Chương 393: Chapter 364: Tardat’s Hot Encounter

"Mordat! Hurry up, you weakling!" Tardat shouted at his second in command. They were only a small pack within the great horde of Meyra, Chosen of Eshara. Their task was to gather as many treasures as possible from the palaces. Luckily, they could not lose the points they earned from killing beasts, and after one thousand five hundred years lost, plus handing most of their loot to their superiors, every bit they got to keep felt like a blessing.

Their goal was not only to collect treasures but also to slay as many creatures as possible. Right now, however, the rest of the horde, especially his second in command, was falling behind, which meant fewer kills. That was something Tardat could not tolerate. He was a proud orc after all. In fact, Tardat was one of the bravest orcs in the entire horde. Sadly, bravery did not necessarily mean strength. Still, he packed a punch and would gladly dare anyone to challenge him.

"You are going way too fast. If we burn through our resources like this, our fighting power will drop, and we will not be able to kill as many beasts!" Mordat shouted back, sweat dripping down his green forehead. That was the real reason Tardat was pushing them so hard. He had no desire to share the points from beast kills, and moving fast was a convenient excuse to make sure of it. He doubted anything could defeat him and his warband anyway. A few might die, but that was their problem, not his.

"I am simply following orders, and so should you. Or are you defying Meyra, Chosen of Eshara?" Tardat growled, narrowing his eyes as he released a bit of his aura. He knew perfectly well that Mordat was not defying anyone, but it would serve to put them all back in line. Smirking triumphantly as his second lowered his head in defeat, Tardat turned back toward the palace ahead. It looked deserted, and the gate to the main building was slightly ajar. Someone must have been here before them, which was horrible news.

If the beasts had already been killed, that meant a huge amount of leaderboard points were lost. Thankfully, he could still make up for it by killing whoever was responsible for such a crime. In this stage, you also gained points for killing other trial takers, which, in Tardat's opinion, was a very welcome bonus. There were still far too many weaklings around that could be farmed easily. Now, it was even worth the effort, even if they did not carry any loot.

Tardat raised a clenched fist, signaling the others to stop. Someone was inside. He could hear ragged, uneven breathing echoing from within the palace. It sounded like a restless animal, at least to his ears. He waited patiently for his underlings to prepare for battle, then kicked the heavy gate with a thunderous clang. The door swung open with the grating sound of metal scraping against stone. Tardat charged in, his massive axe already in hand, ready to cut down anyone daring enough to steal his kills.

But there was no one, only a colossal Minotaur standing in the center of the chamber, its body decaying and flesh hanging from its frame. The room itself was completely empty, with no sign of a struggle. That could only mean one thing: no one had been here before them, right? A grin spread across Tardat's face. Maybe this would still turn out to be their lucky day. Then the grin vanished. The Minotaur's eyes met his, and the sight froze him.

The beast was in a horrific state, red mist rising from its fur, which was slick with sweat and clung to its body like a wet cloak. It was far too lean for a creature of its kind. The Minotaur did not hesitate for even a heartbeat. It lunged forward, faster than Tardat could have imagined, and he barely rolled aside in time to avoid the claws that sliced through the air. Those claws looked wrong, warped and unnatural, like they had grown where they should not have.

But what did Tardat know about monster evolution anyway? The archers released a volley, their massive arrows flying straight toward the beast's chest. For an orc, even hitting a creature with one of those oversized bolts was a feat. Each arrow was almost two meters long, its barbed tip designed to tear flesh and bone, impossible to pull out without excruciating pain, if at all. Normally, such shots would deal devastating damage. But this Minotaur did not even flinch.

The creature did not stumble back or roar in pain. It was as if pain itself no longer existed for it. Tardat darted to the side, swinging his axe at its leg just as a claw tore open his shoulder. His weapon crashed against the Minotaur's knee, the impact echoing through the chamber, but it was not enough to break the bone. He would need another hit. Before he could swing again, searing pain spread through his shoulder, hot and consuming. Still, Tardat refused to be distracted.

He dashed aside, barely avoiding the monstrous jaws that snapped down where he had stood a second earlier. That mouth did not even look like it belonged to the creature anymore, filled with jagged, mismatched teeth that had no right to exist. His natural vitality and orcish resistance were still fighting whatever had entered his blood, poison, curse, or something worse. Whatever it was, it was potent enough that even he could feel its burning sting spreading through his veins.

