The orcs advanced, heavy feet pounding over root and stone, following tracks too small to be their own. Human.

Their guttural voices echoed low beneath the trees, barely louder than breath. From the ridge above, they'd heard it—the unmistakable roar of a Midnight Warden. A predator had struck. Now the trail ended here.

They'd already found the first corpses—scouts near the riverbank, throats torn out, blood drying on moss. Another body now lay face-down in the dirt, its neck opened wide, the soil still wet with red. Unforgivable. Humans, alive. In their domain. The Lord had spoken: no survivors.

Up ahead, a shape near the water. Hunched. Motionless. Shrouded in cloth. A figure cloaked and still, crouched in the reeds.

The lead orc growled a signal. Three spears flew. They struck clean.

But the figure didn't move. No scream. No blood. Just fabric. A tarp. A folded chair. A bundled blanket. The wind caught the edge and lifted it, revealing nothing beneath. A decoy.

The orc barely had time to snarl before something shifted at the edge of his vision. Steel flashed. The first orc dropped, throat opened clean. The second turned in time to see the blade arc through his chest. Frost bloomed instantly. His skin split. His body crystallized and shattered mid-step.

The others surged forward, but she was already among them. Allison moved like smoke over glass—graceful, lethal. Every step was measured. Every cut precise. A swing ended one life. A sidestep spared her own.

The orc commander bellowed and raised his war spear, but a shadow slipped behind him. No sound. Just movement. Then a line of red opened across his throat. He collapsed, gasping. The last thing he saw: glowing eyes. Luke. Calm. Blade low. Already gone.

He drifted through the remaining orcs like a phantom. Efficient. Silent.

Then silence.

The forest hushed once more. Broken bodies lay scattered in the clearing. Limbs twitching. Blood steaming.

Luke wiped a smear of red from his jaw, teeth clenched. "Damn it… Still not level eight."

His whole body ached. And his left arm—gone. Without it, the Demon Blade Dance was useless.

From the trees, Allison emerged, holding the tarp, the chair, the folded blanket.

Luke nodded. "Thanks." He dismissed the items into his storage with a flick.

She had baited the trap. He had scouted the kill zone. Clean. Effective. But it wouldn't hold.

"Allison," he said, scanning the shadows, "more will come. If we stay near the river, they'll find us."

She nodded. "They know this land like it's their own skin."

Luke turned toward the dense woods ahead. No roads. No patrols. Just dark. "Then we go deeper. No more paths."

Allison sheathed her sword. Mist curled faintly from the blade as the ice magic faded.

"You've gotten stronger," Luke said, watching her.

She smiled faintly. "I stopped wasting mana pretending to be someone I'm not."

Of course. Her old disguise had drained her constantly. Now, unbound, she was faster. Sharper. Herself. More dangerous than ever.

She could meditate. Restore mana. Heal. Luke couldn't. Not yet. But he'd learned to move anyway. Learned to keep going.

Allison turned toward the treeline, eyes narrowing. "We should move."

***

They were being hunted.

There was no mistaking it now. The forest wasn't just dense—it watched them.

Orc patrols moved in tight formation through the undergrowth, spears at the ready, eyes sweeping with trained precision. But the soldiers weren't the worst part.

The traps were.

Concealed pits lined with spikes. Pressure snares hidden under moss. Taut cords strung across roots, rigged to drop logs or trigger nets. Not the work of brutes. This was deliberate. Calculated. Professional.

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Luke nearly stepped into one—only his sharpened Perception had caught it in time. But that wasn't the real danger.

Every trap, even when sprung without a victim, did something. It announced. An alert system, maybe—a passive skill that warned nearby orcs the moment a snare triggered.

Which meant this wasn't just a hunt. It was surveillance. Not wilderness. A battlefield.

They climbed into the upper canopy, concealed by thick leaves, and peered down toward the river.

Allison's eyes narrowed. "Shit…"

The riverbank below swarmed. Dozens of orcs stood like sentries, unmoving, spears angled toward the water, gazes sweeping the trees. Reinforcements marched in from the flanks—an unbroken line that stretched beyond sight.

"They're cutting off escape routes," she said under her breath.

Luke didn't answer. Ahead, cliffs dropped sharply—but even if they could reach them, the crossing was impossible now. The orcs weren't patrolling anymore. They were closing in. Tightening the net.

Allison exhaled, low and steady. "We'll have to go deeper."

Luke's eyes shifted south. Beyond the forest and fog, the land rose into jagged mountains—black ridges shaped like broken fangs against the sky. The Orc Lord's territory.

He felt it. Deep in his core. Even skimming the edge would be suicide.

But behind them, the forest was sealed. The river—cut off.

And ahead? Villages. Fires. Patrol camps. The entire region pulsing like a single, living organism.

Luke clenched his fist. One arm. One wounded ally. A growing army behind them.

No way forward.

No way back.

Only the dark.

***

Midnight.

The bell had long since tolled, but its echo still whispered through the trees. Luke and Allison waited—motionless, hidden in the canopy's shadows. Below, a patrol. Ten orcs, maybe more. They had made camp, posted guards, and settled in with fresh meat and weapons. They weren't moving.

Allison sat cross-legged, eyes closed, meditating—restoring mana with deep, practiced breaths. Beside her, Luke watched in silence, every muscle still. Waiting. Measuring. Then their eyes met.

"We don't have a choice," he whispered.

She nodded once. Together, they dropped—predators descending from the dark.

Allison's sword gleamed in the moonlight as it swept clean through an orc's neck. A single strike. Blood splashed across bark as the head fell silently to the ground. Luke landed opposite her, his kukri slicing deep across another's ribs—then he vanished into motion.

The orcs with bells were first. One reached—Luke's blade pinned his hand, then pierced his skull. Another lunged for the signal. Luke reappeared behind him and shoved hard. The bell hit the earth, metal clashing softly, but it didn't ring.

The orc spun, punching. The blow cracked into Luke's side, ribs flaring with pain. The axe came down fast. Luke rolled. The blade dug into the soil where he'd been, and he retaliated with a low slash—blood arced into the dark. Another orc turned to shout, but Allison was already there, her sword cutting the cry from his throat. Luke twisted, driving a blade into the next enemy's neck. Even dying, the orc clung to him, dragging him down.

They tumbled. Branches snapped. Stones rolled. The world spun. Then—impact.

The forest held its breath. Luke gasped, lying in mud, blood smearing across his face. His kukri was still in hand. The orc beside him lay still. The throat wound had finished the job mid-fall.

A shadow slid down the slope above. Allison landed lightly, breath sharp, sword slick with blood.

"You alright?" she asked, eyes flicking to his missing arm.

"Still alive," he muttered hoarsely, already scanning the dark forest. No time to stop. No time to feel it. "We keep moving."

They climbed the slope slowly, boots digging into wet earth, hands bracing against moss-slick stone.

Then came the sound. Metallic, faint, echoing across stone. A footstep. Heavy. Deliberate. They froze. Another step—distant, but precise. It wasn't an orc.

Luke dropped into a crouch, Allison mirroring him. His breath caught.

"No way…"

Allison leaned close, voice barely a whisper. "A Midnight Warden? Here?"

Deep in orc territory. That shouldn't be possible. Wardens didn't come this far. It wasn't just unusual—it broke every rule, every known boundary.

Then the trees parted. The forest peeled back like curtains.

Before them stretched a clearing, hidden deep in the Deathwood. The river cut through its center like a silver thread, winding over mossy stone. Its gentle murmur was the only sound. But neither of them looked at the water. They stared straight ahead.

Ruins. Overgrown. Half-swallowed by roots and time. Collapsed homes. Fallen columns. Weathered stone roads. And at the clearing's heart, a fortress.

Silent. Towering. Untouched by age. Its spires still sharp, its walls smooth and cold. Too intact. Too perfect. Unnatural.

Allison's breath caught. "Bastion…"

Luke stepped forward, eyes narrowing. It mirrored the one in the Safe Zone—same angled rooftops, same structure. A twin.

But it wasn't the fortress that held their attention.

It was what stood before it. A lone figure, still as carved stone. Armor black as obsidian, polished to a mirror sheen. Broad. Towering. Alive. It moved. One step. Deliberate. Controlled. A Midnight Warden. Guarding the gate.

Allison barely breathed. "This… this can't be…"

But it was. Luke felt the weight settle in his chest. Heavy. Certain. The theory was true. If Bartholomew's Bastion had hidden the first, then this ruin—this forgotten place—held the second.

"There's a mechanism here," Luke said, voice low.

He didn't need to explain. She understood.

But before they could act, branches behind them broke in sequence. Then came the hooves. Heavy. Armored. Approaching.

They spun, weapons half-drawn. Above them, atop the ridge, dark shapes emerged from the fog.

Orcs. Mounted on massive, war-bred beasts—hooves plated, breath steaming. Broad silhouettes framed in spiked armor. Eyes glowing. Cold.

At their front, a rider pulled ahead. Taller than the rest. His helmet was carved from polished bone. Every movement carried weight. Not just a soldier. A hunter.

He looked down at them, voice cold and calm. "Well. Seems you've found something you weren't meant to."

Another rider came alongside him, smirking. "You were supposed to keep wandering," he said, voice oily. "Never knowing this place existed."

The system chimed, sharp and immediate.

[Kayn, Orc Captain – Lvl 22]

[Drukar, Orc Captain – Lvl 21]

[Morvat, Orc General – Lvl ??]

A single heartbeat passed.

Luke and Allison exchanged a glance.

No escape.

No backup.

No time.

But they'd uncovered the truth.

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