A group of orcs was dragging logs. Freshly cut timber, bound with thick ropes, hauled through the forest with strained muscles and grunting breath. Sweat clung to their skin as they stumbled over roots and uneven ground, dragging their burden toward the village ahead.

"Grrrr…" one of them growled, glancing up. The rooftops were just beginning to peek through the trees.

Then the weight shifted—sudden, unnatural. Something had landed on the logs.

The orcs looked up and froze. A woman stood atop the timber, sword in hand, blades red as fresh blood. A knight. Then came the mist: thick, living, suffocating. She vanished into it.

The orcs didn't hesitate. They knew exactly what that meant. Hands flew to belts, scrambling for the alarm bells—too slow.

A black slash cut through the fog, lightning fast. Hands went flying. Blood sprayed. Screams tore through the forest air as panic erupted. When the mist cleared, another figure stood beside the logs. Human. Blood on his face, dirt on his clothes, hatred in his eyes.

Luke.

He charged, and the first strike was fatal. Charlie dropped from above like a comet of bone and steel. She landed hard, sword flashing, cutting with precision and cold efficiency. Every strike was lethal. Every movement calculated.

Luke pulled a strip of cloth from one of the fallen orcs' packs and handed it to her. She lit it with the Ring of Fire and tossed the burning rag onto the logs. Smoke began to rise. Flames spread quickly.

Then they were gone into the trees—swift, silent, deadly.

The orc village they reached was already a graveyard. Doors hung open. Bodies lay twisted in the dirt. Nothing alive. Charlie pressed the ring against the side of a hut. It activated. Magical fire began its crawl along the walls. She moved on, repeating the process, setting building after building ablaze. They vanished before reinforcements could arrive.

It was always like this: village after village, day after day, for the past week. Random strikes, unpredictable patterns, stealth offensives that left no rhythm, no trail. Luke and Charlie would pass by one settlement and leave it untouched, only to return days later after destroying another far ahead. The chaos was deliberate. The randomness, by design.

They left nothing behind. Storage sheds, tents, warehouses, even spatial chests—all reduced to cinders. Fire devoured what shadow didn't. Steel finished the rest. It wasn't just destruction. It was psychological warfare, tactical terror. A message written in smoke and blood.

Luke wanted only one thing: to make the orcs regret ever trying to hunt him.

***

Luke sat in his makeshift base, the hollow interior of a giant tree, accessible only by dissolving into mist. Inside, he had summoned Charlie from his soul. The space was small, barely enough to sit comfortably, but it was secure. And that was all that mattered.

Charlie sat across from him. Since the battle against Morvat, she had reached level 19 as a Death Knight. Her armor was heavier now, but she wore it like it weighed nothing. The strength within her had grown.

Luke's attention was on a new item in his inventory. Loot from one of the captains he'd killed during the Morvat assault.

[Orc Captain's Gloves (Rare) Description: A pair of gloves made of tough fabric that doesn't hinder movement. Bonus: +10 Agility Requirement: Level 15+ in any class or race.]

Black, reinforced at the palms and knuckles, they looked like something out of a modern battlefield. The fingertips were exposed, but the coverage was solid—enough to punch through tusks, teeth, even bone, without hesitation. He had already tested them on orc skulls. They passed.

Way better than bare hands.

Spread across the floor was a crude map, drawn on yellowed paper with rough charcoal markings. Mountains. Trails. River paths. Supply zones. A plan was taking shape.

"Following the river is still impossible," he murmured, eyes scanning the routes.

Orc camps spread along the river like an infection. Even with the chaos Luke had unleashed over the past week, most of the army remained active. Morvat hadn't retreated, and if Luke got ambushed again, he might not get another chance to escape.

Charlie stepped closer and pointed to a spot on the map—a structure he had drawn with extra care.

"We're close to this place," he said. "The Dam."

It wasn't just a wooden structure blocking the river's flow. It was a living prison. Built from logs and reinforced with mud, the dam functioned as a barrier. Trapped behind it were dozens of giant crocodiles—Beast Captains. Monstrous predators, as deadly as they were mindless. Luke still didn't understand why they hadn't broken through the dam already. Maybe they were content being fed. Maybe they feared the orcs. But one thing was certain: they were trapped. Trapped… until someone opened the gate.

Luke stared down at the map, fingers brushing over the sketched lines as he mentally calculated the risks. That dam was the line between control and chaos. A wall the orcs had built to hold back disaster. His plan was simple: tear it down. But the execution? That was another story.

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Beside the map, Luke had scribbled a crude drawing of Morvat's face—harsh features, sharp tusks—with a question mark next to it.

"Knowing where he is matters too," he muttered. "But that's for another time."

Morvat had his own base, where he and the other Captains gathered. Finding it was a future objective—inevitable, but not yet.

Luke pointed to the dam's drawing, then to another sketch showing row after row of orcs.

"If we take that down," he said, "we'll force a good chunk of the orc army to deal with the crocodile captains. Maybe even Morvat will have to step in. He's stronger than one of those things, sure—but he won't have a choice. With their mages, they can rebuild the dam later... but by then, the damage will be done."

