【 IN A WAR BETWEEN RACES NO ONE IS INNOCENT 】
Silver light flashed across the battlefield as dazzling swordplay illuminated the violent struggle between a ponytailed elf and an old orc warrior.
The sharp clang of tal against tal rang out in a torrential rhythm, with each impact reverberating through the air like a storm. The orc’s guttural roars rged with the elf’s fierce cries, accompanied by the raucous cheers of the onlooking players.
Each strike sent shockwaves rippling through the air, churning up dust and sand. Deep, jagged fissures marred the ground beneath them, so nearly half a ter deep, a testant to the ferocity of their battle.
No one dared step into the fray within a twenty-ter radius of where the two were fighting.
Though more and more players ca to watch the spectacle after hearing about it, they kept a safe distance, observing intently. Cheers, gasps, and whistles occasionally punctuated the tension, but none were foolish enough to interfere with the duel.
After all, most of them were rely at the Iron rank, and the power unleashed by these two Silver-rankers was leagues beyond what they could withstand or hope to challenge.
Especially since one of them was a battle-hardened orc warrior, while his opponent was none other than Jasmine Under the Moon, ranked third on the current combat leaderboards among all players.
In fact, despite her being third in ranking, few doubted that Jasmine was second only to the server’s number one combat player, Boxlunch, in pure one-on-one battle.
After all, the second one in the list was a certain female rich “whale” who was overly reliant on her expensive gear to crush anyone through the sheer stats of her equipnt alone.
But gear stats were just that—gear stats.
Sure, that particular female “whale” might dominate in large-scale AOE battles, but in a true 1v1 duel wherein combat tactical skills were crucial?
The outco was far less certain.
A battle between two Silver-rankers was a rare sight for ordinary players.
The Redsand Tribe had already fallen. Hence, now was the ti to reap their rewards, and no one wanted to be caught in the crossfire and be sent straight back to their respawn point.
Even the other Silver-ranked players who had been drawn by the commotion chose to watch from afar.
“This is a fight between him and , no one should interfere.”
Before the duel began, Moon Jasmine had declared these words to the other players.
She was considered quite famous across the server, and everyone knew the “Valkyrie” relished one-on-one battles against strong opponents, even going so far as to refuse healing support most of the ti.
Therefore, naturally, no one attempted to disturb her duel.
It was also a sign of respect.
Respect for the Old Orc she was currently fighting with.
At the heart of the battle, Jasmine fought with unbridled exhilaration.
It had been far too long since she had experienced such a satisfying duel.
This old orc was indeed formidable, reigniting the thrill of life-or-death combat she had first tasted when encountering wild monsters in the open world.
Even her previously somber mood had begun to lift, swept away by the intensity of their fight.
Warm liquid trickled down her cheek—blood from a fresh wound she just received.
She was already covered in nurous injuries.
Her once-pristine silver armor was marred with deep gashes and sared with crimson spatter. One particularly severe wound had nearly cleaved her in half at the waist, exposing glimpses of shifting viscera beneath.
Yet her expression remained unchanged.
As if she didn’t care.
Unlike most players, she had not disabled pain reception in her settings.
But the sheer adrenaline coursing through her veins dulled the agony, replacing it with raw exhilaration.
Every muscle in her body was tense, her eyes locked onto the battle. The pain barely registered—if anything, it fueled her, sharpening her focus and quickening her pulse even more.
In contrast, although Jasmine was accumulating wounds, her fighting spirit remained unbroken and as sharp as ever. The orc warrior, Iron Thunder, however, was faring worse…
His breathing had grown ragged, his movents slightly sluggish and his leather armor was drenched in blood, stained a deep, ominous red.
A vicious wound tore across his chest, the flesh peeling back to reveal glimpses of stark white bone underneath.
His weathered face, lined with age, twitched slightly while his complexion flushed with an unhealthy shade of crimson.
Ragged breaths wheezed from his nostrils and lips, occasionally accompanied by flecks of pink-tinged blood.
