"You wanted to play the hero so eagerly, but look where it's gotten you! Did you believe I was some low-rank orc, some bottom-feeder?" Redrum questioned with a snort. "After that Saint wounded me, I lost most of my strength. Since then, I've been carefully biding my time in this forest, healing and regaining my strength–thanks to the tributes of this village."
While the orb rambled, the lone man used the spare moments to let his body recuperate.
[Lesser Regeneration] [C-Rank Grit Skill]
Fortunately, the cuts on his body were surface level, allowing for even the minor healing factor to take the edge off.
"When I'm done with you, I'll be making my way into the village," Redrum claimed, his fingers twitching with anticipation. "--To dance beneath red rain again; a gift to the acts of war."
Amidst the orc's audible planning as the savage practically salivated at the idea, a slash hissed across the mud. It forced the former general to counter, using his blade to deflect the ethereal strike.
Redum huffed as the mud splashed, sliding back, "Still using that same, useless ability?--"
In the orc's eyes at that moment, what he saw withdrew any further words, forming a lump in his throat. A light that consumed the entirety of the berserker's vision, howling through the forest as all the nature in its path was reduced.
[Strengthen]
[Mega-Chop]
[Soul Rend]
The unison of all three skills resulted in a phenomenon that lost any resemblance to a "cut."
All that was left in front of the man was a clearing within the forest, with the unlucky trees in that way crumbling down.
"Fffuu–"
Pain was spat from his lips in a gasp as it felt like all the muscles in his body clenched at once. It was like his own flesh slithering beneath his skin, squeezing around his bones.
'I didn't think it'd be without some side-effects, but three skills at once…hurts,' he thought, breathing out.
The act of straightening his arms felt like a rubber band inside of his arm being stretched past its limits, producing a sharp sensation, though he pushed through it. From the cascading twigs and leaves, a savage roar shook the winds.
It was obscured through the up-kicked dirt meddled with the rainfall; the hulking silhouette of the orc, mangled, yet changing.
"...I underestimated you, warrior. Your ferocity is like the claws of a fatherly dragon, shielding its whelps. I hoped to save this for the right moment, but I see that time is now…!" Redrum's voice howled through the forest.
The body of the savage underwent an unnatural evolution; his muscles flexed and swelled, another set of arms emerging from his sides with a grotesque squelch. From the dismissed dust, the form of the monstrous one revealed itself; of blood-red skin, sunken eyes and a body wrapped in abundant muscle.
In all four hands of the orc now were blades, brought forth through magical conception, no doubt.
[Identification] [C-Rank Close-Quarters Combat Skill]
["Eighth General of The Dark Armies, Blessed of The God of Orcish Combat, Redrum"] [Designated Level: Appx. 7]
"A blade of carnage; drifting like a blade of grass in the spring–this is my true self," Redrum introduced, basking in his own glory as the rain pelted his scarlet skin. "My body starves; you will satiate it."
Even as much of a novice in combat as he was, Noah recognized the sensation in the air; the thickness of it, tasting of blood.
'A second phase? This guy really is like a boss battle,' he observed.
"Once I eat you, I'll return to my prime–no, beyond that! Your vigor is something special; I can sense it–like a succulent fruit, gold and shining!" Redrum claimed. "I'll hunt down that blasted Saint…the Saint of Blades!"
Within the mind of the orc who thought of only violence, vengeance, and everything in between, he remembered, those bitter, bitter memories–
[..."I can't forget that day. That blade made sure of it, carved it into me."...]
Long had the army of monsters marched, far from their lands secluded to the shadows of the world, brought to where the sun showed its highest favor. A valley overlooked by mountains coated in pink grass, with flawless trees that guided the sunlight to dip into the march between cliffs.
A gathering of ten thousand monsters–orcs, goblins, cyclops, and even draconious beings; the branch of the dark army followed behind their General.
