The Special Mission had appeared for everyone.

Luke's eyes scanned the glowing system prompt still hovering in front of him.

[Special Reward: Orc Captain's Weapon]

He glanced to the side.

Allison was staring into the air—no doubt reading the same thing on her interface.

"You got the special mission too?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied softly, eyes still locked on the screen.

Before they could speak further, Paul's voice rang out as he emerged from the tent.

"Anyone who can fight, gather here! Now!"

Luke, Allison, and Princess Charlie moved toward the command tent. In the rush of people arming themselves and shouting orders, no one even noticed the knight in full armor silently walking beside them.

Inside, a crowd had formed around an injured scout, his shoulder soaked in blood. Thiara knelt beside him, casting healing magic with steady focus.

"How many?!" Angelica demanded, her voice sharp with fury.

"A-at least… a hundred orcs," the man rasped. "Some... mounted on beasts."

"Shit…" Angelica gritted her teeth.

She turned to face the room, sweeping her gaze over the assembled fighters.

"For the newcomers—listen up. These events don't happen often. But when they do, they're brutal."

The room quieted.

"When it starts, orcs—or worse—head straight for the major Safe Zone camps. Maybe it's the scent of blood. Maybe it's just numbers. Who knows? But they don't stop until sunrise."

She let the silence settle.

"There's only one way to survive: delay them until dawn. When the sun rises, they retreat."

Just then, Paul rushed back in.

"Another scout's calling for help," he said, out of breath. "They won't hold out much longer. We need to move—now."

The group stirred.

People spilled out of tents, strapping on armor, grabbing weapons. Luke and Allison fell into step beside Angelica, who marched forward with fire in her eyes.

"I don't get it," Allison said. "What about Bartholomew's men? They're part of the Safe Zone too. Can't they help?"

"No," Angelica snapped. "When the orcs attack, they split their forces. One group hits Bastion. Another hits us. It's designed to divide."

She looked back at them.

"And Bartholomew? He doesn't care. After the orcs finish slaughtering everyone, they vanish into the woods. You think he'll lift a finger to save a rival faction?"

"Marshall's probably dealing with the same shit right now," Paul muttered.

Luke listened closely.

The pieces were falling into place—the factions, the power plays, the rot beneath the surface of survival.

"But… what about the Special Mission?" he asked.

This time, another voice answered.

Jonathan.

His tone was calm, but his eyes were sharp.

"It's a gamble," he said, stepping in beside them. "During events like this, only one Orc Captain is ever sent. Just one."

Luke frowned. "But there are three major bases…"

"Exactly," Jonathan said. "Two in the Safe Zone, one in the Wild Zone. Ours, Bastion, and the Renegades' camp. We just have to hope the Captain didn't come here."

He paused, voice lowering.

"Because if he did… we've got a real problem."

***

The group moved fast, racing across the rooftops of the ruined city, boots slamming against broken tiles and splintered wood. Some roofs were connected by crude planks and ropes—makeshift bridges built by survivors over the years to move above the danger without touching the streets.

Luke ran with them, heart pounding in rhythm with his steps. He still had unspent stat points—both his and Charlie's. Part of him wanted to assign them now, but he held off. If things got bad, he'd need flexibility.

Vitality in case he started bleeding. Mana if he wants to drain the enemy's HP or cast throwing knives from the holster.

Thirty people moved in loose formation. Watching them, seeing the discipline and urgency in their movements, Luke understood something: this tutorial wasn't just about personal survival. If the strongest kept disappearing into the Wild Zone to chase missions, who stayed to defend the Safe Zone? What would be left when they returned?

Maybe nothing. Maybe the walls would fall. Maybe the weak would already be dead.

This system forced them to make impossible choices. Missions. Power. Escape. But at what cost?

And worse—he finally understood the fear around activating the third mechanism. Because doing so would summon the Midnight Wardens. And they wouldn't arrive in pairs or patrols. They'd come as an army.

Up ahead, a rope arrow soared into the sky. Archers zipped across to higher rooftops using the lines. Someone pointed across the rooftops, yelling, "There!"

But Luke had already heard it—steel clashing, voices shouting, the hollow beat of war drums. He leapt to a new rooftop, and froze.

His stomach dropped.

Below them, chaos.

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Over a hundred orcs were flooding the streets. Some mounted on wolves, others sprinting through the alleys. They carried axes, spears, hammers—roaring with bloodlust. The city below had erupted into war. Civilians ran. Some screamed. Others fought back or tried to help.

Archers on the rooftops loosed volleys of arrows. Mages tried to cast through trembling hands. And down in the streets, the tanks—armored warriors with shields—formed barricades, desperately holding the line.

But they were exhausted. Many bled from gashes in their arms and sides. Their armor was cracked. Their footing uncertain.

Luke saw it all. This wasn't a raid. It was a battlefield.

Angelica's voice rang out like thunder. "ATTACK!"

