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"Huh? No!"
At midnight, a sense of crisis invaded Black Shaw's exhausted, sleeping consciousness—like the feeling of someone walking in darkness, suddenly sensing movement around them.
This was the alert sent out by Prince Drake's body, honed by years of training and heightened perception.
In the surrounding darkness, something was approaching.
Blake's eyes snapped open as he climbed to his feet.
Instinctively, he lowered his body, clenched his hands, and assumed a fighting stance. Prince Drake's combat skills surfaced in his mind.
It was true: Blake, like the prince, had undergone intense training.
But there was a difference.
Knowing how to act and actually being able to execute it were two separate things.
As Blake surveyed his surroundings, he quickly recalled the layout of this wetland in his mind.
"This place shouldn't be far from Palatine Bay. It's a swamp left by the retreating sea. The most common creatures in this swamp are—"
"Ggggggmlr! Grm… Rmlg!! Rgmmlr! Grgrmlmlrl!"
The sound of splashing and eerie squeaks interrupted Blake's thoughts as something emerged from the darkness.
The noises were disturbing and loud.
"The fish-men! Those filthy fish-men!"
The name sprang to Blake's mind, and within seconds, five or six fish-men emerged from the darkness, advancing on him.
The creatures before him were humanoid, with connected limbs, heads, and torsos, their lifeless fish eyes staring.
They stood less than a meter tall, looking like absurd dwarfs as they charged.
But the rusty swords in their claws or the bizarre thigh bones they wielded with fierce yells wiped any amusement from Blake's mind.
Their bodies were a dark green, dappled with blue spots.
Much of their skin was shiny, covered with slippery scales. They had scaly spines along their backs, and their oversized, bulging eyes opened and closed with a strange glimmer.
Gills trembled constantly on either side of their necks.
With short, webbed limbs, they roared chaotically and leaped forward, their hoarse, guttural cries conveying anger and malice.
This was the fish-man.
Ugly, magical creatures from the depths of the sea, they had spread across Azeroth.
They had their own civilization, language, and social structures, but in most cases, they were brutal and savage.
Most disturbingly, fish-men practiced cannibalism.
And now, the fish-men who ruled the swamp had found new prey.
"Rgmmlr! Grgrmlmlrl!"
The tallest fish-man, spotting Blake, waved a rusty sword, shook its body, and charged.
Blake felt the urge to retreat, but Drake's memory reminded him: now was the time to advance.
Murlocs were cowards who preyed on the weak.
If he didn't dominate them in this first clash, Blake would be done for tonight.
With sudden resolve, he tapped his forehead, revealing his translucent character card. A quick glance showed his health bar had replenished after resting.
This gave him a surge of confidence.
"Ha!"
The next second, he yelled, followed the moves in his memory, bent his waist, clenched his left fist, stepped forward, and punched the blue-gilled fish-man rushing at him.
He ignored the sword the fish-man swung at him, as if the blade didn't even exist.
Snap
The rusty sword grazed Blake's waist, leaving a scar, but only a trickle of blood oozed. The curse of undeath made him weak, but it also prevented major blood loss.
After all, his skin was dry.
The health bar on his character card shortened slightly.
The damage wasn't serious. These fish-men were weak, only a threat to civilians.
The greatest danger to a warrior was their grotesque faces, which could easily nauseate even the bravest fighter.
Boom
As the fish-man's sword hit him, Blake's fist struck the fish-man square in the head.
This punch was anything but ordinary; it came from the Kul Tiran fighting style, which Blake had trained in since youth on ships.
Tidal Fist!
With a powerful impact, his punch landed on the fish-man's bulging eye. Unfamiliar with holding back, Blake unleashed a blow of raw force.
The fish-man's eye burst like an overripe tomato.
As it screamed, green, putrid blood gushed like a fountain. Blake's fist sank into the eye socket, making the fish-man hop in pain.
Blake seized its rusty sword.
Relying on instinct, he swung it.
Puff
A slimy head fell neatly into Blake's hand.
"This isn't too hard."
He thought to himself, seeing that the leader fish-man had been decapitated. The remaining fish-men recoiled as if they'd struck an invisible wall.
The screaming ceased.
They were terrified.
Blake stood still, savoring the fluidity of his sword-swing. Emulating Prince Drake, he turned his wrist, making the rusty sword whistle through the air.
The blade lowered, and he clenched his left hand into a fist.
This was the beginning stance of Kul Tiran military swordsmanship.
More importantly, while slaying the fish-man, an almost imperceptible warmth flowed into his body from the weapon, subtle enough to go unnoticed.
But Blake could feel the curse's weakness easing a little.
It was like growing up.
No.
It was experience!
Experience from killing monsters!
Yes, that was it!
"Hahaha!"
