John and his three footmen raced down the street, dodging overturned carts and avoiding rubble from the homes that had collapsed in the fires. There were more bodies of villagers lying about, most with giant gashes on their backs as they were cut down while trying to run away. John didn’t know these people, but the senseless deaths of these unarmed civilians stoked the fires of his temper with every new corpse he passed by. 

They kept catching glimpses of the red-skinned orc; the beast was obviously injured but still able to move as fast as John’s squad. Well, as fast as John, anyway. That injury didn’t mean it wasn’t a threat; it was still carrying a massive glowing mace of some sort, nearly the size of John’s now discarded hammer. It kept glancing back at them, screaming a loud war cry from time to time, but it continued its retreat. 

Panting hard from the exertion of jogging in the armour, John almost missed the shout that the orc bellowed. “Grab your blades warriors! Battle is upon us!”

A chorus of war cries echoed down the street, bringing John and his squad to a screeching stop. “Milord, stay behind us. It sounds like there are more than a couple of them.” Bee said, placing an arm in front of him. Dee and Frank flanked him, the three soldiers preparing for whatever was ahead. 

John considered pulling out his bow instead, but as he had never really used one, he thought it would be a terrible idea to try it for the first time in a battle. He gripped his sword instead, the blade almost humming with energy, the magic feeling almost eager for the battle to come. 

Alec did say something about it being the only blade I would ever need as long as I mastered it. He also said something… about being angry? Or was that Saeko who had said that? 

He didn’t have long to lose himself in his thoughts as two raiders rushed past the rubble, charging their positions mounted atop their giant wolves. John raised his hand and fired off his darkness spell. He managed to blind the left wolf and rider, but when he cast a third time, the first wolf’s black ball dissipated. 

The hell? I could have sworn I had cast that spell more than that before-

John didn’t have time to contemplate the problem, as the raiders crashed into the three footmen, the wolves snarling and their riders shouting. The footmen had locked their shields together, but the combined weight of the mounted units pushed them backward, forcing John to step back as well. Then the fight began in earnest.

The one blinded rider kept trying to swing at the air with his long, brutal-looking sword, but didn’t hit anything. The blinded wolf, however, didn’t appear affected by the darkness in the least. The beast had already grappled onto one of the footmen’s shields, trying to rip it from his grip. The footmen were not idly turtled up defending their position, but continued to stab through the gaps in the shields, wounding the wolves and trying to avoid being hit by the massive sword the unblinded rider wielded. 

John dropped the blinding on the wolf and cast another darkness spell on the rider, effectively making the battle between the wolves and the footmen. He was about to step up and slash with his sword when more orcs appeared on the field. Three grunts were approaching, screaming in rage at the humans who dared to stand up to them.

“Milord. You should retreat!” Dee shouted at him, already seeing the incoming orcs despite being behind the shield wall and having the bodies of the two raiders in front of him. 

John didn’t answer him. This whole thing reminded him of his trip into StarCraft, not the enemies or the situation, but the overwhelming helplessness that was beginning to take root in the back of his mind. He shook his head, dispelling that thought before it took root. He had come so far since that time; he had weapons, magic, and a much stronger body. If he died in the process of defending the people of this town and his soldiers, so be it, but just like in StarCraft, he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. 

John raised his sword and charged forward, hacking at the neck of one of the wolves, intent on reducing the numbers before the grunts were upon them. Fueled by his anger, the magic in the sword seemed to rage in response, the blade hungering to unleash its wrath on his target. The sword bit into the neck of the beast and sheared straight through, decapitating the monstrous wolf in a single slice. Still blinded, the rider on the back was sent flying off his saddle into the other rider as the wolf’s body collapsed to the side.

“Attack!” The footmen shouted in unison, moving out of their shield wall and began hacking at the last raider. 

John was not privy to any of this; his body and mind frozen in the moment, his gaze full of pain.

Inside John’s Mind

A torrent of feelings flowed through John, accompanied by pain, more pain than he had ever experienced in his long life. The magic of the weapon was tearing through his brain while feeding him memories of wanting to kill, needing to kill that beast, to kill all these beings.

