The orc stepped into the road like it had always belonged there.
Broad shoulders, thick corded muscle, skin scarred over and over again. The weapon in its hands was closer to a slab of iron than a blade, nicked and dark with old blood. It did not hurry. It did not posture. It simply looked at Arthur and judged him prey.
Arthur tightened his grip on the sword.
His arms were already sore. His breath still hadn't fully settled from the goblins. Blood had dried stiff along his forearm where a blade had caught him earlier. He rolled his shoulder once, felt the protest, ignored it.
"So," Arthur said, steady, "you're the one they ran to call."
The orc bared its teeth. "You kill many, Underling's."
"They tried to kill me."
The orc laughed, low and heavy. "Then you die, Human!."
Arthur lifted his sword into guard.
"No," he said. "You do."
————±————±————±————
The orc charged.
The ground shook with each step.
Arthur moved first.
Steel met iron with a crack that rang through the trees. The impact slammed up Arthur's arms, nearly ripping the sword from his grip. He slid back, boots tearing through dirt, barely keeping his balance.
The orc pressed immediately.
A downward swing— too fast for something that large.
Arthur twisted aside, felt the wind of it tear past his face, then slashed across the orc's side. The blade bit. Not deep enough.
The orc barely reacted.
A backhand caught Arthur across the chest.
Armor rang. Air blasted from his lungs. He hit the ground hard, rolled, barely avoided the follow-up that crushed the earth where his head had been.
Arthur came up coughing, already moving.
————±————±————±————
The orc was stronger.
Arthur accepted that.
So he fought smarter.
He kept moving, forcing the orc to turn, to overextend. He cut where he could— the thigh, shoulder, forearm—each strike drawing blood, each one answered with something heavier, something meant to end the fight outright.
A fist caught Arthur's jaw.
Stars exploded behind his eyes.🥴🌟
He stumbled, tasted blood, and snarled as he drove forward anyway.
The sword struck bone.
The orc roared.
Arthur didn't stop.
.
.
.
.
They traded blows until the clearing was torn apart.
Arthur took a hit to the ribs that made something crack. He felt it immediately —sharp, hot, wrong—but he stayed standing. He ducked under another swing, drove his shoulder into the orc's gut, and stabbed upward.
The blade stuck.
The orc grabbed him.
Fingers like iron clamps crushed his armor, squeezed until plates bent and pain flared white-hot through Arthur's chest. His feet left the ground.
Arthur screamed— not in fear, but in fury—and slammed his forehead into the orc's face.
Once.
Twice.
The grip loosened just enough.
Arthur tore the sword free and kicked off, landing hard, barely upright.
————±————±————±————
Both of them were bleeding now.
Arthur's vision blurred at the edges. His arms felt heavy. His breathing burned his lungs. Every instinct screamed at him to fall, to step back, to end it.
He didn't.
He raised his sword again.
"You're slow and easy to please" Arthur said hoarsely. Pride burned through the pain. "That's why they followed you."
The orc charged again, enraged.
Arthur stepped into it.
The blow he took shattered what was left of his guard and sent him skidding across the ground. He rolled, came up on one knee, nearly blacked out— —and still stood.
.
.
.
.
The final exchange was brutal.
Arthur drove forward with everything he had left. No finesse. No restraint. Steel slammed into flesh. Bone cracked. The orc's weapon glanced off his shoulder and sent agony screaming down his arm, but Arthur stayed inside its reach, where the big swings were useless.
He stabbed once.
Missed.
Twice.
Hit.
The third strike went under the ribs.
The orc froze.
Arthur leaned in, breath ragged, forehead pressed against its chest.
"You picked the wrong road," he said.
He twisted the blade and ripped it free.
The orc collapsed.
The impact shook the ground.
————±————±————±————
Arthur stood there for a moment.
Just stood.
His sword slipped from his fingers and hit the dirt.
Then his knees buckled.
.
.
He barely felt himself fall.
The pain came all at once—ribs screaming, shoulder burning, legs shaking uncontrollably. His vision narrowed. The sky spun. His breath hitched, shallow and uneven.
"I… won," he muttered, more to convince himself than anything else.
The world tilted.
Darkness rushed in.
Arthur fell forward—and knew nothing more.