The Regression Of A Grand Mercenary

Preparing for the Goblin raid was a simple task…I’ve done it more than I can count with my fingers and toes back in the past/future.

And I’ve done more dangerous raids with more difficult monsters back then too with worse conditions…and not once did I fail.

Dealing with goblins and shamans were an easy task. Preparations were not much of an issue since I can already anticipate what can happen.

Despite a Goblin’s vicious and mocking nature, they are more predictable than that of a human mind. And being a master trapper and hunter, planning this entire operation was as easy as killing a baby goblin at its sleep.

I’ve taken preparations for the boys in every manner that would never fail. In matters of traps, I chose to use a surprise bomb tactic using a miniature catapult that I myself built. And the bombs themselves were made using a simple formula that focused on the aspect of fire spreading and explosive damage.

In tactics that mattered with handling the boys, a simple diversion and surprise ambush was all that was needed when the goblins were already paranoid with the fires and explosions. The only real problem lies with the Shamans themselves who could survive the surprise bomb attack.

In this factor, I had the boys themselves act in their own discretion. They had to deal with the shamans themselves in their own way…and thankfully, they acted calm. They weren’t riled up too much because of the massacre they did to the goblin camp…instead, I could tell that they were very much focused with the task at hand.

To annihilate the goblin camp and leave no survivors.

And once this was done…only one problem was left.

A hidden enemy that none of the boys were aware of.

The Undead Monster.

The Orc.

It was common knowledge to experienced adventurers and mercenaries that in Goblin camps, Shamans would typically take part in exercise that hold value to the dark arts. That kind of magic is what appeals to their ‘monster nature’, and more so, the dark arts spread to many practices…one specific practice that is most common to goblin shamans were reanimating the undead.

It could monsters, typically one of strong nature…and in uncommon times, it could even be dead adventurers and mercenaries. As long as the corpse is of strong nature, Shamans and other dark practicing mages will always claim them like candy.

Dark arts…are what fuel the evil of this world.

And one that I am completely against.

Unexpectedly, the monster that the shamans decided to control this time around was an orc. In their last struggle of life against the boys, the shamans were able to use their magic to awaken the orc from its slumber deep in the cave.

And thankfully they did…

I prefer to always kill the orc….I enjoy every moment of fighting an orc, even as an undead.

I can’t explain why I love toying with them….but no other monster can ever compare.

Orcs are different from Goblins…hell, from every other monster that exist in this world. Because orcs live by a tradition…a tradition that is common to that of the human’s code of strength.

The weak dies…the strong lives!

Orcs are differentiated by their strength. And their strength is differentiated by their tattoos. When an orc is challenged and he has won that challenge against another orc, using the blood of the defeated orc, he is given a tattoo that is valued of the strength of the enemy he defeated.

a weak orc’s defeat is equal to that of a single dot of ink from the tip of a bird’s feather.

A strong orc’s defeat is equal to that of a line of ink. And dotted ink tattoos are formed to create lines of hatches all across the orc’s body.

It is done over and over again for each victory against a challenge. And the tattoos are formed all up to a point that an orc’s body is covered from all across its own body. From top to bottom…inks are covered.

And the orc before me today…his tattoos starts to the top of his neck and ends at his shoulders. From that sight…the thickness of his tattoos, I can tell that he is quite strong.

He must have been challenged by different orcs over a thousand times.

Those tattoos don’t lie…

This bastard is strong.

With that many tattoos…he’s comparable to that of a 5^th-staged core warrior!

He is as powerful as Evelyn’s brother in law, Escanor.

“Hehe…boys, I want you to watch closely to what’s about to happen.”

“…”” many of them were nervous at the sight of the orc. It’s presence alone spoke of fear that pierced straight into their hearts.

An orc of this massive killing intent wasn’t something that I should take lightly of, but on the other hand…I just couldn’t help but feel excited.

This bastard gave me more excitement than when the dragon came to attack the village.

It was nothing but exhilarating.

Thinking back on it…I was given that crazed title because of my crazed addiction in killing orcs.

There was something not right in my head…I can confess to that. Ever since I killed my first orc, it was one of those days that I didn’t feel so pathetic after the failure I committed in not saving my family.

Killing an orc filled the hole inside my heart…a hole that bore the nature of gratitude in killing the strong.

When you kill something strong, you just know that it was a good taste in life. For once in my life…for the first time I killed an orc…I didn’t feel so pathetic.

And now…standing before, the orc with its rotting flesh and dried ink-blood tattoo, made me remember who I am…and what I am about to taste.

Glory in killing the strong.

***

“Urk Thill… drogar’nok vargak dur, Grah-Tok!”

[I am Thill… and I am here to challenge you, Great warrior.]

Said Thill as his spoke the Orkish language.

In his voice, the boy’s were taken aback. It was a surprise to see that their captain was a man who could speak the language of the orcs.

And having heard him speak, the orc looked ever so intentful. It was as if he heard him clear as day.

And he smiled in return.

“Dur gro’mak uth’varg? Dur? Krah ven’gol raagh’ma!”

[You speak the tongue of my people? You? A pathetic fleshbag?]

At his comment, Thill smiled and laughed.

“Gra’ha’ha! Dur shok’nag? Dur! Vek’zul gro’marak!? Dur?! Nok zul’gar thok’ta!? Dur gra’vek… zul ven’raag… zul shul’mok… Nok rok’nar dor’mok zul’gath… dur rakh’morg!” he said insultingly.

[[Hahahaha! Are you afraid!? You! Who has been in defeat!? You! Who has no worth in this world!? You can tell for it yourself…your flesh is rotting…your life has passed…I am simply giving you the honor to fight…you compost!]

Angered, the orc took that insult to his unbeating heart and he quickly grabbed his weapon. Without hesitation, he accepted the challenge.

“Groth! Rok’nar zul’gath dor’tak, morg’thul!”

[Fine! I accept your challenge, decay-born!]

At his charging step, the orc lunged himself at Thill at incredible speed. Something the boys themselves could only ever admire to take.

And Thill acted in the same passion.

Grabbing his sword, he met the orc in the middle and they clashed weapons.

Thill with his large broadsword and the orc with his bony hammer-blade.

When the two weapons clashed, a forced of power was made, causing the entire fires in the burning camp to quickly be extinguish. Nothing was left…and the boys, as they watched, they couldn’t help but admire at the sight.

Thill was able to keep his footing against the orc…someone who was clearly stronger than him. And the expression he showed…it never wavered.

To them, he was simply enjoying the ecstasy that came with this battle. And as he fought…he began to speak to them.

“Can you feel it boys!! Can you feel this power surging from our clash!!” he asked while keeping all of his attention on the orc.

And they did…

Every boy who watched felt the clash of their power go to the depths of their souls.

‘Was this what he meant by the essence of a fight?’ is this what it means to be strong?!’ Astin asked himself as he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by it all.

‘Was this a step to learning the essence of a core?’ Thought Mario as he couldn’t take his eyes off from the field of battle.

“Incredible isn’t it? Power against power! Pure energy that could fullheartedly destroy anything!!” said Thill as he took it further beyond and pushed the orc one step back.

“Khk!” the orc was taken aback. With Thill’s masterful tempered core, and experience with fighting orcs, he was able to push pass his limits a little bit and overwhelmed the orc.

In that moment, he followed that chance with a fist filled with a fully charged tempered core, and in but a split moment, the orc met his fist at his chest..

*PhuSSHHH!!*

The force of his punch was so strong by itself, it pushed the orc five meters back.

The orc stumbled back five whole meters, but even in the staggering momentum, its feet dragged against the dirt like a plow through dry soil, kicking up a thick cloud of ash and embers from the extinguished fires. Its glowing, necrotic eyes narrowed, the ink of its tattoos glowing faintly with the pulse of dark magic.

Then came the sound.

A guttural growl—low, rumbling, primal—rattled across the clearing like thunder rolling across stone walls.

“Gro’MAHHHH!!!” the orc bellowed, slamming the head of his massive bone-hammer into the ground, cracking it open like an egg. The force alone caused the boys to stumble back instinctively, their armor rattling.

And then—he charged.

“RAAAAAGHHH!!!”

Thill had only a breath of a moment to brace himself before the orc came crashing down upon him like a siege ram. Its hammer swung wide—an arc so wide it hissed through the air—and Thill brought up his blade just in time.

CLAAANG!!!

The blow rang like a bell from the mountain peaks. Sparks exploded from the point of impact, and Thill slid back, feet digging trenches into the scorched earth. His bones shook. His shoulders popped. The broadsword in his hands cried under the pressure of the hammer’s force.

“Khk—!” Thill grunted, eyes flashing, arms locking tight around his hilt.

The boys watched in stunned silence. They had seen him overpower entire groups of goblins, break through magical barriers, cut down shamans like weeds—and yet now… now, he was struggling to hold his ground.

Astin grit his teeth. “Captain…”

But Thill didn’t fall. He grinned. Blood dripped from his mouth, and he spat it to the side, raising his sword again as the orc came forward for another attack.

“You’re strong, I’ll give you that, compost,” Thill muttered. “But I’ve fought worse things than you while half-asleep in a bog.”

The orc roared again, this time twisting his whole body and smashing the hammer straight down like a meteor. Thill sidestepped it, narrowly avoiding the full force—but the edge of the blow still clipped him.

WHUMP!

The blast of force sent Thill flying back like a ragdoll, smashing through a half-burnt wooden barricade, tumbling across the dirt, and finally stopping after several rolls. The boys yelled out, but Thill was already groaning, pushing himself up.

He looked… furious.

“You son of a—” He stood tall, flexing his fingers. His armor was dented. His ribs ached. But his energy was returning—burning through his veins like liquid fire. “Alright then…”

He tightened his grip on the sword and took a deep breath. The air seemed to swirl around him, rippling with raw energy. His core flared inside his chest, glowing red beneath his flesh.

“I was going to keep this interesting… but screw it.”

He charged.

The orc met him halfway, and once again, the two clashed in a shower of sparks and dust and raw physical force. Their weapons collided again and again—each blow heavier than the last, each movement faster, more feral, more devastating.

CLANG!

CRACK!

SWISH—SLAM!

It was no longer just a fight. It was war between titans. The battlefield trembled under their fury.

The boys could hardly keep up. It was like watching lightning fight thunder—every motion blurring with the next. And yet, Thill’s movements were unmistakable. Sharp. Calculated. Refined from years of combat.

He ducked under a wild swing, slashed upward, carving a clean line across the orc’s belly. Blackened blood spilled—rotten and stinking—but the orc didn’t stop.

“Zul’VEN RAGHHHH!” it screamed. [“NO MERCY!”]

It grabbed Thill by the throat mid-swing and slammed him into the ground—once, twice—sending a shockwave through the battlefield.

“RAHHRGH!”

Thill choked, then twisted mid-slam and kicked off the orc’s gut, backflipping out of its grip and landing hard, skidding backward.

He spat again—this time bloodier. His breathing was ragged. But his smile was broader than ever.

“Heheh… That all you got, big guy?”

The orc’s glowing eyes narrowed further. It raised its hammer above its head with both hands, shrieking a war cry that sent shivers down every boy’s spine.

But before the hammer came down—

BOOM!

Thill moved like lightning. He was faster than before…and what’s curious about this was that he didn’t made a step, instead it seemed like he was gliding across the snowy dirt.

With his core flaring again, he dashed forward with a burst of energy—ducked under the downward swing—and stabbed his broadsword deep into the orc’s abdomen.

SKRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTCH!

The blade slid in—deep, strong, clean.

The orc roared in pain, but before it could retaliate, Thill yanked the blade out, spun, and slashed across its chest in a vicious X-arc.

Two lines. Carved through flesh. Tattoo ink and dried blood split apart.

And still—the orc stood.

“Yorrrgh…” it gurgled, wavering on its feet.

Thill took a step back, panting, eyeing his foe.

“You’re not falling? Alright then… one more.”

The boys’ eyes widened—for a but a brief second, they could see the winds around him forming into what seemed like wings.

“Just for you,” Thill muttered.

Then, like a demon given wings, he launched forward with everything he had.

His blade became a blur—slashing, stabbing, tearing into the orc’s undead body with pure hatred and passion. The orc tried to block, tried to fight back—but Thill’s rage had become too much.

With one final roar, Thill lifted his sword above his head—twisting his hips—and brought the blade down in a clean vertical slash.

SCHRRRAKKKKK!!

The orc’s head split from crown to chest—cut nearly in two.

And for a moment… silence.

The orc swayed… then collapsed like a mountain crashing to its knees.

Dead. Finally.

Thill stood over the body, panting, chest heaving, sword dripping with black, rotted blood.

He looked back at the boys, eyes gleaming.

“This,” he said, voice hoarse but proud, “is what it means to fight the strong.”

The boys didn’t say a word. But their eyes burned—each of them with something they didn’t have before.

Respect.

Understanding.