, cleaver raised, eager to meet them.
Around them, the battlefield had changed. The once-swarming orcs were now broken. Most had fled in terror after Ethan's explosion, while the few stragglers were already being cut down—phantom soldiers skewering them, or Lirael's arrows silencing them with cold precision.
Now, only the Warlord remained.
Ethan couldn't help the grin tugging at his lips. "Looks like our new friends don't agree with retreat."
He reached out mentally. "Lirael, just to be sure…"
Her reply came instantly. "Yes, Ethan?"
"How much does an intact Orc Warlord corpse fetch?"
A pause—then disbelief laced her tone. "You actually plan to kill it? Well… it's A-rank, lower tier. About ten gold normally, but if it's intact—fifteen. Maybe even twenty for the rarity if we deliver it whole, innards and all."
Ethan chuckled, tightening his grip on his blade as the Warlord roared again, meeting the lupine's charge. "Well then… looks like we'll be feasting tonight."
The clash was monstrous. The Warlord swung, its cleaver cleaving air like a hurricane. The first lupine dodged by a whisker, claws raking the monster's thigh and drawing a spray of blood. The second lunged for its throat, only to be swatted midair, body smashing into the dirt with bone-rattling force. Another cleaver slash came crashing down, this time the female wolf was cut in half but soon golden energy enveloped the cut part and it knitted back together within seconds.
Ethan took his stance and surged forward, blade flashing. Sparks erupted as steel met steel—his weapon intercepting the Warlord's cleaver, the impact shaking his arms to the bone.
His mana burned like wildfire. Every soldier and wolf tethered to him drew sustenance, every wound tugging at his reserves. He felt the drain sharply, his vision pulsing at the edges.
Sylvie saw it too. Her staff glowed faintly in her trembling hands, lips parted. She wanted to pour more healing, but her reserves were almost dry. She had been holding her last embers for Ethan alone. Whenever she felt her mana had recovered a bit extra after Ethan reserves she helped the wolfs to heal.
The rings played a mojor role in this battle.
The air rang with fury. Wolves howled, soldiers stabbed and hacked, and Ethan pressed forward step by brutal step. The Warlord fought like a storm, but even storms eroded. Cuts were forming across its flesh, arrows jutting from its hide where Lirael found openings.
The fight wasn't just survival anymore. It was a gamble—a razor's edge between ruin and a reward worth risking everything.
And Ethan's eyes gleamed with the thrill of it.