A massive fireball struck the back of the creature, and the explosion was strong enough to throw it to the side. Now more and more orcs rushed the Minotaur. The archers continued their barrage, and in no time, the huge beast had over eight arrows lodged deep in its flesh. Still, it did not seem to feel any pain as it tried to rise again, much slower this time, likely because of the heavy blood loss and the damage it had already taken.

Tardat quickly joined the others, hacking at every bit of the Minotaur that was within reach. Bones cracked under the relentless strikes from him and his warriors until the creature finally collapsed and died. Sadly, it had not been Tardat who dealt the finishing blow, which meant he didn't get a single leaderboard point. Tragic. If he found out who had landed the last hit, that orc would get the beating of his life. Still, at the moment, he had other problems to worry about. The pain in his shoulder hadn't faded.

It had weakened somewhat, but whatever poison it was, it wasn't done with him yet.

"Healer," Tardat barked, raising his hand as a signal that he was injured. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings. This earned him several surprised looks from the other orcs. Normally, no orc asked for healing after a battle. Scars were symbols of honor, and no one dared to show weakness openly. One of the healers hesitated but eventually ran over and began the process.

She frowned when she noticed that even with her magic, the poison was being neutralized painfully slowly.

"What kind of poison is that?" Tardat demanded, genuinely curious about what could cause such pain minutes after the fight and still resist his body's high vitality.

"This is no poison," the healer said after finishing.

"It's a curse and quite a potent one at that. We're lucky this wasn't the original. Otherwise, it would have taken much longer to purge." A curse. Now that was interesting. Tardat's eyes then caught the faint shimmer of a portal that had been hidden behind the Minotaur, which was why he had only noticed it now.

"Well, look what we have here," he muttered with a grin. Maybe they could still find some beasts or treasures. He motioned for his warriors, who were still giving him odd looks for getting healed, to follow. Without another thought, he stepped through the portal and emerged into an empty cavern. This one, however, bore clear signs of battle—deep claw marks, scorch patterns, and patches of dried blood. Someone had snuck past the Minotaur and stolen all the kills that must have been here.

"Quickly! Maybe we can still catch the ones responsible!" Tardat shouted and stormed ahead. It couldn't have been a large party. Otherwise, they never would have slipped past the Minotaur—especially not with that curse spreading to everything it touched. The next chamber was also empty. In fact, every chamber was empty. Now they stood before a half-collapsed wall, surrounded by a few corpses that might once have been rats. Tardat's annoyance grew with every step.

This must have been one of the best farming spots he had ever heard of and someone had stolen his spoils. Grunting in frustration, Tardat entered what seemed to be the final chamber with his underlings close behind. It too was empty, save for some body parts of what looked like a giant rat splattered across the stone walls. It took a moment before Tardat noticed the figure sitting silently near another portal. The man was dressed in a black robe, dark armor gleaming beneath it, and a mask concealing his face.

"So you're the one who took our chance," Tardat growled, motioning for his warriors to get into position. He was strong, but there was no reason to risk his life—or theirs—recklessly. Human – Level 80 Wait. That human was still F-Grade? What an idiot. E-Grade was such a massive power jump. Joining this system event as an F-Grade was practically suicide. In Tardat's eyes, the human before him was just a fool. But the man did not shiver in fear.

Instead, he slowly opened his eyes, which glowed like crimson embers in the dark cave. Without a word, the human suddenly blurred forward. When Tardat's gaze met his, a powerful mental shockwave struck him so hard that his protective charms shattered instantly. Before Tardat could even comprehend what had just happened, his battle instincts kicked in.

He stomped on the ground with all his strength, his skill shaking the entire cave, but not the human, who seemed to have predicted the move and leapt forward, one hand slashing down. Blood flowed over the man's fingers, forming five crimson claws that tore through the air toward Tardat. Tardat raised his axe to block, but one of his mages was faster, releasing a powerful wind barrier that struck the human mid-air and hurled him backward.

The human twisted gracefully, landing on his feet like a cat and sliding several meters back from the remaining force. Tardat had to admit he was impressed. For a human to attack them, it had to be either bravery or stupidity. Still, the man had already proven himself a capable enemy who knew exactly what he was doing, which meant Tardat needed to be cautious. Such strong fighters could strike lethally, even against him, if he left an opening. Many orcs had been too arrogant at the start of this system.

