It felt as though the world had slowed—only slightly, just enough for Barrett to notice.

  Not a full distortion. Not the kind that ruined balance or shattered timing. Just a subtle easing of resistance, a fractional slackening that told him everything he needed to know.

  Pippy was locked in.

  Time obeyed her, not completely, but enough to give him room to breathe inside each moment.

  Above him, Grimm wheeled in a slow, steady circle, the raven’s vantage pouring into Barrett’s awareness and stitching the battlefield together into a single, seamless picture. Orcs ringed him at a cautious distance, weapons raised but feet planted, waiting for Wagar’s command.

  Barrett started forward.

  The movement was casual, almost lazy, but he caught it. A flicker of unease in Wagar’s eyes as the chieftain barked a signal and pointed.

  Four orcs broke from the line, rushing him from opposite angles.

  Barrett shifted left, spun through the gap, and came down hard on the one charging from his right. Steel met flesh in a clean, practiced arc.

  [You have slain Orc Warrior — Level 15]

  He didn’t stop moving. The momentum carried him into a second turn, blade snapping backward into the throat of an orc coming up behind him.

  [You have slain Orc Warrior — Level 15]

  A third rushed in, swinging with brute force. The blow should’ve landed, but it didn’t. The arc slowed by a hair’s breadth, barely perceptible, just enough.

  Barrett slipped past it and answered in kind.

  [You have slain Orc Warrior — Level 15]

  The speed of it—the impossibility of it—froze the last orc mid-step. That hesitation cost him everything. Barrett sidestepped and swung with full weight behind the strike.

  There was a dull thump as something heavy rolled across the dirt.

  [You have slain Orc Warrior — Level 15]

  Barrett snapped his blade through the air, flinging gore free, then wiped it clean on the nearest corpse. He didn’t bother looking up as he spoke.

  “Your army’s made of straw,” he said, lips curling into a grin. “And that’s too bad.” A pause. “Because the big bad wolf is knocking.”

  Wagar growled.

  “Araga Dook! Araga Dook!” the chieftain bellowed, pointing straight at him.

  Barrett didn’t need a translation.

  He drew in a breath and steadied himself.

  Inside, his blood thundered. Adrenaline surged, memories bleeding through the cracks. University, scraped knuckles from childhood, Rebby’s laugh surfacing uninvited. His breathing wavered, then settled, syncing with the pulse of power coiling around him.

  The energy tightened, circulated faster.

  Just before the next wave reached him, he spoke.

  “Pippy.”

  She didn’t answer.

  But he felt it.

  That fractional edge doubled—still only a few percent—but more than enough.

  Barrett exploded into motion.

  He moved like a dancer caught in a storm, never stopping, never settling. Blades passed where he’d been, not where he was. He stabbed, ducked, turned, slipped through chaos with ruthless efficiency.

  [You have slain Orc Skirmisher — Level 14]

  [You have slain Orc Fighter — Level 15]

  [You have slain Orc Warrior — Level 16]

  [You have slain Orc Fighter — Level 15]

  He worked them down methodically, like a butcher thinning a herd. When space closed and steel wasn’t enough, he used everything else—fists, knees, elbows, boots crunching into ribs and skulls.

  [You have slain Orc Fighter — Level 15]

  [You have slain Orc Warrior — Level 16]

  Wagar had begun to move, circling closer with measured steps, never fully committing. He watched from the edges of the fight, letting others press forward first, letting them bleed and fall while he watched for his chance.

  Waiting.

  Barrett recognized the pattern immediately.

  He’d seen it a hundred times in his video games. Everyone would charge in together, and there was always one who lingered at the rear, patient, letting the rest absorb the danger. Waiting for the moment when defenses cracked, and the kill was guaranteed.

  Barrett wasn’t going to give him that moment.

  He kept moving, kept killing, thinning the press around him.

  Damn it. I need to go faster.

  He could feel the truth of it gnawing at him. This edge wouldn’t last. His mana pool was shallow; Pippy’s power burned through reserves like kindling. Every second they held this state was borrowed time.

  Another orc fell.

  [You have slain Orc Warrior — Level 16]

  “Barrett…” Pippy’s voice cut in, strained.

  “I got it,” he said, though his teeth were clenched.

  She was running low.

  He pushed harder. Sloppier. Reckless. Scratches turned to cuts. Cuts turned to warm, slick blood—some of it his own.

  He sucked in a breath and realized there were too many.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Then the world snapped.

  Time lurched violently back to normal, the sudden resistance hitting him like a wall. His stomach flipped, balance shuddering.

  Through Grimm’s sight, through his [Deadeye Domain], he saw Pippy on the ground, the new girl and the big man hauling her upright while Granny steadied her.