John felt like his mind was on fire, the magic in the sword scouring his mind, raging unchecked as he fought to remain conscious. He could barely put together a coherent thought, his mind focused only on survival, battered by this wild and untamed magical power. Power he instinctively knew he needed to control. To control or die.

He screamed and raged against it, his anger rising in response to the magic. He felt a slight relief, then recalled Alec saying something important, about needing to be angry when using the sword. That felt like the right approach, and he quickly combed his memories, trying to summon the anger and rage he needed to combat this strange magic before it burned a hole in his mind.

He was pissed with the orcs attacking this village, slaughtering the residents.

He was pissed that these footmen with families wanted him to leave them to die while he escaped.

He was pissed he didn’t make it to Ash in time to save her.

He was pissed that he took a shotgun blast to the chest when he was just trying to rescue people.

He was pissed that the gang leaders escaped his wrath for hurting Chris and Serena.

He was pissed at having to leave a child dying on the ground.

He was pissed at Alec’s smug grin, always judging him.

He found a plethora of reasons to be angry, and he used that anger to fight against the magic; his anger clashed against the rage of the weapons’ magic. In a moment, or an eternity, John managed to restrain the power, bringing it to heel.  He wouldn’t call it control, as it felt more like he was trying to restrain a hurricane, but it was responding to his wishes. 

The pain subsided, and the breath he didn’t know he was holding released. 

He was ready.

Back on the street

John came back to his senses and looked around. The entire battle with the magic that felt like it had lasted hours had only taken a few moments; the rider of the decapitated wolf was only just hitting the ground from his fall. The footmen were swarming the other wolf, trying to take the beast down before the grunts reinforced their position. 

John turned towards those grunts, his mind focusing on the nearest one. He felt the magic straining against him, wanting to be unleashed on his enemies. This energy danced through his veins, revitalizing his muscles and dissipating his weariness. He charged towards the incoming grunts, screaming right back at them.

He planted his foot and swung, the sword coming up to meet the orc’s axe. Sparks flew as the sword sliced the head of the weapon right off its haft. He caught the handle of the orc’s weapon on his left pauldron, but he kept moving, his backswing slashing open the grunt’s neck, sending a vertical curtain of blood flying off the tip of his sword. The orc collapsed, but John didn’t wait to watch it tumble to the ground, moving onto the next orc.

The remaining pair were charging him, trying to pincer him. He pointed his hand at the feet of the one on the right and called out “Dig”. 

The orc put its foot directly into the hole, its boot catching against the edge, causing it to trip over the block beside the hole and fall on its face.

John stepped up to the left orc, bringing his sword up to block the creature’s overhead axe blow. The weapons collided forcefully, the impact driving John down on one knee. He rolled forward between the orc’s legs, slashing his blade upwards as he rolled, ending the chances of the orc passing on its lineage in a spray of blood.

The Orc screamed in a mixture of rage and agony, but John just whipped the sword around, severing the beast at the knees. It collapsed beside John, the pain of the multiple wounds causing it to writhe on the ground, whimpering a bit. John put it out of its misery, not wanting it suffer further.

He turned to the other grunt he had tripped, casting Darkness on it. It was just getting back on its feet when its world went dark, causing it to swing its axe wildly around.  John just walked up to it and chopped the limb that was holding the axe, then, on the backswing, took its head off, the darkness still surrounding it as it rolled away from its body. 

He looked behind him. The footmen were still working on bringing down the wolf and its rider, but it wouldn’t be much longer. He threw a few heal spells their way as he adjusted his grip on the sword; the raised letters of the word ‘Truth’ on the hilt were digging into his palm. John took a breath, then started making his way further down the road in search of the red-skinned orc. One thing was going through his mind, though, and it had nothing to do with the orcs. 

Holy crap… Just what the hell is this sword?!?

John had only taken about ten steps before he stopped, his target in front of him. It was taller than the green-skinned grunts, with white hair and glowing yellow eyes. Its left arm was hanging limply to its side, its shoulder looking like it had been dislocated in its earlier crash. It held a long mace in its right hand, glowing with a mysterious red energy, radiating pure malice around the orc.

Behind the orc was a dozen villagers, tied together with a long rope, their arms bound. He wasn’t sure exactly what was going on there, but he didn’t think it boded well for the villagers.

