10 Orc

As time ticked by, chaos engulfed the castle.

Flames from torches flickered everywhere, accompanied by desperate pleas for mercy and anguished screams.

Along the way, Kael encountered a soldier dragging a maid into a room, clearly intending to assault her and fulfill his own sinful desires.

Though he was accustomed to life and death, Kael still felt revulsion and disgust at such acts of violence.

With a swift kick, he sent the soldier crashing into the wall.

With his immense strength, the hundred-fifty pounf soldier felt as light as a sewing needle in his hand. Even a casual kick proved fatal, reducing the guard to a mangled mess.

The maid, shaken by the double shock, trembled as she managed a weak "Thank you."

Kael ignored her and continued onward.

He had killed the guard purely out of disgust for his actions, not to save the maid.

What surprised Kael was that Lia, nestled in his arms, showed no reaction to the scene. Instead of urging him to rescue the maid, she remained perfectly calm.

"I thought you'd want me to save her," Kael chuckled.

"This kind of thing is happening everywhere in the castle. How could we possibly save them all?" Lia shook her head.

"Looks like you're not as naive as I thought."

Kael stood at 1.8 meters, tall and well-proportioned. Lia, at only 1.6 meters, resembled a large, lifelike doll in his arms.

Holding her felt no different from carrying a slightly larger plush toy—soft, warm, and yielding.

Though Lia had regained her mobility, Kael, impatient with her slow meter, simply continued carrying her like a rag in his shoulder.

Along the way, they encountered guards blocking their path, but none could withstand a single strike from Kael. With simple, devastating slashes, he cleaved through both armor and flesh, splitting the guards in two.

This was thanks to the mithril longsword in Kael's hand—a masterpiece forged only by the Elven race.

Kael had won the sword in a duel. Originally named "Gentle Breeze," it had been the ancestral blade of an unlucky Baron. Finding the name unappealing, Kael renamed it "Holy Sword."

Since then, no one dared wager valuable items against him in the Arena.

His dreams of getting rich through duels had died before they could be realized.

The sword's ability to cut through iron like clay was no mere boast. Combined with Kael's monstrous strength, the presence or absence of armor made little difference—he simply exerted a bit more force.

An ordinary longsword, even one forged from high-quality steel, would have shattered under such relentless use.

The only drawback was its lightness. The slender blade, engraved with intricate floral patterns, looked more like a woman's weapon.

Wielding it felt like wielding an embroidery needle.

If Kael hadn't been unable to find a more suitable weapon for the time being, he would have tossed it into his inventory to gather dust long ago.

When he had the time, Kael planned to commission a broadsword: at least 2 metre tall and half a metre wide.

Even unsharpened, a single swing would create a lethal zone around him.

A graze meant injury, a touch meant death—a true meat grinder on the battlefield.

Guided by Lia, Kael didn't get lost this time. He quickly charged out of the castle and raced down toward Duskmere City below.

The castle stood atop a small mountain, connected to Duskmere City at its base by a main road wide enough for two carriages to pass side by side. The surrounding slopes were meticulously manicured lawns interspersed with gravel paths.

Some areas of the lawn were planted with tulips and shrubs trimmed into various shapes.

The mountain itself was encircled by a three-metre-high iron fence painted with an unknown dye.

Without a doubt, House Tulvarein's castle within the city was Duskmere's most magnificent and luxurious structure.

It served as a testament to Duskmere's prosperity and the immense wealth of House Tulvarein.

After all, very few nobles in Thornia could afford to build such a lavish castle within a city.

Most nobles didn't even own a proper castle.

The outer perimeter was swarming with soldiers searching with torches. Under the cover of darkness, Kael led Lia to a secluded spot and leaped over the wall.

With his current physique, a three-metre-high wall was easily cleared with a single crouch and jump.

He knew Duskmere City well, having spent several years here. He didn't need Lia to guide him as he raced through the night toward the city's Arena.

He had a subordinate inside whom he intended to take with him when he left.

After a night of such turmoil, the sky was beginning to lighten with the first hint of dawn.

Arriving at a stable outside the Arena, Kael set Lia down.

"Hide here for a while. I need to go inside to take care of something. It's not safe to bring you with me."

Lia nodded. Kael was now her only hope, and she had no choice but to obey.

"The city is crawling with patrols and search parties. Remember, don't wander off."

After issuing this warning, Kael stealthily scaled the Arena wall.

This Arena was where he had made his name, so he knew the layout like the back of his hand. After disorienting a few guards, he made his way to an underground cell.

This dungeon housed the gladiators who sustained the Arena's existence, and among them was a green-skinned Orc who had been won over by Kael prowess.

When Kael had fled the Western Territory for Duskmere, his funds had dwindled. He returned to his old trade, dueling other gladiators in the Arena. His brilliant and fighting prowess had captivated this Orc gladiator.

Upon entering the dungeon, Kael didn't need to search. The deafening snores led him directly to a cell.

Inside, an Orc stood over two and a half metre tall, estimated to weigh six hundred pounds. He was snoring loudly in his sleep, his massive, corded muscles bulging, his arms thicker than Lia's waist.

The iron bed groaned under his immense weight, straining to its breaking point.

This was a colossal beast, capable of crushing a man into a pancake with a single blow. Compared to him, Kael, at one and eight-tenths metre tall, looked as frail as a child.

Before Kael's arrival, this Orc had been the undisputed king of the Arena, undefeated in battle. But since Kael's arrival, he had been constantly defeated and humiliated.

The stark size difference between the two was a spectacle that easily triggered the nobles' adrenaline, driving them to roar with flushed faces and reddened ears.

As a result, the Arena owner relentlessly milked Zat the Orc for every last coin until Kael left.

The iron gate, forged from thumb-thick bars, was merely a formality for both Kael and the Orc Zat.

With a slight exertion of force, accompanied by a teeth-grinding screech, Kael pried the gate open wide enough for one person to pass through.

"Zat," Kael called out, approaching the Orc.

In response, Zat scratched his rear, rolled over, and promptly resumed snoring.

Without hesitation, Kael delivered a resounding slap across Zat's face.

Smackk!!!

The crisp sound echoed through the chamber.

"Who dares strike the great Zat?!" the Orc roared awake, his voice shaking the iron bars.

Zat's cheek burned with pain, as if struck by a massive boulder.

When he finally regained his senses and saw Kael standing beside him, grinning, he rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

"Boss..."