The orc’s axe cleaved the head of the highlord in two.

  The corpse toppled to the ground, landing gracelessly in mud. The elves of the second cohort, who had previously broken through the main army of the orcs, watched in stunned silence.

  Fear rose like a stench on the wind, joining the other ghastly smells of blood, offal, and excreta. The fright that filled the cohort was distasteful but not unexpected. Regulars and specialists could do great things in their numbers but posed little threat to rankers of high levels, starting from Gold.

  The orc, a towering specimen even by orcish standards, lowered his axe. He radiated waves of golden power, invisible to the naked eye, across the battlefield. His burly hands rested against the base of his weapon, pressing it into the mud. Large canines jutted from both sides of his mouth; a clear sign of his advancement in age.

  The orc said nothing, which was statement enough, considering the deed he had just accomplished. Loose strands of black hair, tied in a top bun, fell over his face. He stood facing the elves, like a mountain of green stone that couldn’t be traversed. A pristine kimono hung tied around his waist, revealing his imposing physique.

  The orc militia behind him—unwashed, ignoble, and clad in black lacquered armor—erupted in a frenzy. They started with roars which eventually gave way to growls and then to song.

  This one was called Till the Elven God Falls, a chant that had existed since before the century began.

  They have killed many.

  But, we’ll kill one.

  They ravage and steal, plunder and burn.

  Fair is their skin, but black their hearts.

  So labor we must.

  Till the elven god falls.

  “My Lady!” an elf runner cried, reaching her on horseback from across mounds of orc corpses. “My lady! His Highness calls!”

  Felusidan raised the visor of her helmet. Heat escaped in the form of vapor, misting across the steel. Her braided hair, damp with sweat and blood that was not hers, itched against her nape. Sometime in the last few minutes, she had rid her vicinity of all living enemies.

  The fighting continued between the two main armies, though it had dwindled to pockets of resistance after the beating the orcs had endured. The second cohort had been instrumental in that victory before seizing the initiative to engage the rear army of the orcs. And now, they’d been stopped by the appearance of the gold ranker who killed their highlord commander.

  Felusidan spared a tired glance at the singing orcs and accepted the runner’s horse. With the main army broken into clusters, she rode with little difficulty toward the center of command: a palisade erected on a small hill far behind the reserves.

  That palisade was protected by a squad of four casters, all of them elves who specialized in barriers. An Orc Assassin had earlier tried to sneak past the four, only to meet a gruesome end at the hands of enchantments.

  The air rippled around Felusidan as she dismounted and handed the horse off to an eager squire. The gallant steed complied with instructions, despite standing in an area saturated with magic. Stouthearted horses like this one likely hailed from Kholindon where the humans treated horses as friends and siblings.

  Felusidan spared a few kind words to the steed in the old tongue, and then she entered the palisade to the notice of four familiar faces. She removed her helmet and bowed deeply in respect. “Your Highness.”

  The first and most familiar of the faces regarded her with a grin. “Well?”

  “Well what, sir?” she asked.

  Felluvian chuckled. He stood in ash-colored, ranker-grade battle robes—his preferred style of dress—with arms clasped behind his back. A rapier of good quality dangled from one side of his belt. A short wand occupied the other. His blonde hair, every bit as deep as hers, flowed neatly down his back, adorned by a circlet on his head.

  “Do not act obtuse, dearest sister,” he said. “You know what I speak about. What do you think?”

  Felusidan sighed. “I can take him.”

  The three elves behind them blanched.

  “With all due respect,” the oldest of the trio, vice commander of the second cohort and a Tactician by trade, spoke.

  For the life of her, Felusidan couldn’t recall his name.

  “You mean no respect,” Felluvian said. “But, go on.”

  The Tactician winced. “Highlord Haldir was a fearsome fighter, second to none but you in our army. Yet, he lost with such ease to an opponent of similar rank. The lady has proved her mettle in countless raids, but she is only Silver. She can’t beat that orc.”

