Morgan ran northwest, watching his stamina drop and then replenish. That was never going to get old. The arrow indicated that the creature was getting very close.

  Sophia said quietly.

  Morgan slowed his run to a light jog, then walked. He was slightly out of breath and was covered in a light sheen of sweat, but running had otherwise very little effect on him. He took a bit of time to put on his helmet, greaves, and bracers. Ahead in the wreckage of an old grocery store, he saw three large figures wearing leather armor, rumaging through the freezer section. They were a dark color, squat, and very muscular. He couldn’t see their actual color in his black and white night vision.

  Sophia named them.

  Morgan scanned the area, more focused and intent this time, Sophia’s words of caution awakening a feeling of unease deep in his gut. Sure enough! Outside the shop, an overturned pickup had a dark green hand just barely visible in the bed of the truck. If Morgan had snuck, or run in to attack the three, one would have been right behind him. Circling to the left to keep his approach from the view of the hidden orc, he hid himself to think.

  Could he take four orcs? Could he take even the three orcs?

  Morgan said, not feeling encouraged at all.

  Well, I will never get stronger if I don’t fight stronger things.

  Nodding to himself, Morgan drew the bastard sword and crouched, sneaking to the front side of the pickup truck. There was a small gap near the cab, where the truck had landed on a postbox. Morgan could see an orc lying on the ground, head on one arm, looking out from under the tailgate, the other outstretched only a handwidth away from a massive greatsword. Peaking over the truck, Morgan checked on the other orcs. Nothing had changed. He was close enough that he caught a whiff of the rotten meat from the freezer. He had to fight the urge to retch and give away his position.

  Moving to the other side would bring him into view of the orcs in the shop, but he would never be able to stab the orc in the truck from this side, and from the other side, he could reach. He moved slowly, eyes darting to the three orcs and then back as he placed his feet. The orc inside the truckbed moved a bit. Morgan froze, holding his breath. After a few seconds, he let the breath out slowly and continued stalking forward.

  He finally arrived at the gap on the other side of the truck. He could see the broad back of the orc inside. Lining up his sword, he steeled his nerve, then thrust the sword in as hard as he could toward the heart of the orc. The leather armor gave way slowly at first, then immediately. There were a few sounds of muffled movement, and the sword was ripped from Morgan’s hand as the orc attempted to crawl out of the truck. It made it only three or four seconds before there was a rasping exhalation.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  ::Congratulations! You are the third person in this world to kill an orc. Title Granted::

  ::Title Granted - Grog Jogger - You gain 5% increased movement speed in combat.

  Nice. Morgan thought to himself. Then he looked up, straight into the eyes of an orc holding a decaying steak to his lips. The orc’s mouth opened, revealing a few round, flat teeth and impressively large canines on top and bottom. The oversized canines stuck out from the mouth as it closed. Then the orc blinked and started grunting, shoving his companions toward Morgan.

  Morgan reached down and grabbed the greatsword. He couldn’t even see his sword in the back of the orc stuffed in the bed of the truck. The orcs gained their wits quickly and approached with two clubs and another sword, spreading out as they approached. Morgan hefted the greatsword, getting a feel for it. It was heavy; he wouldn’t be able to swing this too many times. He readied the sword to defend from an attack.

  The first one swung at him with a huge telegraphed overhand swing, and Morgan dodged to the side. The second attack was a greatsword swing horizontally. Morgan jumped backwards and blocked the blow with the flat of his greatsword. The force of the attack rocketed him backwards 20 feet. He landed on his feet. His increased dexterity was making it noticeably easier to maneuver.

  Deciding to try a new move, Morgan leapt as hard as he could, but forward, not up. He shot forward, faster than he had been thrown back by the orc’s blow. He held the greatsword in front of him like a lance. The sword impaled the orc with the sword into his companion, who hadn’t even swung his club yet. Morgan’s body then slammed into the hilt of the sword, driving it further into the second orc’s side, and shattering Morgan’s left collarbone. He fell off the handle of the greatsword, biting back curses of pain. His arm flopped uselessly as he landed hard on his good side. He picked up the greatsword that the now impaled and quickly dying orc had dropped to try to remove the sword from his stomach.

  He circled, buying time for his arm to heal, keeping the two wounded orcs between him and the unwounded club wielder. After one complete rotation, the unwounded orc got frustrated and just shoved the two wounded orcs over in an attempt to reach Morgan. Using the distraction, Morgan swung out, nicking the already wounded club wielder in the elbow. Deftly avoiding the large club for a few more swings, he cautiously waited for an opening. The orc swung another wicked overhead chop with all his might. This time, when Morgan dodged, the club struck the pickup truck and got stuck as the metal deformed around the head of the club.

  Eyes lighting up, Morgan swung a feint at the orc’s head, causing it to instinctively pull away, then diverted the swing into the orc’s extended arm, severing it cleanly just below the elbow. The thick, blood that showered out painted the side of the truck with a gory graffiti, black in Morgan’s night vision. The orc fell to its knees, trying in vain to hold back the torrent. The other orc chose this time to rejoin the fight. Swinging similarly to his companion, the orc took many mighty swings, Morgan dodged, his higher dexterity and the dodge skill making this much easier than he expected.

  The orc’s swings were slowing, the thick coating of blood running from the wound in his side bubbled out new waves from the hole in his armor every time he took a step. Three of the orcs were down, and the fourth was nearing the doorstep. Morgan peaked at his XP bar. 15% to the next level. So 5% each, that was very good.

  The greatsword was too heavy for him to keep swinging it the way he was. Remembering the fight with Stocky, Morgan swung hard, smiling when the orc raised its club to block. Once the sword had embedded itself in the club, Morgan released it. The extra weight pulled down on the club, making it cumbersome. Morgan materialized his shortsword from his spatial pouch into his hands.

  Stepping in close enough to smell the dense fetid body odor of the orc, Morgan slammed the shortsword into its neck. Its eyes grew wide as it grasped at its spraying neck. Collapsing to the ground, it managed to grab Morgan’s arm. The immense pressure crushed the two bones in his forearm.

  The pain was terrible, but it passed quickly. Morgan looked at his bar. 40% of the way to the next level. Nice, the bonus for killing the rift of orcs was an additional 15%. After ensuring all the orcs were indeed dead, Morgan gathered their belongings. The greatswords were crude and heavy, but very effective. Morgan put everything he could into his pouch and then carried the two greatswords. He set off planning to return to the Academy and donate some weapons and armor for the guards.