She leapt from the rooftop, axe raised, and cleaved through the first orc before it could raise its weapon. The rest of the squad followed. Trained. Focused. Deadly.

Anna and Cecília darted between rooftops, firing mana-infused arrows that exploded on impact. Jonathan dropped straight into a wolf rider, twin sabers flashing as he struck. Paul was already at Angelica's side, blades spinning in tandem—a perfect rhythm of offense and defense.

"There's only one way to help," Allison said. She drew her sword and jumped.

Luke watched her fall, fast and clean, like a streak of silver. She landed in a roll and, with one fluid motion, sliced an orc's hand off before it could bring down its axe. Its scream echoed through the street — and just like that, the battle had begun.

Luke turned. Charlie stood at his side, armored, silent, sword in hand. Together, they jumped.

They hit the ground hard, dust exploding around their boots. Luke's breath caught — a spear hurtled through the smoke, shattering the stone where he'd just stood. He rolled aside as growls rose around them. The orcs had seen them.

Luke gripped his blades tighter and glanced at Charlie.

She nodded.

And they charged.

An orc lunged — fast and brutal — but Charlie was faster. She activated Basic Spectral Charge, her form blurring into a silver streak across the cracked stone. Her blade tore through the orc's chest, forcing it back with a roar.

Massive. Green-skinned. Tusks jutting like a boar's. Muscles carved from corded steel. No armor — just bloodstained fur slung around its waist.

"AAARGH!"

It charged like a bull.

Luke reacted instantly, kukris spinning in his hands as he darted forward. The orc didn't slow — it tanked the strikes with bare arms, ignoring the pain, letting flesh tear without flinching.

Then a crimson aura exploded around its body.

It screamed — and moved faster.

Berserker.

The punch came like a cannon. Luke dodged — barely — but the orc was gaining on him.

At the last second, Charlie leapt in. Her sword sliced through the beast's arm. It caught on bone, but she didn't stop. She activated Iron Fist and slammed her gauntlet into its face with brutal force.

The orc reeled. Its arm dropped to the ground, severed.

Luke stepped in to finish the job — but Charlie was already moving. She raised her blade and ended it in one clean strike.

[Princess Charlie has slain an Orc – Lvl 15]

Luke blinked, impressed. "Looks like you can handle yourself now."

Her class evolution had changed everything. Stronger, sharper — and with full armor, tougher too.

Without wasting time, Luke dashed back into the fray, heading for another cluster of orcs. Behind him, Charlie carved a path like a knight of death.

She blinked across the field with Basic Spectral Charge, landed with bone-shattering weight, disoriented enemies with Iron Fist, then struck with deadly precision.

An orc lunged. She blocked with her armored forearm, twisted her blade into a counter, blinked again — and impaled it clean through the chest.

[Princess Charlie has slain an Orc – Lvl 15]

She didn't stop.

She leapt. She cut. She crushed.

A phantom executioner clad in steel.

From a rooftop, Luke paused — just for a moment — to watch. She fought like a force of nature.

He turned and sprinted toward another part of the street, where the frontliners — tanks — were barely holding. Charlie could handle her front. And if her HP or stamina dropped too low, he was ready. She still had two unspent stat points. He'd boost whatever she needed.

She was strong. But her class burned stamina fast. This fight would be a test of endurance and timing.

Then — he saw it.

A mounted orc.

The rider was massive, armored, gripping a spear in one hand. The black-furred wolf beneath it growled, then charged.

Luke didn't flinch. He drew ten knives — and threw them.

Mid-air, the blades shimmered — duplicated.

Twenty blades screamed through the air.

He vanished with Basic Dark Dash — a black blur.

He reappeared mid-dash, between the knives. The wolf howled, steel piercing through it like rain.

The orc roared, whirled its spear, and drove it straight into Luke's shoulder — but Luke twisted with the momentum, snapped the spear shaft with his kukri, and launched himself onto the orc, slamming them both into the broken street.

They rolled. Dust and blood flew. The orc kicked him off and rose with violent speed. It grabbed the broken half of the spear — and hurled it like a javelin.

Luke's kukri flew from his hand.

CLANG!

The two weapons collided mid-air — steel against steel. A ringing clash that split the night.

The moment the kukri returned to his grip, Luke sprang forward again. Two blades. Two slashes. One kukri sliced clean through the orc's arm. The other took its head.

The body crumpled. The head rolled, landing at Luke's feet.

But there was no time to breathe.

The wounded wolf lunged at him, jaws snapping open, eyes wild with rage. Luke raised both arms — one kukri inside its mouth, the other braced beneath its jaw. He strained, holding the beast at bay, forcing the jaws apart inch by inch —

THWACK.

The wolf's body flew sideways, crashing into rubble. Dead.

Angelica stood behind it, bloodied axe in hand.

