What the Shell?, page 23
Oh, SHIT.
Phac gawked. That’s why these people are so short, it’s a different race altogether! Who would have guessed?
But Levels 27 and 21… Yorn is a Master. They’re supposed to be strong as hell, and Doris is pretty high-level, too. Can we handle them?
The answer came easy. Probably not.
Oreg had previously informed Phac about Masters. At Level 25, one’s Class could evolve, growing significantly stronger to the extent where a clear divide existed between Masters and mere Classed. The strongest of their group was Oreg at Level 23, but he wasn’t just four Levels below Yorn; he was an entire tier down.
At least, the rest of the adventurers weren’t as strong, ranging between Levels 5 and 10. Were Yorn and Doris training them?
“Heh. I will not surrender.”
Oreg’s deep, mocking voice rang out. Holding himself back for this long was already a superorcish achievement. “What are you gonna do, blind me with that mirror you call a head?”
“Heh.” Yorn, the bald adventurer, chuckled back. “Your kind truly is stupid beyond redemption. Didn’t you see that I’m a Master, orc?”
“A Master? Don’t make me laugh.” Oreg spat to the ground, baring his tusks. “You are the stupid one. Didn’t you see that I’m an orc, human?”
“Orc or not, a bounty is a bounty. We adventurers live to get rich or die trying.” Yorn bared his teeth.
“Everyone—” Phac turned to their own group while Oreg was busy mocking the adventurers, “get away while you still can! We can handle ourselves.”
“What about you?” Yorn turned to regard the rest of their party, ignoring Oreg. “Are you going to die with the orc, or will you surrender peacefully?”
“We drank and sang together last night, Yorn.” Phac grabbed the handle of his orange greatsword, Pincer. In one fluid movement, he brought it before his chest. “Can’t you let us go?”
“You didn’t have a bounty on your head last night. This is business. I’m sorry.”
Phac frowned. They were surrounded by armed and dangerous adventurers. He didn’t like this situation one bit.
“See? I told you,” Oreg cut in. “Looking good, but on the inside, they’re colder than their mother’s cunt. Adventurers are not to be trusted.”
“Except for Neville,” Phac replied, and Oreg laughed.
“That’s right. Except for Neville.”
The two men exchanged a glance worth a thousand words. Phac turned back to their group with a smile. “Run. Now.”
They didn’t need to be told twice.
The camp erupted into motion, all at once. Neville, Daryll, Ximea, and Maylin turned around and bolted away at top speed. Phac was ahead of them, his Crab Step instantly closing the distance to the adventurers. Their original position was already at the edge of the camp, so only two enemies stood between them and the trees.
The two of them raised their weapons to block, but Pincer blew right through their defenses to launch them at a nearby bush. The poor guys didn’t know what hit them.
“Run ahead!” shouted Phac, stopping to let the weaker four pass. “We’ll guard the rear. Oreg, hurry the phac up!”
“I’m trying!” The orc bellowed, his boots digging into the soil as he rushed for them, but he was slow. He wasn’t built for speed.
A silver light appeared on Oreg’s side. He barely had time to block before getting catapulted sideways, flying through a series of tents until he crashed into something metallic, falling to the ground close to Phac with the sound of collapsing crates. He instantly rose to his feet; then, he froze as he looked around.
Animal cries suddenly filled everyone’s ears. Oreg was surrounded by metal cages housing all sorts of animals, many of them thrown to the ground from when he rammed into them. The tent’s remains lay all around him, ruined by his crash, and Oreg himself stood still, his face warped into a hateful visage.
“Poachers.” He spat the word out like an insult.
“So what?” Yorn stepped forth, his axe glowing silver. “You’ll die anyway.”
“You are ruining my forest!” Oreg shouted back, his green knuckles whitening around the handle of his greataxe.
Phac held his breath. Animals!
He didn’t know how the animals’ cries had been blocked before—probably magic in the tent walls—but it didn’t matter. These guys were poachers, people who illegally captured animals for Level farming, and Oreg’s most hated enemy.