  Too many orcs remained.

  Barrett tightened his grip on the machete, blood dripping from his fingers to darken the dirt below.

  “You look tired, human,” Wagar said, grinning as he stepped forward among his warriors. “We will help you rest.”

  They began to close in.

  Barrett smirked.

  “And now,” he said quietly, “we begin.”

  —

  Barrett stepped forward, then broke into a jog, boots pounding against the churned earth as the remaining orcs surged to meet him.

  The first one never had a chance. Barrett cut him down mid-stride, the blade biting clean and true, then dropped low, sliding beneath the wild swing of a second attacker. He came up inside the orc’s guard and drove his weapon upward.

  [You have slain Orc Warrior — Level 16]

  [You have slain Orc Fighter — Level 15]

  He didn’t slow.

  He moved like a man unmoored from caution, from fear, from anything resembling self-preservation. Survival wasn’t the goal anymore. Damage was. Forward motion. Pressure. End it before it could end him.

  Pain surfaced, old and familiar pain. He dredged it up deliberately, fed it into the furnace burning behind his ribs. Every failure, every loss, every moment he’d ever swallowed and carried forward without comment. He burned it all.

  And through the heat and the ache, something else rose to meet it.

  Joy.

  A grin split his face before he realized it was there. The battle was simple. Honest. It demanded everything and asked nothing else in return. No lies. No pretending. He was a wild animal, and this was his natural habitat.

  Barrett flowed through them now—not like a butcher hacking through meat, but like an artist finding rhythm. Each step placed him closer to Wagar, carving a widening circle around the chieftain, thinning the field with deliberate care.

  Saving the best for last.

  Like one of those ice cream cones with the chocolate buried at the bottom.

  Bodies fell.

  [You have slain Orc Warrior — Level 16]

  [You have slain Orc Warrior — Level 16]

  [You have slain Orc Warrior — Level 16]

  [You have slain Orc Warrior — Level 16]

  The numbers dwindled. The press thinned. And then—

  Wagar struck.

  The attack came down with brutal force, faster than the others, heavier, carried by the full weight of the chieftain’s strength. Barrett’s [Iron Reflex] screamed a warning as he shoved his blade up to meet it.

  Steel met steel.

  And lost.

  Wagar’s dark cleaver shattered the machete completely, the impact ripping through Barrett’s defense. The ruined blade stole just enough momentum to keep the blow from killing him outright, but not enough to spare him.

  Pain tore through his arm as the edge bit deep. Blood spilled freely, hot and slick.

  Grimm’s alarm echoed through his mind.

  Barrett rolled back, barely clearing the follow-up strike, then came up on one knee, clutching his arm as crimson dripped into the dirt.

  Another orc rushed him.

  Barrett clenched his jaw.

  He was out of tricks.

  Then, the night cracked open.

  Mana missiles screamed down from above, detonating in bursts of blue-white light. One after another, they struck the remaining orcs, tearing through flesh and armor alike. When the smoke cleared, only Wagar remained standing.

  Barrett didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

  Anger flashed. That idiot had stolen his kill.

  “You’re thinking I stole your kills, aren’t you?” Maku’s voice drifted down. He hovered above on a disc of mana, maddeningly calm.

  Barrett said nothing.

  “We’re a team,” Maku continued mildly. “Or is this just the Barrett Donovan Show?”

  Barrett drew in a slow breath.

  “Human!” Wagar roared. “You have no honor!”

  Barrett ignored him. His arm throbbed, but he could manage. He tugged the bandana free from his head and wrapped it tight around the wound, teeth gritting as the pressure bit down.

  “Relax,” Maku said, glancing at Wagar. “He’s still yours. One on one.”

  Barrett inhaled sharply, steadying himself.

  “I know you too well,” Maku went on. “If I didn’t let you have this, you’d complain about it for the rest of your life.”

  Barrett let out a low chuckle. “You’re damn right.”

  “I know I’m right,” Maku replied. “You still haven’t shut up about that kid who punched you in the first grade.”

  Barrett grinned despite himself. “He’ll get his. I haven’t forgotten.”

  Maku shook his head. “Just don’t get yourself killed,” he said quietly. “We need you.”

  Barrett nodded, expression sobering as he turned his focus back to Wagar.

  —

  Barrett closed the remaining distance at an unhurried pace, boots crunching softly over the trampled ground. Blood dripped from his arm, but his posture never faltered.

  Wagar straightened, towering over him, chest heaving. “No weapon, human?” the orc rumbled, tusked mouth twisting into a grin. “Have you finally gone mad?”

  Barrett met his gaze without blinking. “I’m even more dangerous without one.”