["The Solace of Fuzume; a sacred land on the eastern side of the human continent. There are many mythical artifacts stored there, as it was rumored, so I was sent with my warriors to take it, yet—"]
At the other end of the vale was a colossal, stone gate, with only a singular guardian. The invading monsters laughed and cheered at the sight of the sole defender of the gate.
Though the General shared in his comrades' delight, there was an "off" feeling he couldn't shake. Perhaps it was the veteran orc's experience, his gut instinct warning him, but something was off—
"It's just one woman!" A pig-nosed orc shouted up ahead.
"Kill her!" Another joined.
The ground rumbled with the charge of the thousands of monsters, yet the General was the only one who had yet to move.
"Wait!—" Redrum shouted, watching the backs of his comrades move ahead.
Alone, the guardian of the gate carried herself with an ethereal grace; of pale skin and snow-white hair cut in a bob, she resembled a winter spirit. Despite her slender frame, an abundance of weapons were stashed on her person, carried as though she transported an army's arsenal.
Only one of the many swords was drawn from its sheath as her elegant fingers clasped the scarlet handle; a katana engraved with lilies on its steel. Before her were a thousand warriors, salivating and roaring as if their victory was a sure thing.
With one stroke of her blade, the pink fields darkened red.
The General blinked only once, finding the countless bodies between him and the gate's guardian gone, only then feeling warmth befall his skin. A scarlet rainfall, though the clouds did not weep.
From above, the diced bits of his comrades descended.
As the orc tilted his head up in that dreadful moment, the sky was darkened by the remnants of his army.
["...The Saint of Blades…That accursed woman. I learned of it then, why the narrow vale existed, guarded by one person. All enemies that came through were nothing but livestock, funneled into that pale reaper."]
With the seconds having passed like hours, the General snapped into focus as time seemed to finally resume. The air hissed with the passing remnants of the guardian's strike, nearly cutting through him by mere coincidence.
Bountiful in rage, his body glistened red as he ground his blades together, igniting sparks into amethyst flames that shrouded his swords. The General stood his ground as the downpour of his soldiers' blood continued to fall, finding himself alone in the path of the guardian.
No more than ten strides away, the Saint of Blades stood with an unmoving expression, her glacial irises staring right through the hulking orc.
"You…you monster!" Redrum shouted, erupting forward.
With the subtlety of a single snowflake amidst a winter storm, the Saint's hand moved upward. As the motion began, the orc's approach ended. There was no distinction between the time it took for the Saint to raise her blade, the reach of it, nor the strength behind the move–
Simply, it sliced without prejudice.
"Nngrah!--"
The General gasped as the unseen cuts separated his limbs from his body, only leaving gushes of scarlet. Left helpless on the pink grass, the orc's breaths became fainter by the moment, only able to stare up at the clouded sky.
["I accepted death. Live by the blade, die by it–as they say. I lived as a warrior, as a true orc–I fought and I conquered. Yet–"]
"General…!"
"General Redrum…!"
The weak voices caught the dying orc's attention, using what fading strength he had to look over. His very own subordinates; just as wounded as he was, crawling over on gushing stumps with desperate cries.
["In the world of monsters, "love" is a foreign concept, at least, not in the way humans share it. We'd rather kill than show affection, however–seeing my brethren like that, I shed my very own tears."]
"Use me!"
"Eat us, and live, General!"
"Live…!"
The pleas of his subordinates that teetered on death were made clear. With the last of his strength, the orc opened his mouth and bit; again and again, he bit, chewed, and swallowed. With each bite, slowly but surely, his body reformed.
It was a weak, meager reformation, but–it was life.
What the once mighty General became was no more imposing than a fiendish goblin, stumbling over the remnants of his comrades. He huffed and puffed, gasping, fleeing with the frail legs he had.
["For the first time in my life, I ran. I launched myself off a cliff and into the sea, letting the waves carry me, the wind pushing me until–I found this village."]