Regardless of his thoughts, the figure didn't seem to care—it flashed the being attached to the barbs of its club to one side with unregarded brutality.
Before it began sizing Vance up in the.
Flashing a wicked small.
Its form suddenly tensed—as it took off in his direction with reckless abandon.
"Why is it so fast?" Vance grimaced, appraising the being again.
Panic was unfamiliar to him—an emotion he rarely entertained. But the sheer unpredictability of the situation and the hulking figure closing in forced him to act without a detailed plan.
Fight or run?
His choice was immediate.
Amidst the crackling flames of the surrounding buildings, mutilated bodies littering the streets, and the darkness of night blanketing the sky, he knew leaving the initiative to the green-skinned menace would narrow his already nonexistent chances of survival to nothing.
"Raghhhh!" A bellow echoed down the street as the orc charged, closing the distance in seconds.
Vance's injury-ridden body screamed for him to move, but before he could fully accelerate—before he could even outmaneuver the being—the beast was upon him, just five meters away, swinging its barbed club in a deadly arc.
"I don't think I can dodge," he thought, bracing himself as he raised his arms to cushion the behemoth's strike—planning to use the kinetic force to jump backward on impact.
It was illogical—his arms would likely become useless—but dodging was no longer an option.
Feeling his blood boil beneath his skin, he couldn't help but smile viciously. This was what he craved—the feeling of walking the thin line between life and death.
Then, amidst the brutal clash, a new sound erupted.
The hiss of a blade slicing through air—and flesh.
Vance blinked in disbelief as the orc's massive body staggered past him… then crumbled behind him with a wet thud. A fountain of dark green blood erupted from the corpse, painting the nearby walls with a misty hue.
Several deep, clean gashes lined its back.
"Hmm?"
The suddenness of the scene sent a jolt of terror through Vance.
"What was that?" he muttered. "Was that… a blade?"
The thought was absurd. Anyone who could effortlessly fell such a beast was akin to the Grim Reaper—especially given his current state.
He stumbled back, trying to create distance from this new force. A futile gesture—if whoever did this wanted him dead, he had no hope.
The pain returned with intensity. The adrenaline had run its course.
Steadying himself against a half-collapsed wall, Vance watched the street with narrowed eyes. Then, the rhythmic thuds of footsteps echoed through the haze. A silhouette slowly took form in the dim light.
"A knight?" he murmured, puzzled.
A soft chuckle followed, and a gentle voice corrected him.
"No… just an Ascendant."
The figure—a woman, he realized—stepped into view with unhurried grace. It wasn't arrogance—it was deliberate. She was letting him know she wasn't here to kill him.
She stood about 5'6", clad in strange silver armor. She stopped a few meters from him and calmly shook the blood from her short sword before sheathing it. Her wavy black hair framed her small build, and her luminous silver eyes—glowing faintly in the dark—studied him with quiet curiosity.
The knight's lithe figure was both imposing and oddly reassuring amid the eerie stillness.
"Are you just going to stare, or are you going to thank me?" she asked, voice smooth, breaking the tense silence.
Vance blinked.
The last few minutes had been chaos. From awakening to the fight, everything had unfolded too fast for him to fully process.
"Are you deaf?" she asked again, a slight edge of annoyance in her tone.
"No… I heard you," he muttered, lowering his gaze to the petite warrior.
"Was this really the one who killed the monster? How did she do it so quickly?"
His mind reeled with questions, but before he could speak, exhaustion crashed down on him like a tidal wave.
His vision blurred.
The world tilting in the process as gravity claimed him.
He collapsed—falling into the arms of the Ascendant.
***
Cecilia winced, glancing down at the boy now limp in her arms.
He looked about fifteen or sixteen—malnourished, barely clinging to life.
"I guess he really was on his last straw," she murmured. "What a lucky sprout… if I'd been a second later, there'd have only been two survivors left from this massacre."
Cradling him carefully, she turned from the battlefield and moved quickly toward the gathering point of her comrades.
The town was gone.
Flattened. Decimated.
Even for someone like Cecilia—well-acquainted with the brutality of orcs—the sight was unnerving. The terror etched into the faces of the fallen was beyond words. Couples lay cleaved apart, still holding hands. Children, torn to pieces, were strewn across the ground like discarded toys. Those who thought they'd hidden well were hunted down by the orcs' keen snouts.
Cecilia's breath caught.
She'd seen war. She'd seen horror.
But this?
This would stay with her.
She swallowed, hardening her resolve.
There would be vengeance for the innocent lives lost tonight.
With heavy steps and a heavier heart, she made her way toward the reinforcement squad's rally point.