In the tutorial, they had been far superior to humans, but that changed quickly as the levels rose. The system elevated even weak humans into beings capable of killing an orc who let his guard down. Heavy warriors were still useless against orcs in Tardat's opinion, but the rest could become quite dangerous, especially if they aimed for the throat or other vital weak points. His boosting skill would leave him weakened for hours, which was why he refrained from activating it.

They were more than twenty orcs in total, so bringing down that one human shouldn't be too difficult, even though his first attack had been impressive.

"Don't underestimate us!" Mordat shouted loudly at the human. It had likely been Mordat who cast that wind spell earlier. The human didn't answer with words but raised his arm forward, unleashing a torrent of flames. Great. So the human's fire magic was even stronger than what most of his own mages could conjure, Tardat thought, somewhat annoyed, while signaling the shamans to block the attack. Mana barriers were erected right before the heavy fighters.

Flames weren't particularly good at breaking through sturdy shields, but when they did hit, the damage was terrifying. The pain of burning skin could distract even the toughest warrior long enough for someone else to finish them off, even if the fire itself didn't kill them outright. The archers' barrage forced the human to stop his flames, but Tardat could already tell by the way the man weaved between arrows that he was highly experienced in battle.

His movements were fluid, fast, and precise—his speed and control were clearly beyond Tardat's own. He would have to be extremely careful with this opponent. He gave a signal, and in unison, his warriors roared and charged. The human still had to dodge an arrow every few seconds, which should be enough to prevent him from casting another wide flame attack. They approached from several directions, ensuring that the man couldn't evade every strike.

By now, the mages should have been preparing lightning strikes or other quick spells. To be honest, Tardat had little idea what his shamans were truly capable of. So far, they had stuck to fairly simple magic. Then, all of a sudden, a sword appeared in the human's hand. The blade instantly ignited with dark red flames, and Tardat could feel its aura from where he stood. That weapon wasn't normal—it was powerful, frighteningly so. He wanted that sword. And the armor. Both would earn him countless points.

Ah, what was he thinking? His superior would take them the moment he returned anyway. Before he or any of his warriors could land a hit, the human unleashed a dark red mana wave, flames licking along its edge. Tardat braced himself, but the impact was far too strong. He was flung backward like a rag doll. The fire seared his skin, and that same burning pain from before flared up again. The curse—it had infected him once more. Had the healer failed to fully purge it?

Tardat barely had time to think before he slammed hard into the ground. A moment later, a blazing circle opened above the mages and shamans behind him—completely oblivious, still standing safely within their barriers. Mana barriers were great for defense, but they also cut off awareness of external energy. That was something the human must have known and exploited perfectly.

Lances of blood rained down from the fiery circle, so powerful that the smaller mana shields around the mages and healers were shredded instantly. The entire backline—archers, healers, and shamans—were annihilated in a crimson storm. At least Tardat didn't have to waste his time worrying about them now. The human was even more dangerous than he had thought. Losing the backline was tragic, but they could still win. Tardat roared and activated his boosting skill, his body swelling with power as he charged forward.

His warriors followed close behind, but the human was slippery—always moving, always out of reach. Tardat used his movement skill, accelerating in the final moment. The man reacted too slowly, and Tardat managed to ram him hard with his shoulder. Yet the human didn't fall. Instead, his form dissolved into red mist that shot upward before reforming just below the ceiling. The man had sheathed his sword and now raised both hands forward.

Together, they unleashed a massive jet of dark red fire, the air howling around it. This was bad. Without mages, the only chance was to dodge, but the flames were faster than before, and no one had expected it. The fire grazed Tardat's shoulder, and he screamed in agony as he threw himself to the side. When he looked up, a dome of dark red inferno surrounded the human, burning in midair. The man made a sweeping motion with his hands, and the flames shaped themselves into a gigantic flower with eight petals.

Each petal twisted and transformed into a stream of fire that shot toward the remaining orcs—the only ones still alive—himself and two others. That realization struck him just as the first stream hit. His hide was tough, but not tough enough, and the curse was still gnawing at him from the inside, stronger than ever. Tardat rolled on the ground, screaming in agony as he burned like a torch. Then, suddenly, the flames vanished, and through the haze of pain, he saw two crimson eyes staring down at him.