  Another elf spoke. This one served Felluvian as his retainer and second-in-command. Though younger than the first speaker, he was also a Tactician because Felluvian never allowed rankers to perform jobs better suited for specialists.

  “Your Highness,” the younger Tactician. He spoke with a soft voice as if used to revealing his thoughts only when certain. “We don’t need to take this gamble. There are other ways to deal with gold rankers. If the Soldiers occupy his attention long enough, we can roll our scorpions and casters into position.”

  “Prolonging the fight,” Felluvian said, “and causing needless death. Think about morale. Half our army just watched an elven lord lose in a fair duel to an orc. If we don’t follow it up with a show of strength, what do you think will happen?”

  “Pandemonium,” the third elf answered from her spot on a chair behind the sole table in the room. This elf’s name was one Felusidan recalled, being a close friend of hers.

  Lyrissa wore her black hair short, as was common among elf-maidens serving in the High King’s army. She was rather small, for an elf at least, but the blueness of her eyes went unmatched by all but the most noble of Norduli?.

  The other elves shivered as she spoke. The Pandemonium she referred to didn’t infer a simple onset of chaos. It meant [Pandemonium]: the unique trait that sometimes appeared among a gathering of orcs.

  Felusidan had once been forced to hold a line against a handful of orc Soldiers consumed by the trait. She had barely escaped with a sliver of health and new scars added to her collection.

  Out on the battlefield, the orc song swelled in ferocity, spreading even to the isolated pockets of the militia who resisted the elves. A series of cheers went up as the gold ranker slaughtered a second elf challenger.

  “Idiots!” the younger Tactician said and ordered a squire to relay instructions to the second cohort.

  Horns were sounded to order them to hold until an appropriate challenger could be sent.

  The older Tactician turned to Lyrissa with a measured gaze. “What are the chances of [Pandemonium] appearing in this battle?”

  Lyrissa closed her eyes. As a Warlock attuned to Clarity, she made for a fantastic augur. “Eighty percent if we defeat Bor with methods outside single combat. Seventy percent if we fail to beat him convincingly in a duel. The duel must be fair.”

  “Then you must challenge him, my lord!” the Tactician said. “You are the only gold ranker left in this station.”

  Felluvian smiled wryly and fingered his wand.

  With the Light Elves fighting wars on two fronts against the orc clans and the Beastmen Enclave, all of the strongest fighters had been sent off to the latter. The Enclave, like Nordulinor, enjoyed the protection of a Herald. And, although the Heralds maintained positions of neutrality for fear of mutually assured destruction, there were other ways they could tip the scales without being seen or felt.

  “If I faced Bor in battle,” Felluvian said, “my victory would be certain, but it would be perceived as a fight between two unevenly matched combatants. Or do you not think so, Lyrissa? What are my chances in a fight?”

  “Ninety percent,” she said.

  Felluvian frowned, as though the existence of a ten percent chance of defeat was worse than an insult to the Heralds. “And, how likely is [Pandemonium] to occur following my victory?”

  Lyrissa furrowed her brows. “Fifty percent.” She massaged her temples with dainty fingers. “Sorry. I think I am running out of steam.”

  The older Tactician grimaced. “I see. Your victory, while total, might not be perceived as an embarrassing moment for Bor. His loss to a fellow Gold won’t do enough to break the rising spirit of the orcs.”

  “There’s also the way the prince fights to consider,” Lyrissa said. “With his range advantage, he could easily trigger a sense of unfairness.”

  Felusidan took the opportunity to speak. “What are the chances of [Pandemonium] breaking out if I win?”

  Lyrissa winced as she leaned again on her ability. “Ten percent.”

  Yes, Felusidan thought. That should do it.

  Beating a Gold in direct combat was astronomically difficult for a Silver, especially with a level difference of five and above. If she pulled it off without seeming at a disadvantage, she could snuff the fighting spirit of the orcs right in its cradle.

