Trees snapped like kindling and scattered across ground torn up as though something had dug it from below.
The scene of devastation—like a stampede had torn through—made the Hunters who'd arrived to investigate after receiving the report hold their breath.
The surrounding area was open, but a bestial stench so thick it could bend your nose still lingered. It was proof that a massive number of beasts had been nesting here just moments ago.
But the creatures responsible for that smell were nowhere to be felt.
The fortress at the edge of the forest—crude structures of roughly carved and assembled trees—was empty. The watchtowers erected in all four directions stood unmanned. The gate, previously sealed tight, had been thrown wide open.
Looking carefully at the ground before it, they could see it had been packed solid by countless footprints.
There had once been a village here.
It had been abandoned long ago due to declining population, but recently, a horde of Monsters had moved in and built the fortress using the village's open space.
The Monsters that Gra Town had been on high alert for were called orcs.
A demi-human species of Monster feared for their ferocity and tendency to attack human settlements, they possessed enough intelligence to use tools and enough social instinct to form packs.
Individually, their abilities were nothing special from the perspective of Hunters or Knights who made a living through combat. However, what made orcs particularly troublesome was their prolific breeding capacity.
Orcs multiplied. Their rate of reproduction was said to be second only to goblins among demi-human Monsters, and there were cases where a small pack of a dozen or so ballooned into a horde of several hundred within a single year.
And when that swollen horde was led by a standout individual, orcs became a threat capable of endangering even human kingdoms.
The pack that had been nesting near Gra was one such extremely dangerous group on the verge of developing those characteristics.
A handful of orcs repurposing an abandoned village was one thing, but a mere pack of orcs building a fortress was unthinkable.
It was theorized that there must be an orc king with extraordinary abilities among them. And a horde led by such an individual would be exceptionally difficult to deal with.
Charge in rashly, and even human Knights and Hunters with superior equipment could end up defeated—that was the kind of horde they were dealing with.
To exterminate orcs holed up in a fortress with a geographical advantage, considerable military strength was required.
The Hunters' preliminary investigation had confirmed multiple orcs standing watch from the towers, and they'd determined it would be too dangerous to mount a subjugation with just Gra Town's resident forces, so they'd been in the process of supplementing their strength.
But the fortress where several hundred orcs had been predicted to be holed up just days ago now held not a single orc in sight.
"What happened?"
"They really are gone, aren't they—the orcs..."
Faces twisted with confusion and wariness, the Hunters slipped inside the fortress.
The information that the orc horde had abandoned the fortress had come from a watchman only a few hours prior. The orcs had shown no reaction to repeated provocations meant to lure them out—a development that had caught Gra Town, which had been steadily building up its forces, completely off guard.
They'd braced for a sudden assault, but with no sign of the orcs appearing near the town, and with a horde led by a leader intelligent enough to build a fortress unlikely to launch an attack without sending scouts first, something didn't add up.
"As the report says, there's no sign of some natural enemy appearing to drive the orcs away..."
"Look at the footprints—they've been packed down with considerable force. They seem to have been in a state of extreme agitation..."
The fortress was far cruder than anything built by humans, but there were no signs of it being destroyed from the outside.
From the watchmen's account, the orc horde and one particularly imposing individual—presumably the pack's leader—had stormed out of the fortress with unstoppable momentum. When they'd first heard that report, they'd thought it was some kind of joke, but the empty fortress and the state of the surroundings before them confirmed the watchman's account had been accurate.
Where they were now was unclear, but the enemy was a massive horde of several hundred. They'd surely be discovered before long.
Cautiously verifying that the fortress was completely devoid of the enemy that had threatened Gra Town, the Hunters exchanged glances.
"They're really not here... Fine. I don't know what happened, but—let's tear this wretched fortress down before they come back, just as planned."
Gra Town had been steadily amassing its forces. Once the fortress was gone, even if the horde returned, they'd have the advantage in any fight.
With a series of nods, the Hunters of Gra Town began preparations to demolish the fortress.
§ § § It was a horde of Monsters large enough to be clearly visible even from a distance.
Countless gleaming eyes, a stench carried on the wind. The horde of orcs surging across the plain like a wave was the very embodiment of the word "frenzy."
The horses, which should have been accustomed to running through Monster-infested territory, were rearing in terror.
Even the members of the <Thunder Dragon of the Mist>—who had weathered countless battlefields—wore grim expressions at the sight of the openly aberrant horde.
Arnold drew his beloved blade and spoke as if spitting the words out.
"What the—damn it! First the spirits, and now an orc horde!? Is this normal in this country!?"
"And they're not even acting normal. They're frenzied—they've lost their minds..."
