The Human From a Dungeon

Agurno

Adventurer Level: 152

Orc – Kirkenian

The daemon commander flew back under the weight of my punch, but just as quickly jumped to his feet. My fist had split his face, and likely cracked his skull, but his regeneration ensured that it hadn't been a killing blow. That damned regeneration ability had finally begun to slow down, though.

I noticed that everything seemed a little brighter and stole a glance at the sky. The sun had begun to peek over the horizon, signaling the beginning of a new day. I'd lost count of how many times the sun had watched our fight.

"Was it four or five?" I asked quietly.

The daemon lunged forward and I raised Gramr to block the slash at my neck and countered with a kick that sent him flying back again. The lunge had been noticeably slower than it had before, too. The daemon was getting tired.

Indefatigable was one of my many, many titles. I kind of found it funny that whenever someone hears it, they think that I'd been in a fight that lasted many days without sleep. In truth, I'd earned it in Billocast by drinking most of the town under the table in one sitting. It took eight days, as some of the more stubborn tavern-goers came back for seconds.

Four or five days, maybe six, wasn't enough to make me slow down by much. I would definitely sleep for a day or two afterwards, but I could keep going for a few more days. Thankfully, though, it wasn't looking like I'd have to.

"Kill the fuckee!" one of the kobolds cheered.

"Fucker," one of the other kobolds corrected in a posh tone. "A fuckee is one who is fucked."

"How what I say wrong, then?"

I couldn't help but wonder about the kobolds. Never mind where they came from or why they were helping the town fight off the daemons. I'm sure there was a reasonable explanation for that. No, something else about them had grabbed my attention.

Everyone else had been watching nervously, cheering me on now and again. The kobolds, though, had shed their nerves the moment that Hir-whatsit began to slow down. That would indicate a level of battle-wisdom that one would expect from a seasoned adventurer or soldier, though. Perhaps a cultural thing?

I glanced at the crowd and noticed that there were more armed people watching than there had been previously, as well. It took a second to piece together that they were probably reinforcements from nearby. The mayor had done well to deploy them subtly.

The daemons hadn't moved since the fight started, but mortals aren't capable of that level of stoicism... Usually. As such, the villagers had taken shifts resting and watching the fight. The mayor probably had someone greeting the reinforcements and assigning them to groups that were already on rest.

A wise move, because if the daemons caught on that their numbers advantage was dwindling...

"WHERE ARE YOU LOOKING?!" the daemon commander screamed.

I instinctively shifted to the side and felt his sword bite into the flesh of my torso. The lower left portion, to be specific. He'd thrown the sword, causing me to misjudge my dodge. Annoyingly, he'd also made a fair point regarding my attention. More tired than I'd thought, then.

I relaxed my abdominals and carefully pulled the sword free. My intestines and abs were damaged, but the side-step had likely saved my spine. I clenched my muscles once again and dropped the sword at my feet.

"Laeh tsac," I muttered, holding a hand over the injury.

The healing spell didn't fix everything, but it put things back in the position they were supposed to be in and shut the skin over the wound. My skills would have to do the rest while I continued to fight. With a grin, I beckoned the daemon commander forward with a goading middle finger.

He took the bait with a roar and leapt at me once again, this time with balled fists instead of a sword. I stood my ground, which the daemon didn't expect, and ended up face to face with him. I kneed him in the gut, which doubled him over.

He used the momentum to roll, narrowly avoiding being carved in half by Gramr, and managed to grab his sword. My next swing was parried, but before he could seize the initiative I decked him in the mouth. The sound of his jaw cracking was drowned out by the cheers from the kobolds.

Only his jaw this time. There was no doubt that I was getting a little tired. The daemon leapt back and smiled at me with his broken mouth. A grotesque expression.

"Yor thire ring owl," he said.

"Perhaps you should wait for your jaw to regenerate before you begin monologuing," I yawned, carefully keeping my eyes on him.

He grabbed his jaw and held it in its proper place.

"You. Are. Getting. Tired," he managed to say.

Then something clicked in that tiny, muddled mind. His bemused, cocky expression was replaced with a hint of confusion. Then his eyes widened in realization.

"Yes, but so are you," I grinned.

Then I activated Time Dilation, Dash, and Hundred Slashes simultaneously. One who is uneducated in the ways of fighting might be easily convinced that this combination of skills was meant to be a finisher. However, it's usually used as an opening salvo, causing its deployment mid-fight to be rather unexpected.

His sword managed to block twelve of the slashes, his armor managed another thirty before finally cracking and giving way. I lost another eight slashes to accuracy. Only fifty of the slashes managed to bite into his flesh.

But both the arm and the sword behind those slashes were strong. The daemon lost a hand, then an arm, then a leg, then another arm, and finally his head. I shook the blood off of Gramr and took a step back.

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The reason for my retreat is that there were two things that I needed to ensure. The first was that his voice remained silent. If he gave the command for the daemons to attack, it might give him enough chaos to escape his inevitable demise.

The second thing I needed to ensure was that it appeared as if he might still win to the onlookers. If the daemons realized that their commander was doomed, they might try to rescue him. In either case, if he managed to escape the daemons would keep attacking the town until it finally fell.

Though... They might do that anyway.

I watched as the daemon commander's regeneration slowly put him back together. The moment his throat closed, I slashed it again. He counterattacked and managed to slice my shoulder, but not very deep. I couldn't help but grin, though.

The counterattack had been fast enough that he had to have been expecting me to cut his throat. That meant that he knew my plan, which meant he knew the predicament he was in. He knew, and he was terrified.

His off-hand curled around his throat and he opened his mouth. His blade slid up defensively, but I grabbed it with my off-hand and shoved Gramr through his open maw. His hands went limp as my sword pierced his spine. I kicked him off of my blade and slashed his chest as he fell, opening it once again.

"At this rate, your organs are going to get a tan," I laughed.

He rose to his knees and gurgled, probably trying to snarl. I could see in his eyes that we both knew that the end of the battle was drawing near, though. I had the advantage, too, and I wasn't about to let it slip.

We'd both been struck and opened dozens of times. He had rapid regeneration and a vast pool of magic to draw from. My regeneration was slow, but I was the better sword-fighter. My wounds had been relatively superficial compared those I gave him, which would have been lethal to any mortal.

On top of his near-constant regeneration draining his magic pool, Gramr had been chipping away at it as well. It was almost a shame to let him die without revealing the cause of his demise. I wasn't about to start monologuing and give him a chance to turn the tables, though.

He could figure it out after his return to the hells.

"YEAH! GO FAT ORC! YOU GOTS HIM!" one of the kobolds shouted.

"He not fat, just big," another kobold said.

"What differences?"

"Fat is round."

"But fat is big?"

"No... Well... Yes, but big isn't always fat."

"Ohhh, okay. SORRY FA- Uh... BIG ORC! YOU'S NOT FAT!"

The kobolds were beginning to grow on me. Not only did they have a keen eye for combat, but they were fairly decent at comic relief. It's too bad that most mortals wouldn't survive the jobs I took, or I'd consider taking one on as a companion.

In the time it took for that exchange, however, the daemon commander had regained his footing and was holding his sword in a defensive stance. He was hoping to defend against me long enough to regenerate his esophagus. Cute.

"Onrefni tsac!" I said, raising a hand.

Once again, intense flames clung to the daemon's body. His meat turned to charcoal and fell from his bones in chunks. I'd been using the spell sparingly, so as to make it a surprise each time it happened.

As the daemon struggled to regenerate, I took a deep breath and recentered myself. I was tired, but not quite at my limits. Pushing myself to try to end the fight faster would probably bring me there, though.

That was another difference between the daemon and I. His swings were brutal, but wild and reflexive. Mine were calculated and efficient. He'd been trying to sprint to the finish of the fight, but I'd been taking it slow and steady.

"Huh..." I muttered to myself.

'What is it?' Gramr asked.

"I feel as if I've stumbled across some wisdom."

'Oh? Good, you've been in desperately short supply. Care to share your wisdom, oh brutish orc?'

"Slow and steady wins the sword-fight," I grumbled, resisting the urge to smack Gramr against the ground.

'Ah. Yes, I suppose that IS wise. Unless you're fighting a dragon, in which case speed is essential.'

"I said sword-fight. Dragons don't wield swords."

'Not that YOU know of. Also, is it just me, or is he taking longer to regenerate than last time?'