At that moment, Blake felt as if he'd won the lottery, laughing heartily.
The fear of being trapped in another world and unable to control his fate vanished completely.
He glanced at the murloc head in his hand, flicking it away. The slimy thing rolled toward the remaining murlocs, startling the timid creatures into a retreat as they stared wide-eyed at their fallen comrade.
Blake, meanwhile, strode forward with his sword in hand.
Fear was gone.
These weak fish-men before him were the key to growing stronger.
"I won't let a single one of you escape."
He spoke to the fish-men, who couldn't understand a word:
"Letting one go just brings back a crowd. I really need strength right now, so forgive me, my fishy friends."
Shua!
He sprang forward, striking down a murloc with his sword, then immediately turned. With practiced technique, he threw the rusty sword—a special move from Prince Drake's thief class, a fatal throwing skill.
Blake recalled it from his memory and managed to use it, though clumsily. The sword didn't quite hit the escaping murloc's head but instead pierced its abdomen.
Green blood spurted once again.
Several other murlocs tried to flee, but Blake, with his long stride, caught up and brought them down with feet, fists, and stones from the muddy ground.
They were just fish-men; any well-trained human soldier could handle a group of them, provided they weren't allowed to gather reinforcements.
This skill was crucial for any warrior facing fish-men.
"Well."
After slaughtering six or seven murlocs, he felt that scorching power flow into his body, making him groan with satisfaction. He picked up an old machete left by one of the fish-men.
His rusty sword was back in his right hand.
In the night, he hummed a folk tune from Drake's memory, recalling the thief skills he'd acquired, and moved stealthily through the mire.
Thanks to his cursed talent of Shadow Affinity, Blake made barely a sound as he tread through the swamp.
After just a few minutes of practice, he mastered this silent walking technique, even capturing the stealthy sensation he'd once felt in games.
Ahead, he saw a fish-man village.
That was his next destination.
Now that he had experience from killing monsters, he wondered, would equipment drop?
And how should he allocate the experience from killing fish-men to his three classes? If he kept leveling up, would it bring new skills?
Could he even learn the Killing Feast someday?
Or descend from the gods?
Heh.
The thrill of it all was unexpected, but incredibly exciting.
A few minutes later, at the edge of the fish-man village, Blake suddenly charged forward with two rusty weapons. Timing it perfectly as the fish-men noticed him, he slashed with both swords.
Despite the crude, chaotic strikes, the effect was excellent, amplified by the element of surprise. In the midst of the skirmish, Blake leveraged his height advantage, cutting down three of the wet creatures.
Green, putrid blood splattered everywhere. The remaining fish-men fled, croaking in panic, but Blake pursued and finished them off, one by one.
His bold stance was reminiscent of a prince reborn.
It would certainly be more heroic if his foes were orcs instead of murlocs, but that hardly mattered.
These bluegill murlocs were far from innocent. They'd claimed the swamp around Palatine Bay and had been its greatest scourge long before the orcs arrived.
Countless travelers and caravans had fallen prey to their raids. Now, Blake's actions were, at least in part, an act of justice.
Whizz!
With practiced precision, he hurled rusty blades to his left and right. This time, his deadly throw was even more refined, pinning two fleeing murlocs to the ground.
Blake wiped the green blood off his hands, made a celebratory fist-pump, relishing his victory in this initial skirmish.
Murlocs are easy to handle. As long as you instill fear in them, you've won half the fight.
If you can't, however…
"Well, what have we here?"
After dispatching the last two fish-men, Blake took a few steps toward the small village, where murloc bodies were scattered everywhere. To his surprise, he discovered more fish-men in hiding.
A brood of little murlocs.
They must have just hatched.
Unlike the ugly, grotesque appearance of the adults, these newborns were much cuter.
Their small, soft bodies were free of sticky scales, and they stared up at Blake with large, fearful eyes, huddling together like tadpoles.
Their wide, innocent eyes were almost… endearing.
"Well."
Blake eyed the brood of baby murlocs, then glanced at the blood-stained knife in his hand. With a sigh, he tossed the weapon aside.
Scooping up the little murlocs two at a time, he carried them outside the village and dropped them into the murky river.
"Run, run, you little rascals."
He stomped his foot, splashing mud around, startling the little murlocs. Croaking in alarm, they dove into the water, each swimming away with surprising speed.
"Hahaha!"
Blake planted his hands on his hips, chuckling softly. He patted his belly, then turned back to the village, rummaging through huts made of rotting wood, seaweed, and shells.
These murlocs had looted many travelers; there should be something useful here.
A few minutes later, a surprised cry echoed from the murloc village.
"Hmm?"
"Did you really lose your equipmen
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If you enjoy please support me on my patreon Future 80+ chapters at patreon.com/Phoenizbeelze
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