Phac blinked, and in the very next moment, his shock intensified. One of the cages held a silver fox and four cubs, and they were all staring at him. He knew this fox; it was the one he’d helped before, the one whose leg he’d fixed after saving it from the boar, and the one who’d given him his very first meal in this world, at least as far back as he could remember.
Oh, no…
Phac felt rage and resignation well up inside him. He exchanged another look with Oreg, and they both knew.
An adventurer reached Phac, slashing his sword down. Phac ducked out of the way, then rotated his waist and planted a solid fist in the other man’s face, cracking bones as he sent him flying back like a broken kite.
“You fucked up real bad,” he muttered, yet everyone heard him. His heart was fire and his mind ice. A grin surfaced on his lips, and his eyes opened wide. Suddenly, Pincer felt light, ready to smash some heads.
Before, they were hunted, so they ran. They had no reason to fight. Now…now, they did.
“Are you not afraid, human?” Oreg smirked at Phac, his eyes filled with the same battle fever.
“Why, are you?”
“Heh.” Oreg chuckled. “To give my life for the forest…not too bad a death, is it?”
“No.” Phac’s grin intensified. The adventurers stepped back. “It’s not.”
“Hah! I knew I was right about you!”
“What are you doing, idiots?” shouted Yorn, gazing at his hesitating troops. “Surround them!”
Phac and Oreg stood side-by-side. An orc wielding a red-bladed greataxe and a human holding an irregular greatsword. Both were warriors, both had cold eyes and burning hearts. Each of them adopted a battle stance, staring down a dozen adventurers. A cold wind blew, making leaves, tents, and clothes flutter.
They were two friends ready to fight side-by-side. Phac and Oreg grinned. The adventurers gulped.
“You should run,” Phac spoke to the others without turning around. “This is not your fight. Go!”
Maylin and Ximea exchanged a look but didn’t speak.
“Hahaha!” a burst of laughter came from the plate-clad, middle-aged priest as he stepped forth, standing just behind Phac. “If I abandon my life’s saviors like this, then I do not deserve to live in the first place! My old bones may not be worth much but count me in!”
“I…” Neville gritted his teeth. “I will fight! You saved my life; I’m not running away! This is not what I came here for!”
“You’re an adventurer, boy.” Yorn raised a brow. “You’re supposed to side with us.”
“Fuck you!” Neville shouted, his cheeks red as he drew his trusty old sword, his blond hair already sweaty.
“I will fight, too!” Maylin spoke out, encouraged by Daryll and Neville. “You saved my life.”
“Maylin!” Ximea intervened, but, seeing that the girl wasn’t even looking at her, her eyes went dark.
“Hahaha, at least you have solidarity,” said Yorn as he laughed while the adventurers looked on, preparing themselves to fight. “You’re wanted dead or alive, just so you know.”
“At least we’re wanted by someone, you asshole!” Maylin screamed, and Yorn raised a brow.
“Suit yourself,” he replied. “Men!”
At his command, the adventurers took a step forth. Now, the group was surrounded through and through. Phac and Oreg grinned at each other.
“I’m not paid enough for this…” Ximea muttered to herself, drawing her daggers. She, Maylin, Neville, and Daryll kept close to each other in something very faintly resembling a defensive formation. They knew they were weak. Their hopes were on Phac and Oreg.
“What a great day!” Oreg laughed, his orange eyes staring aggressively at Yorn while baring his tusks. “I get to rid the forest of some filth! What a great day!”
“Same here.” Yorn snarled, staring right back at the orc. “Attack!”
But before the adventurers could even move, Phac and Oreg, with an almost imperceptible nod, had already burst into motion, by now used to working together. The orc rushed for Yorn while the human rushed backward to assist their weaker team of four.
“I will handle the ugly one,” shouted Oreg as he approached Yorn, who had a mocking smile on his face and wasn’t ugly at all, “you do everything else!”
Right as Oreg charged at the adventurer leader, Phac charged at the back of the encirclement with a nod. Even as the battle-ready adventurers reacted, Phac was already upon them, swinging. It wasn’t his first time using Pincer—he’d practiced during the zombie hunting—but having no training, he was still an amateur with the weapon. Thankfully, it looked like his high attributes could make up for the lack of skill.