His massive, rusted blade trembled in his grip, and every movent he made appeared laborious, as if each swing drained the last remnants of his strength. His breaths now ca in ragged gasps and at this mont, he seed on the verge of being overwheld by the girl’s relentless assault, his defenses fraying under the unyielding pressure of her blade.
—Nevertheless, he still stood firm.
Like an unyielding pillar in a storm, he stood before the entrance of the main tent, completely unmoving.
His gaze remained calm, devoid of fear.
Yet, with each passing second, his breathing grew more erratic.
He was old.
Far too old.
Once, he had stood tall and indomitable, a proud leader of the Redsand Tribe whose presence alone commanded respect. Alas, though his body remained muscular, the passage of ti had bent his spine beneath its weight.
The ravages of ti had made it impossible for him to wield the full extent of his forr combat prowess. Whether in speed, strength, endurance, or recovery, he was no longer what he once was.
As it stood, his defeat was inevitable.
Another blade stroke sliced through the air as Moonlit Jasmine nimbly withdrew, while Iron Thunder let out a muffled groan, before a fresh spray of blood burst out from his mouth.
He seed even older now, his form wilting under the strain.
All around him, cheers and applause from the players watching grew much louder, their excitent reaching a fever pitch.
Noticing sothing odd, Jasmine frowned slightly.
“…Why didn’t you dodge that last strike? What’s inside that tent that makes you so determined to protect it?”
Her voice carried a trace of curiosity.
He should have been able to easily evade her attack.
Yet, instead of dodging, he had chosen to take the full force of her blade. Had he stepped aside, her sword attack would have cut into the tent behind him.
He had chosen to endure the strike to protect whatever lay within it.
But when Jasmine voiced her question, the old orc only remained silent. His gaze remained calm, yet for the first ti, a faint smile appeared on his weathered face.
A smile filled with quiet warmth.
With unwavering resolve.
Seeing such expression took Jasmine by surprise.
Whilst slightly trembling, Iron Thunder raised his rusted blade once more and pointed it at her.
Then, his other hand trembled as he slowly extended it, palm up with his fingers curling slightly in a beckoning gesture.
“Co… fight!”
His voice was hoarse but carried along with it an unyielding spirit and valor.
Yet everyone could tell that his strength was nearly spent.
The cheers of the onlooking players gradually faded as their gazes shifted into a more solemn expression.
One by one, admiration flickered within everyone’s eyes.
This old orc was indeed a true warrior.
Even if he was just an NPC.
Even if he was their enemy, one they were destined to defeat.
The unwavering resolve he had shown in this duel was worthy of admiration.
Facing the unyielding orc warrior in front of her, Jasmine, too, felt sothing stir within her.
Her grip on her sword tightened, her expression growing solemn.
A radiant glow gathered behind her, like moonlight coalescing into a luminous aura. Energy pulsed around her, before rising to its peak as her blade shimred with raw power.
“This is my strongest skill. My trump card—Fifth-Tier Sword Skill: Celestial Moon Cross Slash.”
“I haven’t fully mastered it yet,”
“But I feel that using this skill would be the most fitting send-off for a warrior such as you,” she said, her tone laced with respect.
In response, the old orc only offered a faint smile.
Then, he moved.
With a final, defiant roar, he raised his rusted sword and charged forward, his worn yet unyielding form cutting through the dust-laden air.
Jasmine’s eyes sharpened, her breath steady as she t his advance.
Behind her, the gathering moonlight swirled and condensed, transforming into countless shimring stars that cascaded around her like a celestial tide. The luminous glow bathed the surroundings in an ethereal brilliance, making the very air shimr with anticipation.
She leaped forward, eting his charge head-on, her sword arcing through the starlit haze with breathtaking precision.
The dazzling radiance of her strike engulfed everything, swallowing both warriors in a sea of resplendent light. The sheer intensity forced many onlookers to instinctively shield their eyes, their hearts pounding in suspense.
And when they finally reopened their eyes—the battle was already over.
The old orc still stood, gripping his rusted sword tightly.
Even at the end, he did not fall.
