"Huh? Why have the magical beasts been acting so manic lately?"
Granstar swung his Ice Wraith longsword, a puzzled expression on his face.
"Swish—Boom!"
The evil centipede before him was cleaved cleanly in two, frozen mid-scream into a gleaming ice sculpture that shattered upon hitting the ground—undeniably dead.
"Alert: B-grade Evil Centipede successfully hunted. Predator activated... Material extraction completed ahead of schedule..."
The Dominator's voice echoed mechanically in his mind. Granstar ignored it, eyes narrowing as he watched a dozen more Evil Centipedes slowly encircle him.
"Strange... Why aren't they fleeing? Since when did they have the guts to surround me?"
He muttered under his breath, brows furrowing.
"Skill: Ice Thorns – activated."
A burst of frigid magic erupted from him. In an instant, the surrounding terrain transformed into a forest of crystalline ice spikes. A cold hell, lethal and beautiful.
"Looks like my magicules have increased significantly..."
One by one, the glowing red eyes of the Evil Centipedes dimmed and faded. The Dominator's voice continued droning in the back of his mind, but Granstar was already lost in thought.
"I need to head deeper into the forest. Could it be... that thing? I have to confirm it."
Sheathing his longsword, he turned and made his way toward the forest's heart. He vaguely remembered a village of Ogres he'd passed during a previous hunt.
Any magical beast foolish enough to cross his path was swiftly reduced to ice-dust, feeding the ever-hungry blade in his hand.
Meanwhile…
The once-peaceful Ogre Village was now consumed by fire and smoke.
An unstoppable tide of Orc Tribe warriors stormed the village, their eyes gleaming with madness and greed.
"The elderly, weak, and children stay inside! All warriors—arm yourselves! We'll carve through these Orc bastards together!"
The village chieftain's cry rang out, igniting a desperate resistance.
Though the Ogres fought valiantly, they were steadily pushed back by the overwhelming numbers and brutality of the Orc Tribe.
Houses burned. Screams echoed. Steel clashed.
The chieftain had already fallen, slain by a masked Demon Man and a monstrous Orc warrior whose aura crushed hope itself.
"Quick! Take the Young Master and the Princess! The chieftain is dead—we can't let his legacy perish!"
"No! I am a warrior of the Ogre Tribe! I'll fight to the end beside my father!"
The red-haired Young Master grabbed a massive greatsword wreathed in flame and roared at the remaining warriors:
"Follow me—kill them all!"
He charged into the enemy ranks like a blazing comet, cutting down foes with every strike. Flames erupted with each blow, consuming Orc soldiers in firestorms.
Beside him, two Ogres—one with black hair, the other with white—moved like shadows. With each flicker of motion, another enemy dropped, beheaded before they could react.
"Sough—Roar!"
"Aaaah—!"
Their desperate resistance was ferocious, but against the Orc horde, they were being overwhelmed.
"These Orcs are... different! Stronger armor... more power! Something's wrong!"
Their magic was waning, bodies slowing. Still, they fought on.
"Young Master, you and the Princess must escape! You're the village's last hope!"
And then—they arrived.
The masked Demon Man and the terrifying Orc warrior who had killed their chieftain joined the battle again.
In moments, the final defenders were butchered. Blood mixed with fire and smoke, blanketing the village in horror.
The Orc Tribe ravaged every inch, leaving only ruin behind.
The red-haired Young Master stood trembling, his bloodshot eyes wide with disbelief.
"My people..."
He clenched his fists, veins bulging.
Why do these monsters have such armor? Why are they this strong?
"Young Master, please—go! You and the Princess carry our last hope!"
"GO!"
The word tore from his throat, heavy with sorrow and resolve.
The once-prosperous village had been reduced to ruins—a scene of utter devastation. The air was thick with the stench of blood, and the broken remains of homes and lives were scattered everywhere.
He led the few remaining tribesmen away, not far from the wreckage, but every step felt impossibly heavy.
"Brother…"
A pink-haired Ogre supported her wounded brother, sorrow etched deep in her eyes, as if all hope had already vanished.
Cough, cough. "Young Master, Princess… those damned Orc Tribe warriors are gaining on us again," said a wounded tribesman, his voice hoarse with pain.
The Young Master glanced back. Hundreds of armed Orc Tribe soldiers were in pursuit, brandishing sharp weapons and exuding a ferocious, murderous aura. Their heavy footsteps pounded the earth, sending tremors through the ground like a marching storm.
Thankfully, the masked Demon Man and the Orc Tribe's leader hadn't joined the pursuit. That brought the Young Master a small measure of relief—yet also an overwhelming sense of helplessness.
He looked around at the few tribesmen who remained, his gaze lingering on the grief in his sister's eyes. A bitter smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
The once-mighty Ogre Tribe was now reduced to a handful of survivors, teetering on the brink of annihilation.
"Our magic is nearly depleted…" he muttered. "I never thought the day would come when our Ogre Tribe would be destroyed by those Orc beasts."
Grief and hatred twisted within him. If only I had been stronger… If only I could've protected them… But reality was merciless. He had watched his people fall, one by one, unable to stop it.
"We are ready to make our stand!"
"Young Master—take the Princess and flee!"
An elder Ogre, his white hair wild and aura flickering chaotically, stepped forward. His voice trembled, but his tone held iron resolve.
The three warriors beside him, though wounded, stood tall. Their eyes burned with the same fierce determination as they looked to their Young Master.
"You…"
The Young Master's throat tightened. Tears welled in his eyes. He wanted to speak, but words failed him—fragile and meaningless in the face of such sacrifice.
There was no more time.
The four warriors charged into the oncoming horde without hesitation, weapons drawn, ready for one final battle.
And then—
The temperature dropped abruptly. A biting chill swept through the air, and snowflakes began to fall from the sky.
A figure in a blue robe emerged from the distance, slowly approaching the battlefield.
"Brother… look! What is that?" the girl gasped, covering her mouth as she pointed.
The red-haired Young Master followed her gaze—and when he saw the slender figure with long blue hair, his eyes widened in shock, pupils contracting.
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