Charlie nodded silently, her eyes locked on the plan. This was their chance. While the orcs scrambled to contain the crocodiles, Luke would have a window to slip through. If everything went right, he could reach the second fortress region, follow the river to the rope lands, and from there, make his way back to the Wild Zone city—and eventually, the Safe Zone, free of the relentless hunt.

"Looks like we don't have a choice," he said. "It's this, or keep running until there's nowhere left to run."

He turned to Charlie. "Ready?"

She simply raised her metal fist—firm, steady. A simple gesture, but it said everything: 'Always am.'

Luke tapped his fist against hers. "That's what I like to hear, partner."

He looked back down at the map. For days, he had attacked villages far from the dam, part of a deliberate false trail. Now, it was time to retrace his steps and focus on the real mission. The chance to escape was in his hands.

But he knew—he couldn't face anyone head-on. This mission wasn't about power or revenge.

It was about shadows. Silence. Precision.

It was an assassin's mission.

***

The rain didn't stop. Even during the day, the sky remained dark, thick with gray clouds. Luke crouched on the branch of a tall tree, eyes locked on the massive dam below.

Just beneath it lay an orc settlement.

Wooden walls surrounded the camp. Torches flickered in the gloom of the forest while orcs armed with spears and bows patrolled the perimeter. Even out here, in the middle of nowhere, the place was well-guarded. No openings. No gaps.

Dozens of huts and tents dotted the area. Luke counted at least five Captains. Each one had a large cabin but didn't stay still, constantly circling the camp on patrol. Near the dam, the vigilance was absolute.

He watched orcs dragging in boars, bound by thick ropes, pulling them through the gates. Whatever the reason, he didn't have time to find out. He had to move. Now.

Luke dropped from the tree and sprinted silently through the mud. An orc archer stood nearby, distracted. He turned, but all he saw was black mist. Luke was already behind him. A kukri flashed across the neck. No sound. The body dropped, limp. Luke caught it quickly and pressed his storage pendant to the corpse. It vanished.

He could only store one body. Not enough for more, but it was enough. No trace. No clue. The rest of the pendant was full—cloth, bedding, crude weapons, barrels of water, supplies looted over the past week.

He moved.

Slipping into the settlement, he took cover behind a barrel. Up ahead, two orcs spoke in low, guttural tones. Luke turned to mist, gliding across the ground and into a wooden cabin through the cracks. He rematerialized inside.

It was a storage room. Quiet, packed with crates and provisions. He locked the door behind him, pulled the corpse from the pendant, and laid it out. Then, from his soul, Charlie emerged.

"We have to be fast."

Without a word, she began setting fire to the structure with the Ring of Fire. Luke didn't use his mana—not for this. He was conserving every drop. Every bit could mean the difference between survival and death.

He pulled cloth from the pendant and stacked it near the growing flames. As the fabric caught, he grabbed a burning scrap and tossed it into the opposite corner of the room. The fire began to spread.

"Back," he whispered.

Charlie returned to his soul.

Luke turned to mist once more and slipped through the cracks. Outside, he crouched beside a tent and pulled a wooden crate from the pendant. He set it down, misted again, slid inside the crate, and pulled the lid shut from within.

In the silence of the box, Luke breathed slowly.

A stray thought crossed his mind.

Feels like I'm in goddamn Metal Gear…

Through a crack, he watched.

Orcs ran back and forth, sniffing at the growing scent of smoke. The cabin had caught. Flames licked at the dry brush nearby, and fire began to spread.

"PUT IT OUT!!" one of the Orc Captains roared, shoving his way through the confusion. "IDIOTS! DON'T THROW CLOTH! THE FIRE'S TOO HOT!"

Orcs shouted, pointed, panicked. They scrambled for water barrels. The whole camp descended into chaos.

Luke smiled.

Most of the orcs were focused on the fire. This was the moment.

He unraveled into mist, slipped out of the crate, and materialized behind a cabin. Then he ran, moving through the shadows, behind the backs of structures, eyes tracking every motion pattern, every shift in patrol.

A sharp sound rang out.

"DING-DING! DING-DING!"

One of the Orc Captains was slamming an alarm bell with all his strength.

Shit.

They had some kind of protocol now. An anti-invasion measure put in place since the village raids had begun. But it didn't matter. Luke had already gotten what he came for.

His eyes locked on the great dam. Massive. Ancient. And now, thanks to the fire, barely guarded.

"You're up, Princess Charlie."

Charlie emerged from within him and, without hesitation, burst forward in a charge. Iron Fists: activated. Both of them.

She slammed into the same spot on the dam again and again. Each strike landed with a deep, muffled thud. The sound of splintering wood was hidden beneath the roar of flames behind them.

"STOP!" a voice bellowed. An Orc Captain came charging toward them.

"Keep going!" Luke shouted. "Faster, Charlie!"

"ARE YOU INSANE?!"

Luke drew his kukris.

The Captain pointed, rage and panic filling his face. "If you keep going, that dam will collapse! It'll flood the entire forest! It'll unleash the crocodiles!"

Luke grinned. "I know. That's the point."

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