“Come, puny human! I, Th’rak, the Slave Master, will destroy you, even with your underhanded tricks!” It shouted, screaming a battle cry, then charged towards John.

“Darkness”. John said and cast the spell. He didn’t care about using cheap tricks. This was a battle, not a sporting competition. However, this time the cheap trick failed. John felt the magic slide off the orc, not wanting to stick to its head. 

It was such a surprise that John missed how fast this orc was moving, taking a blow from that magical mace directly to his left side and sending him flying across the cobblestone street. He stopped abruptly, smashing his head against a wagon full of vegetables that had been abandoned when the town came under attack. He was extremely disoriented, his left side in pain; the only reason his ribs didn’t shatter was due to the armour on his chest. He suspected he had several broken ribs and would have a massive bruise if he didn’t deal with this soon.

A shadow fell over John as a form stood in front of him, the backlighting from the fires making him seem dark and imposing.

“You are nothing but a weak worm playing the hero. Try to do better in your next life, worm.” The orc said, raising his club. John couldn’t move his arm; the invincibility the sword had seemed to give him left when he had dropped it on impact. He couldn’t focus on a spell; even the instant-cast ‘Holy Light’ healing spell wouldn’t work on his own body. 

DEN RETURN!

Nothing, the cooldown hadn’t run out yet. 

Fuck

“ATTACK!!!” A voice shouted, the sound of heavy boots running towards his position, accompanied by the roars of what sounded like a dozen men shouting.

The Orc glanced in that direction, giving John enough time to raise a finger on his right hand. “Dig,” He whispered. A hole appeared below the orc, causing it to stumble a bit. It recovered, but that was enough time for The Alphabets to slam into the orc, leading with their shields, pushing it away from John.

“Surround it, cut off its escape!” Eh said, standing over top of John and directing the rest of his men. The orc would swing at them, knocking a couple of them back a few feet, but the rest would rush in, slashing at the wounded orc.

The orc put up a hell of a fight, but in the end, the footmen were too much for it, and it succumbed to its injuries. Eh turned around and looked down at John in concern for a moment, then offered him a hand up. “Are you okay, Sire?”

John accepted the offered hand, pulling himself back to his feet. “No… God damn it… my chest… Middle Heal!” He said, his mind clearing enough, he could get the chant out. He cast it again, the magic healing his battered body, though the trauma of being tossed like a ragdoll still lingered in the back of his mind. 

He picked up his sword and sheathed it. He had no idea what the hell he thought he was doing; it was almost like the sword had given him an inflated sense of his own abilities as a swordman, backed by that incredible cutting ability.

And what was with that raging magic that was setting my mind on fire? Fuck, I am exhausted from that battle.

“Sire, you still look shaken. You should go rest.” Eh said, looking up at him worriedly. 

John looked around. The rest of the men were watching him, some with obvious injuries, but they were all still standing. Behind them, the captive townsfolk were just watching, all appearing terrified still. Around them, several buildings were still burning, and there were the moans of the wounded.

“Eh, release the villagers. Then I am going to heal our soldiers.  After that, divide them into two teams: a larger one to sweep for more orcs, and a smaller one to start searching for injured townsfolk and bring them to the town square so I can heal them. Find whoever is in charge of the villagers and get them to help with the search and begin a… bucket brigade for the fires” John said, giving Eh orders while he was fumbling around under his breastplate for his tin of Substance X. Eh was right, he should be resting, but there were people in distress right now, so he would use the drug to keep him awake long enough to save as many lives as he could. 

“Milord…Very well, Milord.” Eh said. He hesitated a moment, like he wanted to say something more, but then walked away to carry out John’s orders. 

John hobbled over to the injured soldiers and started healing them. They were all tired, but he still needed them to go on a bit longer; they had a long night ahead of them yet. He shook his head for a moment, thinking he was seeing things. There appeared to be three more footmen now. “Am I crazy, or are there three more of you now?”

“Yes, Milord!” The three of them said together. 

“I’m Geoff, Milord.”

“I’m Hatch, Milord.”

“Iron, Sire.”

“Of course you are. Welcome to The Alphabets, boys.” John said, shaking his head. He must be going insane.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep