"Show me what you can do." Vargosh's voice rumbled low, filled with challenge.

Axelius chuckled, lips curling into a sharp grin. "How brave," he said, golden eyes twinkling. "Are you seriously wanting to see what I can do?"

He tilted his head slightly, as if mocking Vargosh's question.

Vargosh didn't answer, just stared.

"You'll regret it," Axelius added, lifting his katana and pointing it casually at him.

"Impossible," Vargosh spat. "You're still just a kid. Weak. Small. If you don't want to come at me—"

He raised his axe.

"Then I'll push you to fight!"

With that, Vargosh leapt high into the air, powerful legs launching his huge frame up into the sky. His axe gleamed and aimed straight for Axelius's head.

Below them, the orcs erupted into cheers, their fists raised in celebration as their lord prepared to strike. Crow, watching from a tree nearby, let out a sharp caw but didn't move.

Axelius stood still, head tilted up, watching the Orc Lord falling like a meteor.

"Then let's play."

Vargosh grinned as he dropped from the sky like a comet, his massive axe gleaming as it descended with crushing force. In his mind, Axelius would dodge as anyone sane would and that would be his opening to land the real blow.

But just as his axe slammed down, carving a crater into the ground, a cloud of dust exploded outward, swallowing everything in a blinding swirl of dirt and broken leaves.

"Got you." Vargosh muttered, his grin widening.

But then… his eyes narrowed.

Inside the dust, something shimmered. And as the debris slowly cleared, he froze.

There beneath his massive axe stood Axelius, one arm raised, his small body holding back the axe with a single katana gripped in both hands.

The earth beneath Axelius's feet was cracked and buckling, yet he stood firm.

"…What?!" Vargosh's pupils shrank. His arms trembled—not from strain, but from disbelief.

His axe hadn't even chipped the blade.

His eyes shifted to the katana, where a faint white glow leaked from a crack in the blade's surface. It wasn't mana. It was… something else. Something ancient and cursed.

"That glow… that texture… That's—" Vargosh's voice shook.

"A scale of the Dark Dragon Tyraknos… and the edge, it's forged with Blacksteel Essence… the hardest metal mined from the volcanic rift of Verakra!"

He stepped back, almost tripping over his own foot as he whispered, "That blade shouldn't exist… Where did you get that?!"

Axelius tilted his head and grinned mockingly. "What are you talking about? Too much shock all at once, huh?"

Then he pushed the axe to the side with a single sweep of his katana, making Vargosh stumble back.

Axelius said playfully, tapping the flat of his blade against his shoulder. "You're supposed to be the big bad boss, right? Why are you shaking?"

Vargosh tightened his grip on his axe, still staring at the sword like it was cursed. "Who… are you really?"

Axelius just smiled. "I told you, didn't I?"

He raised his katana slowly.

"I'm death."

"You're just a kid!" Vargosh roared, fury and disbelief mixing in his voice as he tightened his grip on the axe, trying to convince himself that the weight pressing on his chest was nothing but illusion.

Axelius tilted his head slightly, unfazed by the orc lord's rising rage. A bored smile curled on his lips.

"And you're just another idiot who judges a blade by its sheath."

Then, without another word, Axelius swung his katana to the side a clean, effortless motion that cut through the air like a whisper.

As the blade sliced, a black aura spilled from Axelius's body like rising smoke. It wasn't just mana it was something far darker, colder, more ancient.

Something that didn't belong to someone so young. It hissed and curled around him, alive like a predator finally stretching after a long slumber.

The moment the aura touched the air, a chilling silence fell over the orcs.

Many of them instinctively took a step back, their monsters instincts screaming.

Even the brutish warriors who had never feared pain or death felt their backs shiver.

Vargosh's breath hitched. For the first time, his hands trembled as he raised his axe, trying to block the oncoming strike not out of confidence, but fear.

Axelius stepped forward, and in that instant, the world blurred.

BAM!

Their weapons met. But to the orcs' horror, it wasn't a clash. It was an explosion of force.

Vargosh, the Highvorne Orc Lord -the warrior who ruled a region of monsters was launched through the air like a ragdoll.

His body slammed through one tree.

Then another.

And another.

Each one shattered in half as his massive form plowed through the forest, leaving behind a trail of splintered trunks and torn earth a path of destruction that stretched for dozens of meters.

The shockwave knocked some of the nearest orcs off their feet.

Crow flapped his wings from a high tree branch, letting out a low caw that echoed through the clearing.

Axelius slowly lowered his katana and rested it on his shoulder, exhaling.

"You picked the wrong kid to underestimate."

Axelius stood still, his katana resting lightly against his shoulder, the black aura around him fading little by little like smoke dissipating in the wind. He clicked his tongue in irritation, eyes narrowing.

"Tch… I leaked some of my aura strength," he muttered under his breath, visibly annoyed.

Just then, with a flutter of wings, Crow descended from above, landing smoothly on his shoulder.

Axelius gave the bird a side glance, his lips tugging into a sharp grin.

He turned his head toward the scattered orcs, many still frozen from witnessing their supposed king hurled like a doll.

With that same grin, he raised his voice.

"So… who's next?"

But what he expected a wild charge, angered roars, another volley of blood-pumping combat didn't come.

Instead, one by one…

The orcs dropped to their knees.

Their heads bowed low, foreheads pressed to the ground. Clubs and axes were discarded.

Even the most brutish of them bent in reverence, their massive bodies trembling slightly.

Their guttural voices chanted in unison, a low, rough tone echoing through the trees.

"Krug'nak thravok... Or'gath mor… Drezhak… Varnak khil…"

Axelius blinked.

"…Huh?"

He looked around. Dozens—no more of orcs were kneeling, heads lowered like he was some kind of a god.

"What the hell are you even saying?" Axelius muttered, resting a hand on his hip as Crow tilted its head, also confused.

"They're… worshipping you," he said to himself with an irritated sigh.

"This isn't fun," he added bluntly, voice flat. "I asked who's next… not who's kneeling."

He rolled his eyes, disappointed. "Where's the fun if they give up this fast?"

Then he turned, glancing at the direction where Vargosh had vanished, likely still recovering from the blow.

"Don't tell me… I broke the leader and ended the game early," he muttered again, dragging a hand down his face.

The chanting continued behind him.

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