"Come on, rookie!" she shouted, grinning through a cut on her cheek. "There's still too much liquor left in this world for you to die today!"

She cackled, then charged into a trio of orcs without hesitation.

Luke stood there for a second, catching his breath. His shoulder still ached from the earlier hit.

"These people are crazy…" he muttered — then took off running again.

Another orc crossed his path. Luke didn't stop.

He activated Basic Blood Regeneration, reaching out with invisible threads of vampiric energy. He began draining the orc's health — 1 HP per second. But it came at a cost. 2 MP per second.

He glanced at his stats:

Health Points (HP): 496/540 Mana Points (MP): 287/390

If I don't use Dark Dash or duplicate the kukris… I can recover about 140 HP...

But he knew better.

That was an illusion.

Without Basic Dark Dash, he'd lose mobility. Without Blade Duplication, his offensive pressure would tank.

And the orcs... there were far too many.

And with the wolves? They were practically an army.

Charlie remained close — a silent wraith of armor. She moved like death incarnate, leaping from one enemy to another, each strike explosive and exact.

Luke locked eyes on a new threat — an orc mounted on a wolf, charging toward a mage too slow to react.

Basic Dark Dash.

He blurred forward, sliding low under the beast — blades slicing deep as he passed. The wolf collapsed with a shriek, the orc tumbling off.

And then — above them — a shadow.

Descending like a missile.

'BAM!'

The sword split the air — then the orc.

[Princess Charlie has slain an Orc – Lvl 15]

*The [Death Knight] class of Princess Charlie has reached Level 9! (Class Bonus Points Acquired)*

Luke grinned as blood sprayed across Charlie's armor. She wiped the blade clean with a fluid motion — cold, precise. The mage she'd just saved stared at her, eyes wide.

"Thank you!" he gasped.

Charlie gave a curt nod. No words. Just the job. The mage retreated to regroup, still watching her in disbelief.

With the new level, she was faster, stronger, deadlier. Luke fell into step beside her, and they charged together. One synchronized strike — the orc didn't even have time to react. Another kill. Another step forward.

Charlie didn't stop. Activating Basic Spectral Charge again, she became a streak of silver lightning that shot straight into a pair of axe-wielding orcs. Blades clashed, steel ringing out with brutal force as she fought both at once, trading strikes with lethal precision.

Luke pushed forward, scanning the battlefield — until he saw her. Angelica. Sprinting alone toward the treeline, where orc archers loosed volley after volley, black-feathered arrows raining down like death on the defenders behind them.

Without hesitation, Luke sprinted after her. They struck together. He arrived like a beast, kukris flashing across an orc's face, carving it open until the creature collapsed, howling. Angelica spun her axe, severing a limb, then buried the blade deep into the skull of another.

Another orc lunged. Luke hurled both kukris — the first struck true, gouging out an eye, while the second boomeranged back to his grip. But before he could finish the job, a massive club slammed into him, hurling him through the air.

He crashed into a tree with a deep grunt but didn't back down. Charging, he dodged as the club swung again — a whirlwind of meat and bone — moving with smooth, calculated steps, weaving through the gaps.

Luke launched both kukris. They pierced the orc's chest. The beast staggered. The blades snapped back into his hands. Sliding beneath its legs, he sliced through both ankles. The creature roared, crashing down.

Luke rose and unleashed a flurry of slashes across its back. It dropped to its knees, groaning, barely alive. It tried to swing, but Luke was already airborne, dropping from a branch above, kukris flashing as he drove them into its skull. Dead.

He barely had time to breathe before the half-blind orc from earlier came lumbering back, roaring in rage. But before it could strike, a spinning axe decapitated it cleanly.

Angelica stepped through the trees, resting her axe on her shoulder. "Not bad, rookie," she said, grinning through blood and dirt. "Keep this up, I might start drinking earlier today." She laughed — even now, with blood dripping from her chin.

Luke opened his mouth to respond, but the air shifted. A shadow burst from the forest — fast, violent. Angelica was hit before she could react. Her body flew like a rag doll, slamming into a tree with a sickening crack. She dropped. Unmoving.

Luke shot to his feet, heart racing. He felt it. That aura. Monstrous. He took a step toward her — but a bone spear embedded itself in the dirt, inches from his foot.

From the darkness, something emerged. Massive. An orc clad in bone-forged armor rode forward, mounted atop a hulking black bear. Its eyes were sharp. Aware. Cruel. The fanged mouth curled into a sadistic smile.

The bear growled and charged. Too fast. Too strong. The impact sent Luke flying, his body shattering through another tree, wood splintering around him. He hit the ground hard, gasping.

Then he heard it — a voice. Calm. Cold.

"Looks like I arrived right on time."

Luke's eyes widened. The orc had spoken.

"I think I'll take your head as a toy."

The System Window pulsed into view.

[Orbald, Orc Captain – Lvl 20]

The true leader of the invasion had arrived.

And he was smiling.

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