The orc stomped the ground three tis.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Three homing Fissures exploded from the earth, their rocky spikes shooting upward toward Zane. But they shattered harmlessly against the Sacred Barrier, unable to pierce its radiant shell.
The terrain around Zane twisted and cracked—jagged stone spikes crisscrossed beneath him, forming a nacing cage of upheaved ground.
But the orc wasn’t done.
He stomped the earth five more tis, summoning a barrage of Fissures that encircled the battlefield like a trap closing shut.
Then—he leapt.
Soaring high above the glowing do, the blue-skinned beast roared and began hamring down with both fists—again and again.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
The do held.
Zane still felt no pain... but his mana—it was draining fast. Nearly a quarter of his total reserves had vanished in re seconds.
This isn’t good, Zane thought, his brow furrowed as sweat began to bead.
And worse—Gravity x10 was still active. His limbs felt like they were cast in iron, every movent sluggish and strained.
It’s an area-of-effect skill, he realized. If I can just get out of its range... I’ll be free.
But he needed the right mont to bounce—any window of opportunity.
Then ca a flicker of movent—behind him.
The orc reappeared, silent as a shadow, and began raining down a storm of brutal punches.
Wham! Wham! Wham!
The Sacred Barrier lit up with each blow, flaring white with every impact. Zane clenched his teeth—not from pain, but from pressure. His mana pool was shrinking fast.
I can’t take many more hits like this. The barrier won’t break... but I’ll run out of mana.
He closed his eyes for a split second, listening—feeling—the rhythm of the orc’s assault.
The orc’s pattern wasn’t random anymore. It was precise. Deliberate. Predictable.
Zane’s instincts scread—now.
He gritted his teeth, bent his knees under the crushing weight of gravity, and coiled his body like a spring.
The orc punched down.
Zane responded with a punch of his own.
His fist shot out from the Sacred Barrier just as the orc’s descended. Their blows collided midair—a perfect clash of raw strength and will.
Boom!
A shockwave burst from the impact.
For a split second, the pressure around Zane lightened.
And in that instant—he broke free.
The suffocating grip of the gravity vanished.
Zane landed lightly, his heart pounding, eyes sharp. He had confird a new theory: the orc’s Gravity Skill required the caster’s proximity to sustain its effect. The mont their clash pushed the orc away—just enough—the field weakened.
So even powerful skills have their limits...
Every technique had its flaws—and Zane was determined to exploit them all.
The orc flashed forward.
Zane responded instantly, activating Luminous Step to keep his distance. He had no intention of getting trapped again.
The orc pursued, relentless—launching fissures, activating homing spikes, pounding the ground with fury. But none of it worked anymore. Zane was too fast, too aware. With every failed strike, the orc’s patience thinned, and his rage simred to a boil.
Then sothing changed.
The orc’s figure flickered—and suddenly, he was standing atop the central platform, where the Throne of Obedient Black lood like a silent witness.
Zane narrowed his eyes.
The orc placed his hand upon it. The throne pulsed—and in a flash, it morphed into a massive cleaver, black as graphite, absorbing all light around it.
"You want to use that?" Zane sneered.
The orc didn’t understand the words, but the aning was clear in Zane’s tone.
"Human..." the orc growled, voice guttural and filled with bloodlust, "get ready to die."
He vanished—and reappeared mid-swing.
Zane sidestepped using Luminous Step, narrowly dodging the blade.
But then—wham!
The orc hurled the cleaver at him like a bolt of death.
Zane dodged—barely.
The cleaver struck the earth with a deafening crack, triggering a violent explosion. Chunks of shattered rock shot into the air as the ground erupted. When the dust settled, Zane blinked in disbelief—what remained was a jagged stone structure shaped like the throne itself.
From afar, the orc laughed darkly, then slamd his palm into the soil. With a twisted grin, he yanked the sa cleaver from the earth—as if it had always been waiting there.
What?! Elental transfer? Zane’s eyes narrowed. That ans... he can summon that weapon from the ground—anywhere. The terrain is no longer safe.
The threat just escalated.
Suddenly, the broadsword strapped across Zane’s back vibrated, humming with energy. Then—clear as day—he heard a child’s voice whisper inside his mind:
"Use . Let fight that cleaver. Tasty-tasty!"
Zane flinched but didn’t answer. He pushed the voice aside, sharpening his focus.
The orc stomped again—fissures ripped through the ground in multiple directions. Then he charged, cleaver raised, and tossed it once more.
Zane’s senses flared. His awareness expanded, taking in every shift of air and tremor beneath his feet. He ducked, pivoted, rolled across jagged terrain, then dashed across a flat stretch of earth.
This wasn’t just survival anymore.
This was mastery.
The Zane who had first entered this battlefield wouldn’t have lasted a minute under this pressure. But now—he was adapting, growing, evolving with every second.
This was how he improved—by fighting monsters like the Orc Boss.
The orc began another ruthless combo, triggering explosions with each swing of his summoned cleaver. The battlefield erupted again and again, but this ti there was no surprise ambush.
Zane had expected it.
Still, the chase continued—Zane dashing, dodging, evading—but there was no exit. He’d already scanned the surroundings. No doors, no escape. He had to defeat the boss to leave this dungeon.
But what he feared was finally catching up.
Zane had reached his top speed, his fastest movent possible. But the blue-skinned beast, relentless and monstrous, was still gaining on him—bit by bit, step by step.
"I should fight this," Zane muttered through gritted teeth.
He reached for the handle of the broadsword on his back.
The child’s voice echoed in his head again—this ti not whispering, but chuckling gleefully. The sound was unsettling, almost wrong, tinged with sothing eerie and unholy.
But Zane had no other choice.
Instead of drawing it blindly, he ford a plan. He burned half of his remaining mana and activated Radiant Strike, channeling all of that light energy into the blade.
The sword quivered in his hands. The child’s voice in his mind giggled with delight—louder now, more thrilled, almost ecstatic.
The orc blinked in front of him, cleaver raised, swinging a brutal horizontal slash.
Zane didn’t flinch.
He raised the broadsword, holding it in a front-parry stance.
Clang—shhnk!
The cleaver split cleanly in two.
The orc froze, eyes wide in disbelief.
Zane didn’t wait. He stepped in and, with one clean, radiant arc, swung the sword—
The orc’s head flew from his shoulders and rolled across the rocky ground, stopping near Zane’s feet.
Even in death, the orc’s eyes twitched. His mouth moved.
"Soul... weapon...?"
Zane glanced down. "Soul weapon? No idea. Even if I did," he smirked, "you’d still have no clue what I’m talking about."
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