  Felusidan grabbed a green potion from her inventory and downed it in one go. “I’m moving out.”

  The younger Tactician paled. “My lady? You didn’t ask about your likelihood of victory.”

  “Why bother?” Felusidan said and slipped on her helmet. “The path to lowering the number of casualties is clear. We must take it.”

  “But—”

  “Do not die, dearest sister,” Felluvian said with a laugh. “I watched the fight between the orc and Haldir. He possesses a near-absolute defense. But, I guess, so do you.”

  Felusidan ignored him.

  “He’s a level 52, love,” Lyrissa warned, “You’re only level 45. Do not take this for granted.”

  “I won’t.”

  With a final bow, she left the palisade and ordered the squire to return the horse. Now mounted, she rode in the direction of the second cohort which remained in a deadlock between the orcs and elves. Her first cohort was on the precipice of victory. The Soldiers and rankers attached to it could finish their side of the battle without her contribution.

  Whispers rose among the ranks of the Norduli? as Felusidan approached. They began with incredulity and grew stronger over time.

  “It’s The Rose!”

  “The Rose!”

  “The Rose of the Battlefield!”

  Felusidan stopped in front of the orcs, in the wide gap occupied by . . . what was his name again? Bolchis? Boris?

  Boris the orc regarded her with raised eyebrows and black, deep-set eyes. His voice boomed from his chest like thunder rolling downhill. “So, you are the one they call The Rose? I expected someone . . . fairer? You don’t seem to fit the beauty standards of your people.”

  “An orc that enjoys conversation,” Felusidan said. “I expected someone sterner. You don’t seem to fit the warrior standards of your people.”

  Bolchis didn’t so much as smirk. He was a tough one, this orc. Then again, Felusidan was pretty bad at conversations.

  The large orc raised his axe and rested it against his shoulder. “Why does Felluvian not come? He has enjoyed his campaign of raiding and pillaging for far too long. Why chicken out now at the last hour?”

  “I am a highlady of the Norduli?,” Felusidan said. “Any treaties made with me are as good as Felluvian’s. I will suffice.”

  “Yes . . . you reek of slain blood, of my family. Of my kindred. I shall not treat with you. I only have this to say: Recall your armies and retreat. The orcs will not abandon their ancestral home just because you want a dungeon.”

  “Our negotiations have failed, then. I challenge you to a duel.”

  Boris laughed. “You? A mere silver ranker? Come at me if you wish to die.”

  Felusidan grinned and punched herself in the face. The sudden damage caused her health meter to appear above her head, visible to all. At sixty percent, many would consider her HP too low for a fight to the death with a gold ranker. But, that was the point. It needed to be low, even though it put her at risk of death because impressions fucking mattered.

  Borgus had taken damage in his fight against the highlord, but a gold ranker’s health and stamina meters easily doubled those of Silver.

  Worried murmurs began spreading among the elves behind her. Even the orc soldiers laughed and jeered at her health. They took up another song and pounded their breastplates with massive forearms, showing signs of the danger of the come.

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  Break. Snap. Strike. Bash.

  Hellish maidens and princes fell.

  Smite. Crush. Crack. Smash.

  Slit their throats and rip their ears.

  Murder. Gut.

  Slaughter. Slay.

  Butcher. Snuff.

  Torture. Flay.

  Claw. Bite. Boil. Choke.

  Drink their blood and sip their tears.

  Felusidan let the noises wash over her. This was it, huh? Another brush with death. Would the underworld finally receive her after all this time? Or would she eke out another victory?

  She abandoned her horse and nodded in satisfaction as it cantered back toward the elves. A heavy shield appeared in one of her hands; a worn mace in the other. Both weapons were ranker-grade of the Grand variety.

  The gold-ranked orc watched her with bored eyes.

  Yeah, you do that, Felusidan thought. The more disadvantaged she seemed at the start, the greater the impact of victory. She took a deep breath and activated the technique gifted by her trait.

  [Bulk Up].

  Her muscular frame doubled in size, swelling to bursting. Her ranker-grade gear adjusted to match it. The [System] announced a ten-point increase in Strength and Endurance, lifting the two attributes from 30 to 40.

  Felusidan grinned.

  You have upgraded an attribute! [STR] has improved from Grand to Epic.

  Your physical attacks now deal 8x base damage.

  You now have 40% physical resistance.

  Base speed has risen 3x!

  You have upgraded an attribute. [END] has improved from Grand to Epic.

  You have gained a 4x base boost to the hidden stat: Defense.

  Your health and stamina meters have also been reinforced.

  The silver rank normally capped stats at 30 points which put her far behind the orc with his stat cap of 40. Thanks to [Bulk Up], however, she could now comfortably match him in Strength and Endurance. It would have been great to save the skill for later, but she got the feeling that she would die a humiliating death if she didn’t use it from the start.

  Borkruff’s eyes narrowed at her sudden transformation. “You’re the first elf I’ve seen who can put on as much muscle as an orc. They call you The Rose, yet you are anything but. The Anvil would have been a more fitting name. Is that it? Is the moniker meant to be tongue-in-cheek?”

  Felusidan snarled, “I’ll put your tongue between your cheeks before this is over.” He probably meant the name as a compliment. But, an orc was the last person she wanted to hear from on musculature.

  She advanced with her shield held high in front of her, watching the enemy for signs of movement.

  He remained relaxed.

  Grimacing, Felusidan darted down the rest of the way and swung her mace at his head. The orc parried with a speed that belied his size and sent her reeling backward.

  They tested each other in eerie silence. Guardian against Warrior. Silver versus Gold. The fighter block, which included Warriors, Monks, Samurais, and Skirmishers, surpassed all other classes in close combat. Guardians, however, were built to endure, and their sole fighting style—[Shieldmastery]—often proved the bane of ferocious fighters.

  Regardless, Felusidan retreated first from the opening exchange, panting hard. Her shield arm shuddered in pain, threatening to drop. The orc fought like a siege weapon, mustering enough force behind each strike to crumble castle walls.

  He observed her retreat with boredom and stepped forward in pursuit. Felusidan struck at that moment. All of the speed she had been reserving exploded beneath her feet, allowing her to sweep under his guard.

  The orc managed a blink before her mace fell on his skull. He tumbled backward for the first time since he arrived on the battlefield, grunting in pain. The orcs behind him gasped. Their crude song faltered in their throats.

  Felusidan didn’t press the advantage, not because she couldn’t, but because she painted a picture of perfect confidence by doing otherwise.

  The old orc, for his part, touched his jaw and regarded Felusidan. Rather than depict annoyance, he instead rose calmly. The air around him became denser—heavier—as was common with the skill, [Aura of Might].

  He tensed his knees and jumped thirty feet into the air.

  A [Power Slam]?!

  Felusidan strained her muscles and rolled out of the way. The orc’s descent went off like a bomb, opening a crater on the ground. Multiple onlookers: elves and orcs both, reeled from the shockwave.

  Large boulders went flying from the impact, but Felusidan swerved past them all and resumed her attack. The orc met her halfway, catching her mace in his hand. She responded with a shield to his face, but it bounced off without inflicting damage.

  And then—ow!

  Felusidan crumbled as his headbutt landed on her skull. Bright lights painted her vision, forcing her to bite her lip in an attempt to center herself. She scored a few hits of her own, but the orc remained unharmed. His next strike met her shield with the force of a trebuchet and sent her skipping across the mud. A dark sheen painted his skin.

  [Iron Skin]! Felusidan realized. The bastard was attuned to Consideration.

  The affinity excelled in transforming one material into another. And, true enough, the orc manifested above her like the wind, using [Wind Walk] to cross large distances. Felusidan rolled out of range, but he pursued relentlessly. His strikes pounded her shield, releasing shockwaves that rattled her bones and teeth.

