Let’s rewind time, just a little—right before Nero veered off course after detecting the orc at the very edge of his Divine Sense.
At first glance, it had seemed that Khione hadn’t noticed anything unusual. She had flown ahead, focused and silent, her crystal wings slicing cleanly through the air. Nero assumed she was simply fixated on her goal.
But in truth, Khione had seen it too.
She had sensed the lone orc just as she passed—felt its faint signature brushing against the edge of her awareness. Yet she chose not to pursue.
It wasn’t carelessness.
It was calculation.
Khione had deliberately left the orc for Nero. With him distracted, she would have more freedom to move undisturbed, giving her the chance to focus on something larger—a cluster of signatures further ahead. At least three, maybe more. They pulsed faintly through the flow of the surrounding magic and elemental energy, like embers glowing under the surface of ash.
She had been ahead of Nero by a fair margin, and so she was the first to detect them. Letting him take the bait had been an easy decision.
And, just as she had planned, Nero hadn’t noticed a thing.
Soon, she reached her destination.
The forest here opened into a quiet glade. The trees stood farther apart, their trunks leaning lazily as if softened by time. A gentle stream meandered through the clearing, its clear waters catching the sunlight in rippling flashes of silver. Moss-lined rocks dotted the banks, and the air smelled faintly of damp earth and wildflowers.
Near the stream, four orcs were gathered—hulking figures crouched low, scooping water into their mouths with guttural grunts. Their crude weapons rested nearby, leaned against stones or slung lazily over shoulders.
From above, Khione hovered silently, hidden among the clouds. Her presence was utterly erased, like a ghost woven into the wind. Even her wings made no sound, refracting light like delicate shards of frost.
Cold, sharp eyes studied the scene below.
No emotion.
No hesitation.
Just calculation.
She must recklessly charge, it was time for some planning. She must devour those four orcs quickly, this would eventually put her ahead if not at the same level with Nero.
•••
Back to the present—Nero’s location.
Flames erupted from his body in a sudden burst, wreathing him in living fire. Crimson tongues of flame danced across his limbs like hungry serpents, coiling around his shoulders, spiraling down his arms. The air shimmered with heat, warping the space around him.
This wasn’t just for show.
The flames served a purpose—three, in fact.
First, they cloaked his body in a natural armor, burning away any projectile or blunt force that dared touch him. Second, the fire heightened his speed and reflexes, sharpening his movements like a blade honed on a whetstone. And third, every strike he landed now came laced with searing fire—a punch wasn’t just a punch anymore, it was a blazing explosion.
The two orcs didn’t flinch.
The larger one raised his stone club high, issuing a guttural snarl that signaled the attack. The smaller orc obeyed without hesitation, flanking to the side with surprising agility. It was clear who commanded the pair—the larger orc fought like a seasoned veteran, every movement clean and measured, using his size and reach to control space. The smaller one moved in perfect sync, darting in and out with his axe, capitalizing on any opening.
They were no mindless beasts.
They were warriors.
Nero moved swiftly, ducking under the first swing, a horizontal arc that split the air with raw power. He retaliated with a spinning kick wreathed in fire, catching the smaller orc in the side—but the orc rolled with the blow, absorbing the impact better than expected.
A second later, the larger one was back on him, crashing down his club like a hammer of stone. Nero met it with his forearm, the flames surging up to soften the strike, but still—he felt it.
Heavy.
Disciplined.
Strike, dodge, counter, retreat.
The rhythm of the fight turned relentless, and for the first time in a while, Nero felt pressure.
He wasn’t losing—but he wasn’t breezing through, either.
Flames licked the ground wherever he moved, and the orcs danced dangerously close to them, adapting, adjusting. The larger orc began predicting Nero’s patterns, subtly forcing him toward the smaller one’s attacks. Their synergy tightened with each exchange.
Nero gritted his teeth, not in anger—but in realization.
I’ve been too complacent.
He had underestimated them. Thought they would crumble like the others. But these weren’t just wild brutes—they were survivors. Fighters who had lived through ambushes, hunts, and wars. Every scar on their bodies was earned. Every move honed.
He wasn’t angry at them.
He was angry at himself.
Inside, Nero’s expression twisted—not outwardly, but within. A quiet, scolding voice echoed in his mind.
I’ve gotten arrogant.
Strength doesn’t mean invincibility. Not yet.
Even the weakest creatures can kill if you’re careless.
That fire—the one not on his body but within his spirit—burned hotter now. Not fueled by ego, but by conviction. Discipline.
With renewed focus, Nero adjusted.
He stopped trying to overpower them and started outmaneuvering them.
When the smaller orc lunged in again, Nero let the axe come close—too close. It nicked his arm, just barely—before Nero grabbed the orc’s wrist and twisted with brutal precision. Flames surged through his palm, and the orc shrieked as the fire tore through flesh and muscle.
Nero didn’t hesitate.
A sharp knee to the gut, then a fiery elbow to the face—the smaller orc dropped.
The larger orc roared and charged, enraged. His club came down like a guillotine. But Nero stepped inside the arc of the swing, letting the weapon crash just behind him. One hand caught the orc’s thick wrist, the other shot upward, fingers igniting in a burst of flame as he struck the orc under the jaw.
The flames surged into the orc—raw, direct, controlled.
For a second, everything went still.
Then the orc’s body erupted in a contained explosion, fire bursting from within as his body collapsed to the ground, smoldering.
Silence returned to the clearing. The stream gurgled on, untouched by the flames.
Nero stood in the aftermath, smoke rising from his shoulders, breath steady.
His body ached. His arm was singed where the axe had grazed him. But more than that, something inside him had shifted.
He had learned.
No smirk. No cocky grin. Just a quiet nod to himself.
"Until I’m truly invincible, I don’t have the right to look down on anyone."
He turned, stepping over the scorched ground.
The hunt wasn’t over.