Heavy Metal

Rusty stood motionless, his blade lowered while his thoughts churned. The orcs were not fleeing in fear. They were retreating with intent, turning around as one and marching away in perfect coordination. Just moments earlier, they had seemed like frenzied beasts driven only by bloodlust. Now they moved like disciplined soldiers.

"Why would they pull back now?"

Rusty wondered.

"It must be the horn."

Aburdon replied.

"Someone is controlling them. It might be magic, a ritual, or perhaps fear itself."

Although Aburdon appeared only as a floating orb of black light, his knowledge of monsters ran deep. His words always carried the weight of someone experienced in battle, but also of a leader who once led a demonic nation.

"Perhaps some kind of inborn trait, reminds me of one of the armies a general of mine bred for combat…"

Suddenly, the horn sounded again. This time, the orc brutes broke into a run. Rusty turned his helmet to the side just as the last of them vanished into the smoke-filled woods beyond the ravaged field. Flames still smoldered on the ground, and smoke twisted upward like a ghostly serpent reaching for the sky. Yet for many, the silence left behind was more unsettling than the chaos of battle.

"They don't seem to be regrouping."

Now it was Alexander who commented. Though not a demon lord, he was still a seasoned hero and former adventurer whose words carried weight.

"This might be part of their strategy. Orcs and goblins breed quickly, and with shamans to aid them, the process can be accelerated."

Alexander believed the monsters were using a war of attrition. Exhausting the defenders of this settlement would be easy if they could keep replenishing their ranks. Several human fighters had fallen today, and while the monsters had suffered heavier losses, it meant little if they could replace their warriors within months. For the humanoid races, it took years just to reach adulthood, and even longer to grow strong enough to stand against creatures like these.

"Whoever is managing this place is a fool. They need to cut out the root of this invasion."

Aburdon said, his tone sharp and heavy with irritation.

"Perhaps they lack the manpower. This settlement is barely standing. Who would defend it once the main force leaves? That might be exactly what the monsters are counting on. We cannot afford to underestimate them just because they are orcs."

Alexander replied. In his view, the issue was not just incompetence but also a lack of options. Even if the leaders wanted to strike at the enemy's source, doing so would leave the settlement exposed. If most of their defenders marched out, the remaining townsfolk would be easy prey. It was entirely possible that the orc leader was waiting for that exact moment, holding back now only to strike when the gates were unguarded and the walls were quiet.

"Hm, sometimes you do make a little sense, Hero… but this might be an opportunity for our dear Rusty."

Aburdon said with an amused cackle.

"A chance for me?"

Rusty asked, uncertain what the demon lord was suggesting. Aburdon continued without missing a beat.

"It's simple, Rusty. We follow this small horde and pick off a few of them while they are weak."

"You want him to chase after them? Are you insane?"

Alexander interjected as he was not fond of this idea.

"Am I, Hero?"

Rusty stood in silence, thinking over it. Was it really such a bad idea? The orcs were likely injured, possibly fatigued from the march and battle. Unlike them, he did not tire or grow hungry. He did not require rest. As a living armor creature, he could follow their trail for hours without slowing. He might even catch them while they were vulnerable, resting or unguarded. And if it turned out they were still too strong, he could always retreat after gathering information about their numbers and camp. It was risky but it might also be the best chance he had to gain more quick experience.

"W-we did it!"

As his guides continued to debate, a sudden cheer erupted from one of the adventurers nearby. While Rusty felt a hint of disappointment at the lost opportunity for more experience points, the humans around him were simply overjoyed to still be breathing.

Weapons were raised into the smoke-laced sky, voices lifted in strange, celebratory noises that grated on his nonexistent ears. Below, the battlefield still smoldered. The thick scent of scorched flesh, blood, and burnt oil clung to the air like a curse. The cheering was not one of victory, but of survival.

Some leaned over the parapets, retching as the stress and stench overtook them. Others slumped against the stone barricades, their energy spent, their adrenaline drained. One young fighter dropped to his knees and collapsed outright, his shield falling from his hand as unconsciousness claimed him.