  With just three techniques, he had changed the power dynamics between them. [Wind Walk] enhanced his mobility, while [Iron Skin] and [Aura of Might] improved his defense and attack respectively. It also didn’t help that he could afford to take more damage than her by dint of his larger health meter.

  Each deflected strike cost Felusidan a smidgen of health, enough that she could barely consider the similarities between the orc’s kit and hers.

  Mud specks sprayed the battlefield, hurled by the shockwaves that followed the orc’s attacks. His clansmen cheered in support, approving the approaching demise of the foolish elf-maiden.

  Felusidan used a technique:

  You have activated [Heroic Defense]!

  Stamina has risen by 25%.

  Defense has risen by 50%.

  She weathered the next shockwave and pulled a spear from her inventory in one smooth motion. The speartip was covered with enchantments that grew sharper the stronger the defense encountered.

  The orc sidestepped her spear thrust—

  “Pathetic,” he growled. He aimed for her neck and opened a new crater in the ground.

  Felusidan appeared behind the orc, completely unharmed. “Oh, snap. I didn’t want to use this yet.”

  The orc stiffened in shock but responded fast enough to attempt a second decapitation—if she remained in place.

  Felusidan instead reappeared above his head and thrust her spear into his skull. The fatal blow inflicted critical damage, negating in totality the benefits of [Iron Skin].

  The orc howled and slipped a short distance away, becoming one with the wind.

  “That ability,” he said. “[Teleportation]?”

  Felusidan didn’t reply. Instead, her orientation of the landscape changed, putting her behind the orc. He read her intention perfectly but reacted a fraction too late. Her speartip found his side even as his axe slammed into her shield.

  He winced at the damage and backpedaled to put distance between them. “Greed. Fitting for an elf. And, that spear. It is an enchanted weapon, yes?”

  Felusidan shrugged. Sure enough, hers was the affinity of Greed—of want, consumption, and devouring—which granted the user access to the Void. Pound for pound, however, it was much weaker than an all-rounder like Consideration. So, she wouldn’t let him control the narrative.

  Perception was everything.

  To that end, she reserved her remaining two uses of [Teleportation] and charged at the orc. He planted his feet to receive her. But, she wasn’t done yet.

  Felusidan threw her spear.

  It sailed toward Bodan’s chest, who snatched it out of the air before it could connect. His green features creased with incredulity at the manner with which she had given up her trump card. But, that had only been done to coax his greed: the most powerful emotion in all sapient beings.

  The moment she entered his range, Bodan attacked with her spear, unable to resist the lure of killing her with her own weapon. Felusidan had already anticipated that, and she shattered the haft with an axe pulled from her inventory.

  Realizing his error, the orc raised his main weapon in time to parry. But, Felusidan’s shield glowed . . .

  [Taunt].

  . . . and forced Bodan to lunge at her against his will.

  Her axe crashed against his mouth with enough force to break teeth and fangs. His [Iron Skin] shattered her axe instead, but Felusidan followed up with her shield. She punched him in the face with the boss of the weapon, seeking to concuss rather than deal damage.

  The orc recovered from the daze of [Taunt], and then, with a bone-chilling roar, he landed a devastating uppercut on her chin. Felusidan’s ears popped from the force, but she managed to bring her shield around in time for his next strike.

  Her world exploded in white.

  You have been hit by the skill, [Stunning Strike]!

  You have been stunned. Your sight and hearing have also been sealed.

  Duration: [5] seconds.

  Ah. She had been careless. Of course, a Warrior like him possessed techniques to punish turtling Guardians. She hadn’t been paying attention to her HP either, which now entered its final third.

  Five seconds was enough time to die.

  The orc grabbed her leg, a sensation that she barely felt, and slammed her face first into the mud. He repeated the slam. And, Felusidan knew instinctively that the final blow loomed. She just had to hope that her preparations would hold.

