I search for its most vulnerable point for a moment. Once I find it, I clear my mind and use one charge of my electrified steps to close the distance. By the time they detect me, they're already inside my gravity well, and at the same time, three v4 spheres fly toward them. The ogre mage tries to block them with his spikes, but it's useless.

My attacks now carry both a pseudo law and a law. That makes them brutally hard and powerful. Caught off guard, they can't stop my first strike, and because of that, two of them die as the fight begins.

Strangely, they all use swords. I begin exchanging blows with all of them, needing to position myself carefully with each strike—a single misstep could be fatal. It doesn't matter whether I'm fighting four or five at once; my sword skill and speed let me keep up.

Some spikes fly toward me, and I take the opportunity to use another charge to reappear near a slightly distant ogre. My sword is faster than his reaction. A deep cut slices from his left shoulder to his abdomen. At first, he grins proudly... then starts screaming as he clutches the wound. His regeneration is useless right now.

Before I can finish him off, I sense a massive blade swinging toward me. I turn and block it with both swords. The blow lifts me slightly into the air, which actually helps—it pulls me away from the center of their formation. The ogre swordsman stares at me, furious.

"Come on." I raise my left hand to chest height, blade held horizontally, and lift my index finger, taunting him with a clear "Come and fight."

He charges wildly, while the others circle, waiting to strike from the sides. We clash sword to sword. His blade crashes again and again against my twin swords. I'm far more skilled, but his raw strength keeps us at a stalemate.

Whenever I gain an edge in the exchange, he powers up his next swing to keep me at bay—or one of the others lunges at me from behind. And then there are those damn spikes. They come slowly, probably because he doesn't want to hit his ally who's so close to me.

Blows are exchanged again and again, but no clean hits land. I give him chances to fall into my rhythm, offering strike-for-strike trades, but the bastard won't take the bait. He must've seen what happened to the other ogre now writhing on the ground.

I finish building two more v4 spheres. One shoots toward the swordsman in front of me—he blocks with his sword, but the impact knocks him back several meters. The second sphere hurtles at the mage, who blocks it with a wall of dense stone and his spikes.

I use that window to charge at another ogre. He reacts in time to block my first slash, but my second and third force him off balance, and the next two land—one on his arm, the other across his chest. The difference in sword skill is clear.

Like before, he starts screaming as the wound consumes everything nearby. The edges of the cut turn pitch-black, lifeless.

The others rush at me—these four don't just have swords; they can also use rocky spikes. They're not very powerful, but they're effective distractions.

No matter. Bit by bit, I'm pushing them back. As I'm about to plunge a blade near one's heart, a giant sword comes flying at me. I'm forced to use my last charge of electrified steps to dodge. I'll recharge the skill in a few seconds.

The first ogre I cut is barely alive—I can hear him breathing. Looks like he passed out from the pain. The second one is still rolling on the ground, trying to fight the spreading damage. Their damn regeneration is saving them—without it, the wounds would be far more dangerous.

The swordsman retrieves his weapon from the ground, eyes burning red with rage. He charges again—recklessly. He seems less rational now. As our blades clash again, I feel his strength and speed have increased. In response, I increase the pressure of my gravity well.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

As I spend more mana, I begin to understand its function better. His movements are slower, heavier. That lets me push him back, even though I'm physically weaker. My swordsmanship is far superior.

I create two more spheres, forcing the other five ogres into a defensive stance. Just one v4 sphere could kill them on impact. They also need to be ready to protect their tank if I launch both spheres at him. That puts them in a very awkward spot.

"If you won't attack out of caution, this idiot will die soon enough." I don't know if they understand me—I don't care. My words are just mockery for their hesitation.

This ogre has traded skill for brute strength and speed. That might work against other monsters or people—but against me, it's suicide. My swordsmanship begins to shine, forcing him back blow by blow. I also have to keep my brain sharp—when the others try something, I just move the spheres toward them.

A few more exchanges and I've got him where I want. Just as planned, I've pushed him until he's backed up against the rocky wall of a small mountain. They've cornered me—but I'm the one with the upper hand.

One sphere flies at the mage, the other at the nearest ogre. They do everything they can to defend. I take advantage of the chaos to push my speed to the max—thanks to my electrical affinity in my brain, it's similar to how I achieved cold mind.

My reflexes sharpen. My arms move faster. After just four exchanges in under a second, the ogre swordsman completely loses his balance. His sword ends up almost embedded in the ground.

One, two, three, four cuts. One on each arm, and two crossing over his chest in an X. I drive a sword into his right thigh, forcing him to kneel. He's still taller than me. I don't care. I stare at him defiantly, then slowly turn away. I haven't killed him—I'll leave him there for now.

Using my Domain, I can sense that four of them have survived. Four? There should be five. I look around and see the ogre mage sprinting away at full speed. How the hell is that bastard so fast? I'm stunned by his speed, but I let him go. He'll die soon when I attack the fortress. For now, it's time to end this.

These four alone aren't a problem. It's just a matter of time before I kill them. I use the opportunity to refine the ice swords I've been practicing.

I keep fighting all four while building sword after sword, launching them at the ogres. Some are blocked with magic, others injure them, or are narrowly dodged.

"One down." The first falls to a slash across his throat. A v2 sword had impaled his leg, slowing him down.

The rest fall soon after. They all put up a fight. It's clear they were all elite among ogres. I have no real comparison, so I made my own ranking—these ogres were all mid-to-high grade, except the swordsman and the mage, who are top tier.

I still struggle a bit building ice swords while fighting—it shows. Two rocky spikes are embedded in my forearm. The same arm I cut off earlier. Did that act curse my arm somehow?

I finish off the first two ogres who were slowly recovering. It's only been a few minutes since I wounded them, and already they've begun to stabilize. Their regeneration is insane—if left alone, they'd be up and moving in days, minus the dead tissue.

With them all finished, I approach the high-ranking ogre. He notices me and locks eyes. There's no desire to fight, no will to survive. He knows how this ends.

He glances at my wounded forearm and smiles that awful smile. He hadn't seen the spikes before—I pull them out and activate my vital synthesis, pumping mana in to heal the injury as fast as I can.

His expression turns to rage when he sees me fully healed. I study his own wounds—where my blade hit, the flesh is still dead, but the damage hasn't spread as much. He must have better regeneration, or he's putting all his effort into healing.

I approach slowly with only one sword in my right hand. Standing before him, I bring my blade down and sever the arm holding his weapon. The metal clatters to the ground, ending any hope of retaliation.

"I can't speak your language well, but I understand it. What do you want?" His words stun me. I didn't know he could talk. They'd never tried to communicate before—just growls and screams.

I suppress my emotions with my cold core. "To finish this dungeon as soon as possible."

He makes an unreadable face—his gestures mean nothing to me. His Imra tells a clearer story: pain and resignation. "Can you tell me anything about your fortress?" I try to extract some information.

He stares at me, then forces a smile. "Ogres aren't that friendly to one another… but we're not traitors, either." He goes silent, then lifts his head again. "Then this is the end for my tribe. Our chief will never accept your demands. We're doomed to be trapped here because of him."

Though I wanted to ask more—what that meant—I held back. His Imra said one thing clearly: Kill me. Without letting him suffer, I delivered a clean cut across his neck, ending it.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.