There was nothing unusual about the orc horde itself. They weren't hunting, nor were they attempting to attack a human settlement. No, they wouldn't have gone on such a frenzied march for something as trivial as that.
The orcs charged forward in blind abandon, trampling fallen companions without a care, heading in Arnold's direction for some reason.
For Arnold, a Dragonslayer, a few orcs were nothing to worry about. And for the members of the <Thunder Dragon of the Mist>, who had completed countless adventures together, an orc horde was hardly a noteworthy opponent.
But this time, the numbers were different.
By eye alone, the orc count was in the hundreds. Ordinarily, a single Hunter Party would never encounter a horde of this scale during an expedition—it was simply too many for one Party to handle.
Ei, who had been calculating the distance and speed of the charging horde, let out a heavy curse through his teeth.
"Damn it, at that pace—we can't outrun them. Arnold, we've got no choice but to fight. It's just a lot of them. There's nothing we can't handle."
"...Form a defensive formation."
Ei and the other members wore expressions of grim determination.
Giving the order, Arnold raised his greatsword—a blade as tall as he was.
The Thunder Dragon that Arnold and Nebulnes had slain—its bones had been forged into this golden edge that crackled with electricity as if it still remembered its days as a living dragon.
Weapons crafted from the materials of powerful, magic-wielding Monsters occasionally retained the power they had possessed in life. Arnold's greatsword—the <Mighty Thunder Flash>, from which his epithet was derived—was the pinnacle of such weapons.
Before this supreme strike, permitted only to the hero who had stood at the forefront of countless warriors and achieved the slaying of a dragon, an orc horde was insignificant.
Snorting hard through gritted teeth, Arnold suddenly seemed to recall something and asked.
"...Where is <Thousand Transformations>? They should have passed through here."
"I don't know. But their behavior is clearly abnormal. Perhaps—they're fleeing from that man."
Ei's shoulders shuddered, and he twisted his lips into a grin.
Orcs were known for possessing intelligence, yet also for their reckless bravery. Especially in large-scale hordes, orcs would not typically choose to flee over something minor.
But that Levels beyond 8 operated beyond common sense was something Arnold, who had reached Level 7, knew better than anyone.
"...Damn it. Orcs charging headlong, fleeing without even looking sideways!? What did that man do...?"
He noticed a potion bottle lying on the ground. A precious resource, but now was no time for hesitation.
Arnold followed suit, pulling a body-enhancing potion from his belt and downing it in a single gulp.
His organs trembled. A hot power surged from his heart throughout his entire body. A powerful euphoria blew away the tension. The orc horde spotted Arnold and his group, but showed no sign of stopping.
The sound—the vibrations drew closer. A billowing cloud of dust obscured his vision.
Tossing the empty bottle aside, Arnold roared in a voice like a thunderclap.
"Very well!! I'll teach those feeble minds that the one they should fear isn't <Thousand Transformations>—it's me, the <Mighty Thunder Flash>!"
"You... are the one... who made us do this...!"
A blade descended from above. Arnold caught it in a high guard.
A strong beast's stench filled his nostrils. Golden eyes, clouded with killing intent, glared down at him from close range. Purple lightning scattered as the electricity wreathing the Mighty Thunder Flash raced along the blade to burn its wielder, but the body behind it did not so much as tremble.
Falling from the sky was an orc clad head to toe in jet-black armor.
It stood one and a half times the height of a normal orc. Its pitch-black hide was covered in countless scars, and its left eye had been crushed. The long-handled war axes gripped in both hands were crude but well-maintained, and the fact that they hadn't been destroyed in a clash with the Mighty Thunder Flash proved they were no ordinary weapons.
But more than anything else, what distinguished this orc from the common variety was—the light of keen intelligence burning in its eyes.
A superior individual. A racial anomaly. A Monster born transcending its own species.
Each blow carried tremendous weight. A power that had half-transcended orc-kind, impossible for an average Hunter to contend with—Arnold could feel it radiating from every strike.
Sensing the unmistakable aura of a powerful foe, Arnold channeled his strength and swung the Mighty Thunder Flash.
The black-furred orc retreated several steps, spitting and snarling. The words were halting, but the voice carried emotions as violent as a raging torrent.
"Reason—fades. Fear, fight—this smell—calls us. Urges. Instinct—soul—drugs. Warriors—children—irrelevant. I, as king—cannot ignore. You—humans—cowardly... trick...!!"
"...What are you talking about?"
"I have no intention of fleeing!"
"Arnold, let's crush them before we get swallowed by the horde!"
Roar met roar. Killing intent pierced through flesh.
A black blow swung down before his eyes, and Arnold met it with his sword.