Chapter 24: A Leader's Fall

Chapter 24:

The Orc King raised his hand, and the orcs immediately ceased their rhythmic clashing of weapons against the ground.

A silence fell.

Arthur's heart pounded against his ribs. "Why... why did they stop suddenly?" he thought, his breathing shallow. The air itself felt thick with danger, pressing against his skin.

Then—

A voice. Deep, guttural, layered with something unnatural.

"Insufferable humans…" The words slithered through the air, laced with cruel amusement and venom. "You dare set foot in my domain? Like insects crawling into a spider's web, unaware of the doom awaiting them." The Orc King's eyes, burning like molten embers of a dying fire, locked onto them, his massive frame towering over all.

Arthur's knees buckled. "W-what? What the hell is going on? Monsters aren't supposed to talk—aren't supposed to—!"

"Th-this... this is impossible!" Mira's thoughts spiraled, panic clawing at her chest. "No monster has ever been able to—!"

Leon, barely able to lift his head from the blood-stained ground, forced a trembling voice. "T-then why… why haven't you k-killed us already?" Every word was a struggle, his entire body screaming in agony.

A sinister chuckle rolled from the Orc King's throat, rumbling through the air like a death knell. "Kill you? Oh no, no, no… that would be too merciful." His massive fingers flexed, claws scraping against his jagged armor. "You fragile little worms… you are entertainment. Toys for my soldiers. Nothing more."

The orcs erupted into roars of sadistic laughter. The sound crashed over them like a wave, deafening, merciless.

"Toys?" Arthur's breath hitched. "No... no, no, no!"

"My warriors!" The Orc King bellowed. "Break them. Shatter their bones. Spill their blood! Play until they stop moving! Entertain me.!"

Before anyone could react—

An orc stepped forward. Its grotesque face twisted into a grin as it loomed over Leon.

Leon barely registered the shadow before—

White-hot pain.

His body jerked as a steel-plated boot crashed into his ribs.

"Agh—!" The world spun. His vision blurred.

Another orc grabbed his collar, yanking him up like a ragdoll. Leon could only hang there, barely conscious, when—

A fist, massive and brutal, slammed into his stomach mid-air.

CRACK!

Something inside him snapped.

He gasped, but no air filled his lungs. His body twisted violently before he hit the ground like a discarded corpse. His limbs refused to move.

Mira, Arthur, and Elara stared in horror, their hands clasped over their mouths, stifling their screams.

"Leon—No!" Mira whispered, her voice breaking.

But there was no time to process the nightmare. Another orc stepped forward, its eyes locked onto Mira.

Mira realized it too late.

A punch, brutal and swift, connected with her stomach.

Blood burst from her lips, spraying into the air like a crimson mist. Her breath hitched. Her vision darkened.

Another hit.

Another.

Another.

Her body was nothing but a plaything now, tossed between monstrous hands like a doll.

Arthur, too, was hurled like broken debris. Elara whimpered as she was slammed to the ground over and over, her body convulsing with pain.

Leon lay motionless, his heartbeat a deafening drum in his ears.

Pounding. Pounding. Faster.

His vision swam. The metallic scent of blood filled his nose. The world was slipping away.

Then—

The orcs dragged their battered bodies into a heap.

The Orc King observed them with disinterest. "Tch. Is this all? Pathetic." He sneered. "I expected at least a fight. But no… you are even more pitiful than I imagined. Not warriors. Not even worth being slaves." His lip curled. "You're insects. I am a King. And a King does not tolerate weakness."

His voice was a whisper of death.

"Kill them. I have lost my amusement."

Leon's friends lay in broken heaps behind him. Motionless. Pale. Their bodies barely rising with breath, their faces twisted in agony.

He had failed them.

A hollow, suffocating despair swallowed him whole, wrapping around his chest like an iron vice, crushing what little remained of his hope. No… not like this. Not in the dirt. Not as a broken, useless failure.

His fingers twitched against the cold, blood-soaked ground. Weak. Useless. There was no strength left in him to stand. No way to fight back. No way to protect them.

The heavy, guttural breathing of the orc above him filled the air, thick with malice. It stepped forward, each footfall sending deep tremors through the ground, through his very bones. The weight of its presence bore down upon him like an executioner savoring his final moment before the kill.

Then, the sword. A monstrous, jagged slab of steel, slick with the blood of many monsters, lifted above his throat, the edge gleaming in the dim battlefield light.

His heart pounded—not from fear of death. He didn't care about dying.

He cared that he was dying like this.