Swinging Pincer’s backside—the back was hard, the front was sharp—he broke through the first two adventurers he met, smashing them in the chest and throwing them on the ground, the sound of breaking bones accompanying their fall. He’d tried his best not to kill them; in a time that seemed like ages ago but wasn’t more than a few days, back when he’d killed his first few crabs in the moss-covered tunnels, he’d sworn to not kill unless needed. Life had seemed too precious at the time and, well, it still did.
Not that he would take stupid risks; he hit strong enough to surely incapacitate them, and if they died, so be it.
That was easy! he exclaimed inwardly, rotating to attack another three opponents. Of those, two attempted to block his wild swing and, failing, subsequently fell to the ground, unable to move. One of them, a bearded dwarf, managed to duck under his strike and slice at his thigh with an axe.
Before Phac could do anything, the attack easily went through his clothes and cut right into his leg…inflicting nothing but a shallow, barely bleeding wound. Phac only had to take a single step back to neutralize the force as the dwarf stared at his axe in disbelief. Thank you, Crab Shell! Maybe I really am invincible now!
Mowing down another group of enemies, including the annoying dwarf, Phac turned to regard the group of four by his side. They were doing considerably well, none having backed away, either due to his overwhelming performance or being surrounded.
Neville and Ximea sported a few bleeding wounds, so he thought he’d move to cover them. He’d originally opted not to bundle together with the group and just help occupy their enemies, but since the battle looked easier than expected, he might as well assist more directly. Oreg could handle himself. Right?
Sparing a glance, the orc was embroiled in a heated battle with the adventurer leader, Yorn, their axes colliding again and again as a silver light circled the two men. In his brief glance, Phac couldn’t really tell what was going on, but his friend should be able to handle this. He had faith.
By now, the clearing had turned into an agitated nest of ants, bodies frantically moving in many different directions and occasionally clashing with each other. The morning etherealness gave a sense of surrealness to the fight, the cries of the caged animals accompanied by the screams and shouts of battle. Bodies littered the ground as over half the adventurers had fallen, most by Phac’s hands, but some by the group’s combined efforts, who seemed capable of at least holding their own.
However, what worried Phac was that the purple-haired dwarf, Doris, had not made a move thus far. He’d been keeping an eye on her as much as he could, but she seemed to merely be watching—or waiting for an opportunity.
Suddenly, she seemed to have made up her mind. Smooth purple light surrounded her hands, extending to form a bar that quickly solidified into an iron spear as long as she was tall. Her gaze fell on Phac as she adopted a battle stance.
She can create weapons!? I had to rip out a crab’s bone!
A mighty war cry from Oreg’s side snapped his attention, as he’d never heard the orc shout like that. Looking over, Oreg was panting and seemed injured, blood running down his right leg. However, that wasn’t what shocked Phac. From all over the orc’s body, thin plumes of dark steam were rising, as if his insides were on fire!
What the hell is that!?
“When you meet your God,” Oreg spoke slowly, and his voice brimmed with confidence, “tell him you were slain by Oreg the orc.”
Whatever Skill that is, it’s badass!
Phac saw the orc charge at great speed and attack Yorn, pelting him with heavy strikes. He inwardly heaved a sigh of relief. Oreg seemed to be winning.
And he had a battle to fight, too. Turning to the dwarf, he saw her…running toward Oreg and Yorn!?
That bitch! What happened to single combat!?
Cursing, Phac charged behind her with a hasty Crab Step, smashing Pincer’s hard backside on the backs of two more people on the way. Only a few of the adventurers were left standing by now, besides Doris and Yorn. Neville, Maylin, Ximea, and Daryll would handle them.
They’d better be able to because Oreg needed his help, and the orc was much more important to Phac than the ragtag bunch they’d rescued from the tower. Even if Oreg was winning, it couldn’t be easy. The spear dwarf being added to the mix might spell disaster.
A moment earlier,
With a booming sound, Oreg’s crimson greataxe once again collided with Yorn’s, and the orc was pushed back but straightened himself right away. This had already happened a few times before, their battle dragging them away from where Phac and the others fought the rest of the adventurers. Hopefully, they could manage, because Oreg couldn’t afford to help them.