  Please.

  The orc’s weapon bounced off a spectral shield that appeared over her chest. A web of cracks emanated from the point of contact, driven by the force with which he’d struck.

  The orc once again displayed a degree of caution at odds with his power. He shifted backward and away into [Wind Walk] to regard the new development.

  A spectral knight shimmered into view above Felusidan, hunched over her form. It lifted its tower shield and rose to an impressive eight-meter height. Full plate armor covered it from neck to toe, complete with a helmet and tassel on its head. Long, silvery hair flowed in the wind, matching the ghostly hues of its armor and gear.

  The spectral knight pointed a slender arm at the orc. A longsword coalesced in her hand. Blue eyes gleamed from behind its visor, burning with intent. The intent of death.

  Now freed from the stun, Felusidan groaned and labored to her feet. Grime caked her hair and face and otherwise well-maintained armor. The specter supported her from behind, poised and regal in ways that Felusidan could only hope to be. A single rose decorated its cuirass, engraved in the plate.

  This time, it was the elves that cheered.

  “Rose!”

  “The Rose is here!”

  Boris the orc watched the specter with furrowed brows. “What is that?”

  Felusidan shrugged. The proper name for the creature was [Void Knight], an inhabitant of the region peculiar to Greed. While other Guardians unlocked [Shield Wall] or [Shield Bash] upon reaching the silver rank, Felusidan had instead gotten this from her affinity.

  The [Void Knight] stared at the cheering elves with an upturned chin, as though in disdain.

  “So, this is your trump card . . .” Boris said, permitting her silence “Well, it doesn’t matter. This fight’s over anyway. You’re not leaving here alive.”

  Indeed, all that remained of Felusidan’s health meter was a measly ten percent. Boris, on the other hand, still possessed over fifty percent of his gigantic health bar. However, who needed HP when the Void was on her side? Her only worry lay in the fact that the orc had been careful with his techniques. With his trump card yet to be unleashed, he possessed the upper hand in the duel.

  “Charge,” she whispered.

  The [Void Knight] swept forward. Its speed surprised the orc who raised his axe to parry. The void sword passed through his weapon and into [Iron Skin] without disrupting health armor.

  The orc’s eyes widened, and then he screamed.

  This was the greatest advantage of the [Void Knight] after all: its ability to assume the properties of the Void at will.

  Bolchis tried to disengage from the summon, but the [Void Knight] was relentless. He slipped into [Wind Walk] only to revert a short moment later after the spectral sword passed through his form. The passing sword dealt soul damage, a type that no ranker could resist as long as they lived.

  Bolchis clutched his chest in agony and tried a [Stunning Strike]. His weapon sailed harmlessly through the [Void Knight], though the energy that powered it inflicted some damage.

  A health meter appeared over the specter’s head. It ignored it in favor of retaliation. Its void blade erupted in a deadly series of strikes, which Bolchis needed to avoid rather than parry. The orc did well for himself, but the strange qualities of the [Void Knight] overwhelmed him. He took multiple hits again to his soul and hurled blood onto the floor

  Quicker than anyone could blink, Borkruff leaped high into the air. His axe glowed with power in a bid to destroy the surrounding landscape. Felusidan chose that moment to teleport behind him, trading soft earth for the emptiness of air.

  The broken spearhead, which she had retrieved in the chaos, slammed into the orc’s spine and then his heart.

  He crashed painfully to the ground, rolling in one smooth motion to regain his footing. Felusidan and the [Void Knight] fell upon him, besetting him from opposite sides. Enchanted spearhead and intangible sword plunged at intervals, slipping through the otherwise insurmountable defense of his skin. The large HP that had once solidified his position as a proud gold ranker dwindled into nothing.

  The orc triggered [Wind Walk] to evade Felusidan and earned a void blade for his trouble. He returned to face the specter and took Felusidan’s shield to his face. The [Void Knight] slammed him to the ground.