A few hugged each other, their eyes wide with disbelief. Tears mixed with blood and soot. Rika, the feline-eared girl Rusty had saved, sat down with her knees to her chest, hands shaking. Her companions joined her in silence, too tired to speak.

Through it all, Rusty remained motionless near the shattered gate, his blade still drawn. Blood dried along its edge, flakes of it clinging to the sharp metal like rust. His visor pulsed faintly, flickering with mixed hues of dim light and lingering shadow as he considered what came next. If he wanted to follow the retreating Orcs, he would need to leave soon, but simply walking off would raise suspicions. Then, out of nowhere, an opportunity presented itself.

"You there"

A voice barked from behind him.

"Go outside and check the corpses. Finish them off if any are alive."

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It was the guard captain, their temporary leader. He had noticed Rusty still standing at attention while the others had either collapsed or wandered off. It seemed natural to assign the task to the silent armored figure. It was a perfect chance. Rusty turned his helmet toward the man and gave a slow nod. He said nothing as he rarely needed to and then stepped through the broken gate, sword still in hand.

Even if he wandered farther away, no one would question his departure now. He was still seen as an expendable adventurer—someone outside the regular army, not bound to strictly follow orders. Still, it was worth checking the orcish corpses. If even one of them was still alive, it would be an easy way to gain experience.

He picked up one of the spears lying on the ground and stepped forward. Gleam, who had paused to use her magic on some injured adventurers, eventually returned to his shoulder. Together, they eventually slipped through the shattered gate.

"Good job, Gleam."

" (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) "

Outside the ruined gate, the battlefield stretched like a graveyard of scorched earth and twisted corpses. Smoke drifted lazily through the fading light, and the ground was stained with blood and ash. Most of the orcs lay riddled with arrows or soaked in oil. Without hesitation, he got to work, driving his spear into the monsters' weak points with practiced thrusts.

Spear in hand, he moved from body to body. Some were charred beyond recognition, their bones jutting through blackened flesh. Others had met a cleaner death, while a few lingered on the edge of it.

"Ah? This one's still alive."

Though only one in ten of the bodies yielded any experience points, it gave him enough motivation to continue. The adventurers and soldiers still stationed on the wall watched in amazement as he scurried across the battlefield, poking through the heavy orc corpses like a madman. He pushed further and further from the entrance, which was already being repaired. As some others ventured out to peer beyond the walls, he seized the opportunity to slip away, unnoticed.

As Rusty moved deeper into the battlefield, his armored figure slowly disappeared into the night. He glanced back once at the settlement behind him, where the last few adventurers sat or limped about, catching their breath. No one was calling out to him, just as he expected.

"What about those kids? Will they be alright?"

"We should worry about ourselves first, hero. Those brats will be fine. The city is still full of soldiers. "

"(´•︵•`)"

"It's going to be fine, Gleam. We will not be gone long…"

Gleam had grown attached to one of the children and was clearly worried. But Rusty was not planning to follow the monsters for long. The night was still young. The attack had started at nightfall and lasted less than an hour. If Aburdon was right, the monsters would not have gone far. They probably had a resting place nearby and were not expecting any pursuit, especially with how few forces the city had left.

Rusty and Gleam moved like shadows through the moonlit forest, the light from his visor casting faint reflections across the bark of trees and the jagged roots below. Fortunately, there were no monster spiders to slow their progress this time, and the forest here was much less dense. Nevertheless, it was still vast and clearly part of the Orc's territory. Strange drawings and symbols marked the trees, carved with either claws or crude tools.

The forest didn't have an official name, but most people simply called it the Orcish Woodlands. It was home to numerous orcish tribes who relied on the dense trees for natural protection. Scattered throughout the region were small, hidden villages, and the orcs could retreat swiftly through the thick undergrowth.