Helpless. Worthless. A coward who couldn't protect the people who had trusted him. The ones who had fought by his side, bled for him, suffered for him. And now, he lay here, unable to even lift his sword.

A choked sob caught in his throat. His nails dug weakly into the dirt, fists trembling.

I can't...

A memory stirred.

---

Thirteen Years Ago....

Leon sat beside the dying embers of the campfire, rolling an old magic lamp between his fingers. The metal was smooth, worn down by time and touch, its surface catching the faint glow of the firelight. It had belonged to his grandfather—his last true connection to the man who had raised him. The last piece of him.

Across from him, his grandfather sat with his usual air of quiet wisdom, wrapped in a thick cloak to keep out the mountain chill. The old man's sharp eyes flickered to the lamp in Leon's hands, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"A lamp is useless by itself, you know," he said, his voice deep and steady. "It can sit in the dark forever and never change a thing."

Leon huffed, tilting his head. "Then why did you give me one? Seems kind of pointless, doesn't it?"

His grandfather chuckled, shaking his head. "That depends on the person holding it. A lamp alone is nothing. But with a flame? It can guide, it can warm, it can protect." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Tell me, boy—what is a lamp without a flame?"

Leon frowned, rolling the lamp between his palms. "Nothing, I guess."

His grandfather nodded. "Exactly. And what is a leader without the strength to protect his people?"

Leon shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't sure how to answer that. His grandfather had always spoken in riddles, always pressing him to think deeper than he wanted to. After a long moment, he let out a sigh. "Probably nothing, too."

His grandfather studied him in silence before reaching over and placing a firm, calloused hand on Leon's shoulder. "No matter how dark it gets, no matter how much the world takes from you—never let your light go out. If you must burn, then burn for those who need you."

Leon swallowed hard. The fire crackled, sending small embers spiraling into the night sky. He gripped the lamp tightly, staring at it as though it held the answers he had always searched for. "And if I can't?" he whispered. "What if the flame dies? What if… I can't be strong enough?"

His grandfather exhaled slowly, his gaze warm yet firm. "Then you keep going. Even when the world is cruel. Even when everything seems lost. Because, Leon… the moment you stop believing you can, you've already lost. Strength isn't just about power. It's about standing when you want to fall. It's about holding on when everything tells you to let go."

The words settled deep in Leon's chest. Heavy. Unshakable. He lifted the lamp, staring at its metal surface, watching how the fire's reflection danced over it. Then, slowly, he reached out and lit the wick. A small flame flickered to life, weak but steady.

His grandfather smiled. "That's it. Just like that. One day, you'll understand."

---

—Present Time—

His grandfather's words echoed through his mind.

"Never let your light go out."

A shuddering breath rattled through his lungs. He clenched his fists, his fingers trembling. His comrades lay around him, lifeless. Defeated.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and for the first time in his life, he begged.

"Hey, God… please… someone… anyone… save them. I don't care what happens to me. Take everything I have—my strength, my life, my soul—I don't care. Just let them live. Please… please… I beg you. I beg you!"

His body trembled, not from the pain, but from the unbearable weight of helplessness. The crushing, suffocating realization that he was powerless.

His voice cracked as he whispered, barely able to form the words. "If only… if only I could do something—anything."

Tears spilled down his face, hot and bitter, searing his skin more than any wound ever could. Shame burned within him, raw and unrelenting. This was the end, and all he could do was lie in the dirt and cry.

He had always believed in strength. Believed in perseverance. Believed that as long as he stood, as long as he fought, there was hope. But what did it matter if he couldn't stand? If he couldn't fight?

What use was a leader who could do nothing?

Above him, the orc grunted in amusement. It lifted its massive sword, the weight of death hanging heavy in the air. The blade rose, its descent inevitable. Slow. Merciless.

Leon exhaled shakily, his body going still. A strange kind of peace settled over him—cold, distant, yet oddly familiar.

"I'm sorry, everyone." His voice was barely more than a breath. "Please, forgive me. I couldn't protect you all. I'm sorry. I… I tried. I really did."

The faces of his friends flashed in his mind—smiling, laughing, trusting him. Believing in him. And now… they were gone. Because he hadn't been strong enough.

A sob escaped his lips. He closed his eyes, welcoming the dark.

"Gramps… I failed. I let my light go out. I-I am sorry."

The sword came down.

Then—

A blur of shadow.

CRACK!

The orc's sword slammed into the ground, sending a tremor through the battlefield.

But Leon…

Leon was gone.

---

(Chapter Ended)