Even as Jasmine’s blade had already pierced his chest, Iron Thunder remained unmoving, like an unshakable mountain weathering its final storm.
The only sign of his defeat was the slow trickle of blood staining his armor, glistening beneath the fading celestial glow.
“You lost,” she said softly.
Then, she withdrew her blade.
As it left his body, a spray of crimson followed.
The old orc staggered, barely managing to remain upright by driving his rusted sword into the ground for support.
Slowly, Iron Thunder lowered his gaze, watching as the blood spread across his chest.
“…Yes. I… lost…”
His voice was raspier than ever.
But Jasmine did not seem pleased with her victory.
Her brows furrowed, her grip tightening around her sword.
She knew the strike she had delivered should have utterly destroyed his heart, leaving no chance of survival.
By all logic, he should have collapsed, his lifeblood spilling forth in an unstoppable torrent.
And yet—he still stood.
And yet, sohow, despite the mortal wound that should have claid him instantly, the old orc still clung stubbornly to his final breath, his unyielding spirit refusing to fade.
Sothing impossible was unfolding before their very eyes.
Jasmine felt a stir in her heart as she t the orc’s gaze—one filled with worry and deep reluctance.
“You… is there sothing you still wish to say?”
At her question, the old orc struggled to lift his head, a flicker of surprise crossing over his worn features.
But soon, that surprise gave way to a look of relief.
Iron Thunder did not answer her question imdiately. Instead, with great effort, he spoke slowly.
“The mistake… was ours… and we… are willing to pay the price…”
“Our God… abandoned us…he is unworthy… of being our patron deity… That, too… is our punishnt…”
“But they… they know nothing…”
“Please… spare them…”
Them?
Jasmine frowned slightly.
Whose them?
The other players also exchanged confused glances.
Suddenly, a gust of cold wind swept through the vicinity, forcing open the main tent’s battered entrance.
Inside, the scene was finally revealed, showing dozens of young orc children lay motionless on the ground.
Their eyes were shut, their breathing steady.
They weren’t asleep but rather unconscious, either struck down or drugged into slumber.
At that mont, the surrounding players understood everything.
Once again, their gazes toward the old orc shifted.
Under the divine command of Uller, every orc warriors had abandoned their tribes, leaving the weak, elderly, and sick behind to fend for themselves.
To them, the old had lost their worth but the young could still be replaced.
Many players had once scorned the Orcs as a heartless, brutal race.
And yet, now, so couldn’t help but reconsider their initial impression of them.
Even in the coldest of races, warmth could still exist.
Even so…
Jasmine’s expression wavered briefly before her voice turned cold.
“You should know, there is no forgiveness for yoy orcs. When you slaughtered the elves without rcy, did you ever consider sparing them? Did you ever think of this day?”
“In a war between races, no one is innocent.”
Iron Thunder fell silent.
His expression grew even more desolate.
“However…”
Jasmine’s tone shifted.
“I can promise you this—I, Jasmine under the Moon will spare them, but they must sign a contract. They will beco our slaves. Vassals of the elves.”
“You can think of it as…a form of atonent.”
The old orc’s body stiffened.
Then, he let out a bitter chuckle.
“I understand…”
As his final words left his lips, a burst of blood sprayed from his chest.
His body finally crumbled before slowly fading into ashes.
All that remained from where he stood was a bloodstained leather cuirass and a rusted sword, lying still upon the ground.
༺⟐༻
Author’s Notes:
This chapter was particularly difficult to write. The story has reached two pivotal turning points—one regarding the approach toward the native races and the other concerning the mindset of players after a brutal battle. These are issues I’ve long planned to address, though I know they may spark controversy.
Even so, I believe they need to be written, even if it ans so readers may be displeased and leave.
This world is not black and white. Nothing is absolute—because absolutes breed extremism. This applies to every side, every perspective, every decision.
Of course, I’ll do my best to write in a way that satisfies everyone.
This book is by no ans a dark one, but it’s not a saintly one either.
This is a ga—but at the sa ti, it isn’t.
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