The daemon's organs hadn't even fully reformed.

"It's not just you," I grinned, then paused. "What's his name again?"

'You've already forgotten? So much for wisdom. He introduced himself as Hirgarus the Decimator.'

"Right," I sighed.

Hirgarus grew enough flesh to sit up and turn to the daemons, but I quickly kicked him back down. Gramr once more carved through his neck, severing his head entirely, and then it was over. Hirgarus the Decimator stopped regenerating.

Before anyone could react, I cast Inferno again, cremating the remains on the spot. Then I looked up at the daemon army, most of whom were stunned. One daemon in fancy armor didn't look stunned, though.

He looked smug.

"Congratulations, Agurno the Living Legend," the daemon said, stepping forward. "You have done the impossible and killed Hirgarus the Decimator. That's quite the blade you have there."

'Thank you,' Gramr said.

"Shh," I whispered.

"I am Thalomus the Immolator, and I believe that such an accomplishment is deserving of a reward," the daemon gave me a courteous bow. "Perhaps a day of rest before we recommence our battle?"

"I think I'd prefer if you lot returned to the hells from whence you came," I replied, cracking my neck. "I'm sure the defeat of this pile of ash would be enough justification to save face with your commander."

"Perhaps. Though I fear our commander is a bit less impressionable than what you're likely used to. He gave us an order, you see, and wouldn't consider the death of one daemon to be nearly enough justification for us to disobey him, no matter whom that daemon happened to be. He said that we must take this town, so I'm afraid that we simply MUST take this town."

"You will struggle."

"That is not an alien concept to us, as you can imagine. When our mortal forms perish, we return to the hells and reform. Then we return to fight once more. While I doubt Hirgarus will be able to any time soon, the majority of us will keep coming back. Over and over and over again, until every last defender has died or surrendered. Then we'll capture those that remain and wait for the orcs to arrive."

I needed another few moments to regain my stamina. Ideally, a couple of days rest as well as food and drink. A breather would have to do, and this new enemy seemed keen on talking my ears off. So I decided to let him.

"And what makes you believe that you won't be completely annihilated by the armies of the Unified Chiefdoms?" I asked.

"Why, by using a tactic as old as warfare itself! A simple ambush," the daemon grinned, and his face morphed into that of an elf.

A disguise? If all of them could do that, they'd definitely take my brother's forces by surprise. Still one flaw in the plan, though.

"Ah, I see. A tactic with enough deviousness to be worthy of the denizens of the hells. And what's preventing my brother's forces from finding out about your plan?" I asked.

"We're not ignorant enough to believe that there haven't been people who've fled, but they've fled into the Empire of Calkuti," Thalomus explained. "It will take them weeks, perhaps even months, to bypass the terrain here and enter the Unified Chiefdoms. Even if they were to try other means of warning the Chiefdoms, said warning would arrive too late. By then we'll have dealt a hefty blow and taken up a defensive position, delaying their reinforcement of your dwarven allies."

"Clever. Too clever, perhaps, for it relies heavily on timing. What if the emperor doesn't request aid?"

"Oh, he will. But on the off chance that he delays that request, if we don't see the orcs approaching within a certain timeframe we'll abandon our plans of ambush and simply take up defensive positions. Either way, I'm afraid we need to take this town."

"Oh, so it IS a clever plan," I chuckled, shifting my weight subtly. "It's such a shame that it didn't account for me."

The moment I finished my sentence, I lunged, intending to take the daemon's head. He blocked my slash and smirked, an expression which disappeared the moment my knee made contact with his groin. I grabbed his sword arm by the wrist and squeezed, crushing the bones within.

This caused his sword to fall to the ground and Gramr to bite deep into his collar. Thalomus winced with pain, then his eyes widened with what could only be horror. He leapt back, holding the wound I'd inflicted.

"RETREAT!" he commanded, and ran away.

I remained in place, stunned by the attitude shift. The daemons were also stunned, but quickly followed their commander. I came to the realization that Thalomus must have deduced what Gramr was capable of, and was deathly afraid of being struck by it again. This made me wonder what he had originally thought the sword could do, but it wasn't as if I was going to go ask him.

Once the daemons were out of sight, I sighed and sat on the cold, hard ground and cheers rang out all around me.