This was one of the main reasons the humanoid army had never launched a full-scale assault. Navigating the area with a large force was slow and difficult. The forest was also filled with traps, and orcish scouts were quick to detect intruders and warn their villages. As a result, only small groups of adventurers dared to enter, but none had succeeded in eliminating the elusive orc leader.

"They aren't even trying to hide their tracks…"

Alexander muttered, eyeing the broken branches and scattered footprints. The signs were everywhere. These creatures were so confident in their methods that they hadn't even bothered to leave lookouts behind.

"They're overconfident."

Aburdon chimed in.

"They've probably been doing this for months, maybe even years. It's the perfect opportunity for us."

To him, the Orcs were foolish beasts: reckless, bold, and unaware they were being hunted.

"Let us not be overconfident either, Rusty."

"Don't worry, I won't."

Rusty crouched behind a gnarled tree trunk, Gleam perched quietly on his shoulder as they peered through a break in the woods. The moonlight filtered through the branches above, casting long shadows across the forest floor. It had been nearly five hours since they'd left the battlefield, and at last, their pursuit bore fruit.

Ahead, nestled in a shallow valley, the orcs had made camp or were resting in one of their villages. Smoke drifted up from several small fires, barely visible from above thanks to the thick canopy. Crude tents made of animal hides dotted the clearing, and the orcs had stacked logs and rocks into a loose perimeter that was more symbolic than truly defensive. They weren't expecting trouble. Not yet.

Most of them were already asleep. A few guards remained awake, lazily leaning on their spears or mumbling in their monster tongue. Several injured orcs lay moaning near the center of the camp, attended by a lone shaman who whispered chants over their wounds. There were perhaps thirty of them, give or take.

"This looks like the group that attacked our side of the wall. The rest must have scattered toward the other villages. I don't see their chief anywhere…"

Alexander's glow flashed inside of his visor as Rusty switched his loadouts. This mission would require stealth, not brute force, so he shifted into his lightweight wraith form. His body transformed smoothly, becoming more agile and silent, perfectly suited for slipping through the shadows and cutting throats without a sound.

"This reminds me of that kobold encampment. Maybe I should do this more often."

A few orcish sentries were stationed in the treetops, but none of them were paying close attention. They were still drained from the earlier battle. While stamina points existed in this world, recovery slowed significantly after extended combat. A lingering fatigue debuff prevented full regeneration, leaving them vulnerable. It was the perfect time to strike. Rusty moved forward, ready to silence them one by one and rack up some easy experience.

He crept forward like a whisper in the wind, his footsteps silent as his wraith form flickered between the trees. In this shape, he could scale the towering trunks with ease, clinging to the bark with his claws as he closed in on his unsuspecting targets.

Gleam had already cast her silencing spell and now remained hidden among the bushes. Her silvery-white carapace shimmered faintly in the low light, still capable of catching a stray glint from a nearby torch. One wrong move and the sentries might spot her.

Rusty reached the first sentry, a lanky orc half-dozing in the crook of a high branch. His crude spear dangled from one hand, barely clutched. Without hesitation, Rusty wrapped a clawed gauntlet around the orc's mouth and drove a dagger through the soft flesh just below the jaw. A wet, muffled gurgle escaped as the orc went limp. Rusty eased the corpse down, lodging it between branches to avoid it tumbling with a noisy crash.

"Easy pickings…"

Rusty muttered as he received a level up window. He was now closer to getting to level fifteen and finally reaching his next rank, but he wasn't finished just yet. He moved to the next tree. This sentry was more alert, rubbing his eyes and grumbling under his breath. Rusty didn't wait. He launched upward like a shadow, wrapping his arm around the orc's neck from behind, pushing his claws into it. There was a sickening crack, followed by stillness.

Below, the camp remained unaware of the silent deaths unfolding in the branches above. Fires crackled softly. Orcs stirred in their sleep. The shaman's low chants carried on, weaving healing spells over the wounded. One by one, the sentries in the trees fell without a sound, until not a single one remained. The night held its breath, still and silent. Soon, he would descend on the rest and they had no idea that he was coming…