Chapter 27 – A Gamble for Glory
Ethan's eyes darted between the rampaging ogres and the scattered adventurers.
Three on them… the two B-ranks can hold them off if they coordinate. That leaves two others roaming free.
He clenched his jaw.
I could take one. Risky… their stats are insane. But if I pull it off, the system won't just notice—it'll reward me.
At the edge of his vision, the faint flicker of an interface caught his eye.
[System Quest] – Stand Above the Rest
Objective: Become the most notable contributor in the raid.
Progress: 19%
Rewards: +20 Stat Points, 4000 SP, Duskfang – Shadowforged Longblade
The name alone sent a thrill through him. That's enough to push me into the lower B-rank tier… if I survive.
Decision made. He scanned the ogres' stat windows—brutal strength, but sluggish agility and pitiful intelligence. That's my opening.
Drawing in a breath, he bellowed over the chaos.
"Sir Wolf! I can handle one ogre!"
Wolf, the B-ranked leader, was locked in a tense exchange of blows. His jaw tightened at Ethan's words. The kid's deduction was spot-on—three ogres could be stalled by himself and the other B-rank, but the remaining two would be free to slaughter half the group. And with panic setting in, even two stray ogres could turn this raid into a massacre.
He didn't have the luxury to argue.
"If you can do that," Wolf growled, eyes locked on Ethan, "I'll see to it you're promoted straight to C-rank. No questions."
The words cut through the din. Adventurers froze, disbelief flashing in their eyes. The other B-rank even paused mid-swing, almost missing a counterstrike. But the more they thought about it, the more it made sense—if Ethan truly could take down an ogre, he'd more than earned the badge.
Wolf turned back to the mob, voice rising like a war drum.
"You heard him! We take three! Goblin Slayer takes one! And the rest of you—" he jabbed a finger toward the last ogre "—thirty against one! Show me the spine of a true adventurer! No fear—only steel!"
A ripple of energy tore through the group. Blades tightened in hands. Shields came up. The shouts that followed weren't panicked anymore—they were a battle cry.
The air thickened with the scent of dust and sweat as the battle lines shifted. Wolf and the other B-rank surged forward to intercept their three targets, while thirty adventurers swarmed toward the last ogre with a roar.
That left Ethan's.
The brute loomed ahead—nearly two and a half meters tall, its muscles knotted like tree roots under rough gray skin. Two tusks jutted upward from its lower jaw, and in its massive hands, a club the size of a cart axle gleamed with dried blood.
Strength monstrous. Agility—low. Intelligence—none.
The ogre's small, beady eyes locked on him, and it let out a guttural bellow that rattled his ribs.
Ethan's grip tightened on his weapon. Duskfang… soon.
The monster came at him in a thunder of footfalls, each step leaving cracks in the ground. Ethan sidestepped the first wide sweep of its club, the wind of the strike ripping at his cloak. He pivoted, loosing a Magic Arrow at its thigh—not powerful enough to pierce deep, but timed to make the ogre flinch just as it raised its foot for another charge.
It stumbled—only for Ethan to realize he'd positioned himself in range of a backhand.
The blow caught him across the ribs like a battering ram, the impact jolting up his spine. He crashed to one knee, coughing through a haze of pain. Two ribs… maybe three. Keep moving.
The ogre raised its club high, but Ethan rolled aside, the weapon slamming into the dirt where he'd been a heartbeat earlier. He sprung up, firing three Magic Arrows in rapid succession—two into its calf, one into its wrist. The beast roared, its grip faltering just long enough for Ethan to dart in and slash at its hamstring.
Black blood spattered his face. The ogre staggered, then swung wildly with its free hand. Ethan ducked under it, jabbing his blade into the back of its knee before kicking off to retreat.
It came at him in fury, but now its steps were uneven, slower.
That was all he needed.
He baited another overhead smash, dodged at the last second, and as the club bit into the ground, his blade hacked hard at its wrist. Bone cracked. The weapon tumbled from the ogre's grip with a heavy thud.
Both of them bled and heaved for breath now—one from rage, the other from sheer willpower.
Before either could finish the other, a bellow in the distance drew Ethan's gaze.
The two B-ranked adventurers fought like a living wall, moving in flawless rhythm—one feinting to open a gap, the other driving his weapon in deep. Three ogres circled them, but one now limped heavily, its side torn open and blood pouring down its flank. The end of that fight was already in sight.
Ethan's eyes shifted to the thirty adventurers.
One word—messy.
It wasn't a fight—it was chaos. The ogre towered over them like a lion among dogs, batting warriors aside with single swipes. Shields splintered. Steel glanced off its hide. Some adventurers screamed orders, others screamed in pain. Three bodies lay crumpled on the ground, unmoving, as their comrades dragged them away with frantic shouts.
But something was off.
This wasn't just incompetence.
The ogre's movements were sharper, its swings faster, its recovery frighteningly quick.
Ethan's eyes narrowed, the interface shimmering in his vision as he triggered an inspection.
[Ogre (Mutated)]
STR: 35
VIT: 32
CON: 34
AGI: 31
STA: 33
INT: 12
MANA: 8
Holy…!! Ethan's breath caught. That's not normal. Not even close.
He glanced at the B-ranks' fight, then back to the massacre-in-progress.
Why is that thing so strong?!!
Even the B-ranked fighters, locked in their deadly dance, began to notice it.
"That one's… different," Wolf muttered between gritted teeth, eyes flicking toward the chaos.
They pressed harder, blades flashing faster, desperate to finish their three before the other battlefield collapsed entirely.
Ethan stood doubled over, panting hard. Each breath stabbed like a knife beneath his ribs. Blood trailed from the corner of his mouth, hot and metallic on his tongue. His left shoulder throbbed from the earlier backhand, his right thigh ached where the ogre's knee had caught him in a glancing blow, and a deep bruise was blooming along his flank from where the club's shockwave had grazed him.
Can't keep this up… not like this.
He flicked his wrist, the translucent blue of the system interface snapping into place before him.
[Purchase – Mid-Grade Healing Potion]
Cost: 1000 SP
The vial materialized in his palm—a glass tube no longer than his hand, filled with a luminous crimson liquid that seemed to swirl on its own. Just uncorking it released a faint herbal tang, undercut by a metallic sharpness. Mid-grade potions were no miracle cure, but they were damn close—capable of knitting fractured joints, easing bruised organs, and flooding the body with revitalizing energy.
He downed it in one pull. The burn raced through his throat and bloomed warm in his chest. Tendrils of heat spread to his ribs, easing the stabbing pain. His breathing steadied. The haze in his vision thinned.
Ethan exhaled slowly, letting the potion's energy settle.
"Alright, big guy," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Round two."
He lifted his weapon, pointing it straight at the ogre's chest.
"But this time—no more freebies… you slab of walking landfill!!"
The ogre bellowed, stomping forward, rage twisting its tusked face.