  Go on, Felusidan thought. Show me your trump card.

  The orc’s features contorted. His axe quivered for one moment, and then it exploded with growth. It swung in a wide arc that extended far beyond the confines of their vicinity, killing a handful of the onlookers on both sides where they stood.

  Felusidan avoided the attack by teleporting into the air. But, she used the last of her [Teleportation] charges in the process, sending the ability into cooldown. The [Void Knight] wasn't so lucky. It failed to make a full transition to intangibility in time, taking a glancing hit that flung it off its feet.

  The orc retracted his axe to normal length and watched Felusidan fall. “You have used your [Teleportation] ability five times. This is your limit.”

  Felusidan winced. It always sucked to fight enemies who had encountered her abilities before.

  Borke, or whatever his name was, extended his axe for one last strike. Airborne as she was, she wasn’t dodging it.

  The giant axe parted the wind in its passing. It would crush her like a fly. End her life on its blade. The gates of the underworld beckoned Felusidan, cajoling her to give in just this once.

  Felusidan activated the [Void Knight]’s special skill. It caused them to switch places just before the axe strike landed. The specter took no damage, having completed the transformation to intangibility.

  The orc glanced in shock at the [Void Knight]’s previous location only to find Felusidan lunging with spearpoint in hand.

  The blow slammed into his gut. Wind issued from his extremities, seeking to cart him to safety. Felusidan pulled his thoughts back toward her with [Taunt]. And, like clockwork, he abandoned all escape attempts.

  Influenced by the skill, Bolchis lunged mindlessly at her throat. The void sword emerged from his chest, stopping him in the tracks. He turned reflexively toward the specter only to gasp as Felusidan’s spear plunged again into his chest.

  The [Void Knight] stabbed a second time, and a third, as did Felusidan, until the wounded orc stooped listlessly between him. His fearsome health meter, which had once stood in the representation of the greatness of gold rankers hung empty over his head.

  The orc’s eyes, blinded with pain, found Felusidan’s gaze. Blood dribbled down his chin.

  “Thorn . . .” he whispered. “You are no rose. Just a thorn.”

  “I know,” she said. And then, she beheaded him with his axe.

  Felusidan didn’t cheer or raise her fist in victory. She simply grabbed the decapitated head by the hair and strode toward the elves. Her health meter still had a sliver left in it. But, she didn’t drink a potion or heal herself. Again, impressions mattered.

  The [System] released a stream of messages, informing her of her level-ups. [Void Knight] followed behind her like a bodyguard, radiating silent approval.

  The stunned Norduli? parted ranks to allow The Rose of the Battlefield to pass. The equally stunned orcs gaped after her form.

  A cry went up among the elves.

  “For Rose! Killer of gold rankers!”

  “For Rose! For Rose!”

  The light elves charged, spurred on by their commanders and the elvish horns of battle. They formed a wave of steel and blades that swept past the corpses of Haldir and the orc. The filthy orc Soldiers tried to mount a valiant resistance, but they eventually crumpled like wet paper beneath the wave. A great victory was secured on the rice plains that day, home to The Cave, the ancient dungeon of the South.

  Felluvian smirked as his sister tossed the decapitated head at his feet. “You do the Elodir name proud. What level are you now?”

  Felusidan took a moment to check. “Level 47.”

  “Good. No more big battles. I need you to lead the expedition into the dungeon. Until then, you must do all you can to remain at Silver.”

  Felusidan excused herself from the palisade and finally allowed her [Bulk Up] skill to fade. She dropped in size, going from a hulking bruiser-type to a brawny, less-hulking elf.

  She needed a bath and a stiff drink, in no particular order. The latter had to be the good stuff that a few of her cohort members smuggled, not the watered-down wine that Felluvian allowed on campaigns. The old orc had hit her as hard as she hit him. A ringing persisted in her ears.

  Ah, yes, Felusidan thought as she ordered her specter to return to the Void. His name was Bor.