The crowd of Orc soldiers and villagers fell dead silent. Their guttural cheers were cut off in shock, eyes widening as they watched the monster they had come to fear—this human who had butchered dozens of them—stagger back, shrieking in pain.
"IT FUCKING HURTS!" Leon bellowed, his voice cracking the air. He grimaced, clutching the wound with his other hand, trying to stem the blood flow. His face contorted in rage, veins bulging against his temple.
The Orc that injured him grinned. A smug, twisted grin of triumph.
It was a spar, but it had abandoned the rules. And it didn't care. To Orcs, pride was everything. And at this moment, it felt proud—prouder than ever before. It had scarred the monster. It had shown its brothers what none of them could do.
Leon saw that grin. That mocking pride. And something inside him snapped.
"You…" his voice was hoarse, thick with hate. "I'll make you regret this. I'll carve that grin off your fucking face!"