Steadying himself, he raised his eyes, meeting the bare-chested, fur-wearing man’s calm stare. This human was strong. Stronger than Oreg, probably—as expected of a Master, even though he shouldn’t reach the level of the orc Warchiefs.
“Well?” asked the human smugly, swinging his silver, wood-chopping axe in a circle. “Is that all you have, orc?”
Against this despicable man’s taunts, a man who regularly murdered innocent animals for strength or captured them for money, Oreg’s vision went red.
“BOR’GAH!” he roared, once again charging. That was the orc way.
Out of habit, Oreg activated Crushing Strike, his only attacking skill that could be used in conjunction with a greataxe. Most were based on traps or using a bow and arrow; at the end of the day, Oreg was a Hunter.
But Yorn didn’t back down. With a roar, he charged straight at Oreg, he too activating some Skill as his silver axe suddenly glowed with silver light.
Once again, their weapons collided, the greataxe’s enhanced strength striking the glowing silver axe. With a resounding boom, Oreg was tossed backward, barely managing to keep his balance.
This human…is dangerous.
This time, Oreg didn’t charge right away, taking a better look at the human instead, searching for weak points. He had a Skill for that. There were weak spots in the man’s stance, of course—there always were—but they were few and small. This was an experienced warrior, and seeing that, Oreg’s opinion of his opponent rose a notch. Adventurer or not, a proper warrior was due some respect.
Suddenly, the silver light radiating from the man’s axe coalesced into a ball, floating out of the axe before proceeding to rotate around him. Looking closely, it wasn’t a ball; it was an object that resembled a half-moon, radiating silver light in a sphere around it.
“Blasted sorcery!” Oreg harrumphed. Magic was not the weapon of a true warrior. His respect for Yorn crumbled immediately.
“This is the moon spirit, orc. Ever heard of it? Your kind reveres it, and now it’s in my blade.” Yorn laughed, and Oreg snorted.
“What do you know about spirits? The true moon spirit would never lower itself to assist the likes of you.”
“Wouldn’t it? I thought I would know, being a totem warrior.” The man smiled mockingly, then brought his weapon in a fighting stance, the small half-moon still rotating around him. “Come!”
For a brief moment, Oreg’s determination faltered. This human had proven his strength in frontal combat, and even with Detect Weakness, he couldn’t see any exploitable weak spots in the man. This battle would probably end in Oreg’s death.
But immediately, his orange eyes hardened. So what if he was the weaker one? He would fight! And, if push came to shove…he had something to rely on.
“BOR’GAH!” roared Oreg, but this time, he didn’t charge. Instead, he slowly closed the distance, keeping his eyes glued on Yorn’s. He couldn’t win in brute strength, nor could he see any weak points, but there was still skill to be tested. Oreg would be damned if he, who had been fighting almost since birth, wasn’t the most experienced warrior of the two!
“Heh.” Yorn snickered, lunging out, but seeing his approach, Oreg snickered, too. This wasn’t a proper stance.
He raised his greataxe and parried, but before he even had time to strike back, a silver light shone at the edge of his vision. Oreg ducked reflexively, the small half-moon zooming over his head at great speed, whistling as it split the air.
Oreg grunted. That fake spirit can fight, too!
He no longer had the opportunity to attack. All he could do was bring his greataxe back in position to block another hit of the bald human, but this time, their weapons stuck together, pushing against each other—and before Oreg had time to disengage, the floating half-moon had already rammed into his arm, an ice-cold, penetrating pain accompanying the impact.
“Gah!” Oreg couldn’t help but grunt as the pain threatened to make his hand go loose, but he couldn’t afford that; Yorn’s axe was still pushing.
With a roar, Oreg poured more strength into his arms, pushing the man away as he also took a step back, barely dodging the half-moon that was already trying to ram him again. Taking a few steps back, Oreg checked his arm. Where the fake spirit had struck him, a black patch was burned into his leather armor from the cold, and the arm underneath hurt and shivered like hell. That half-moon carried the power of cold. He should avoid it. Easier said than done.