  The arrogance of those words hit him like a slap.

  Wagar snarled and swung, putting his full weight behind the blow.

  Barrett’s [Iron Reflex] flared, his body moving before thought could catch up. He slipped past the edge of the blade and stepped inside the orc’s reach, driving a brutal kick into Wagar’s leg. The impact rang hollow.

  A crack split the air.

  Wagar staggered back with a roar, pain flashing across his face. Barrett felt the dark heat of his [Blood Oath] still coiled inside him—strong, but thinning. He didn’t have long.

  Wagar limped forward and swung again.

  Barrett advanced into the attack, went low, and rose with a spinning elbow that smashed into the orc’s face. Bone crunched beneath the blow, the sound wet and unmistakable.

  He disengaged immediately, circling now, light on his feet. He’d made his point. The orc understood it too—those earlier words were no longer bravado.

  Barrett lifted his leg as if to kick, then pulled it short. No strike. Just a threat.

  He did it again, hips twitching, the suggestion of movement enough to make Wagar flinch.

  Barrett grinned.

  “You’re scared.”

  He shifted his weight once more, this time hinting at a punch that never came.

  Then he snapped the kick through for real, driving it hard into Wagar’s side.

  The orc reeled, armor buckling as he stumbled.

  Wagar roared and swung wildly. Barrett slipped under the blow, rolled forward, and wrapped his arms around the orc’s center of mass. Using the momentum, he wrenched Wagar off balance and hauled him down in a brutal takedown, slamming the massive body into the dirt.

  The ground shook.

  Barrett rolled smoothly into position, trapping the orc’s sword arm between his legs. In practice with Baha he’d always gone slow, careful.

  This time, he didn’t hesitate.

  He leaned back and committed.

  There was a sharp, sickening crack.

  Barrett released and flowed forward, mounting Wagar’s chest. He rained down elbows and punches, heavy and relentless, each blow landing with crushing force. Wagar bucked and thrashed beneath him, but Barrett stayed glued in place, delivering strike after strike, breathing hard, eyes cold.

  The orc screamed, blood splattering the dirt.

  Eventually, the resistance faded.

  Wagar lay broken and bloodied, chest rising unevenly.

  Barrett stood and retrieved the fallen cleaver, its dark blade still slick. He leveled it at the orc’s throat.

  Wagar didn’t move.

  Something in Barrett eased. A flicker of sadness as he watched the beast choose to stop fighting.

  “Finish me,” Wagar rasped. The words barely formed, lips swollen, tusks stained red.

  “I need answers first,” Barrett said.

  He waited.

  No answer came.

  Wagar’s eyes rolled back as consciousness slipped away.

  Barrett lowered the blade slightly, frowning.

  No system notification appeared.

  He hadn’t killed him.

  Just knocked him out.

  —

  The larger soldier approached first, heavy boots pressing into the churned ground, the black-haired girl walking close at his side. They moved with practiced ease, unhurried but alert, eyes never quite leaving Barrett.

  Grimm fluttered down from above and settled onto Barrett’s shoulder, feathers ruffling as the raven angled his head for a better look. Through him, Barrett took them in more carefully.

  It was obvious even at a glance that one of them carried authority, while the other radiated experience.

  Finally, the girl spoke. “Who are you?”

  Barrett’s grin crept in, his mouth opening—

  She cut him off. “No. Not your name.” Her gaze sharpened. “Where are you from? Which world?”

  The grin faded.

  “Earth,” Barrett said simply.

  The girl blinked and turned to the larger man, confusion flickering across her face. Before either could respond, Granny and Rei arrived, half-supporting Pippy between them. The girl looked spent, eyes dull with exhaustion, her steps unsteady.

  The larger man spoke at last, his gaze never leaving Barrett. “We’ve never heard of it,” he said slowly. “What tier world is that?”

  Barrett shrugged. “Beats me.”

  Granny was already at his side, gently but firmly inspecting his wounds, clicking her tongue as she worked.

  The two newcomers exchanged a look laden with meaning.

  “He doesn’t know?” the girl said quietly.

  The man swallowed. “Fifth world,” he whispered.

  The girl stiffened. “That’s…impossible.”

  Before the weight of those words could fully settle, a familiar presence dropped from the sky.

  Maku landed lightly, mana disc fading beneath his feet. “We need to move,” he said, scanning the perimeter. “Reinforcements will be here soon.” He spared the two stunned strangers a brief glance. “Camp’s packed. Ready to go.”

  “Great,” Barrett said, relief threading his voice at last.

  He jerked a thumb back toward the unconscious orc chieftain sprawled in the dirt.

  “Pack him up too.”

  The looks that earned him were worth it.