“My Lord, are you worried about the troops you sent to fight the demon worshipers?”

It was a question Nerun, the Crystal Palace’s head butler, asked when he noticed how restless his mistress was. She paced her office late in the night, pointlessly rereading documents and study material to distract herself.

What was the point in delegating her work if she was only going to fret in her spare time? It was a servant’s job to see to it that their master didn’t need to strain themselves in the first place.

“No, I’m not worried about them. My brother could take on the demon worshippers’ entire village alone. So could uncle Durghan, given a few extra days. There shouldn’t be any casualties on our side.”

So she said, and yet she was chewing her thumbnail until it bled, relying on her regeneration skill to deal with the consequences.

A drop of blood landed on the transcribed historical text her gaze was boring holes through. With a weak but effective use of , Nerun dried the stain and dusted the powdery debris off with a green silk handkerchief.

“If that’s the case, may I ask what’s troubling you, my Lord?”

The Orc Lord leaned back in her chair and dropped both her hands to its armrests, sighing. “I wish I could be there. Knowing there’s a battle raging within flying distance is making my blood boil.”

“It’s good that you’re here,” Nerun told her. “The response from Andorin Kingdom could come at any time, and the surviving Onis will soon be your subjects. The more of them survive, the better.”

“Those two reasons are exactly why I’m still sitting here,” Vyra sighed again. She ran a hand up her forehead and stared at the neatly patterned ceiling. “Brother hates excessive killing. I’m sure he’s got everything quiet and under control over there.”

“Is that why you sent them almost all of your scouts?” Nerun asked, accepting a pitcher of chilled mint tea from a servant at the door.

“He asked for them, but yes, I agreed to it with those intentions.” Vyra accepted the cup that Nerun poured for her, sipping it slowly to calm her nerves—even a little.

I won’t be like my predecessors, she thought, peering at her reflection in the green-tinted liquid. I won’t compromise my people’s well-being for my wars.

Vyra closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep without realizing it. Nerun carefully took her cup from her hands and called for a pair of War Orc guards to move her to her room.

“Be careful not to wake her. Who knows when she’ll manage to sleep again,” he warned them.

***

Varoon and the ritual matron glared each other in the quiet and dark room. The Oni’s voice was stifled by his hand clamped tight over her mouth. The War Orc’s muscles prepared to tighten, as he intended to snap her neck and keep things quick. Sensing his bloodlust, the ritual matron’s eyes widened. She dropped the pot she had grabbed for self defense and clutched his wide forearm. Suddenly, Varoon felt a jolt of electricity travel up his arm, causing the muscles to spasm and numb.

The ritual matron rolled off the bed and toward the door, sucking in a breath to scream again. Varoon spun around and swiftly kicked her in the back of the neck, which cut off her voice and caused her to tumble to the floor face-first. She started to crawl again almost immediately, but Varoon’s arm had recovered, so he grabbed her by the shoulder, flipped her onto her back, and stomped down toward her throat.

The ritual matron twisted her body out of the way at the last second, then she grabbed Varoon’s ankle, and again electricity jolted his body. For a moment, he couldn’t control his body properly, and the ritual matron bought enough time for herself to stand up again and wreath her body in a staticky aura.

She glared hatefully at him. “You ambushed me in my sleep and now you want an honorable duel?”

The blonde War Orc didn’t participate in her banter. Instead, he analyzed the cloak of electricity coating his enemy. It was hardly a physical barrier: it would do nothing to stop pure physical momentum.

Varoon swung his leg to kick at her jaw. His body jolted and spasmed when he came in contact with the electric current, but his foot still met her chin. The blow made the ritual matron’s head ring, and her magic dissipated due to the lapse in focus. Varoon’s stance was unstable due to one of his legs being outstretched and numb, so he grabbed the ritual maiden’s shoulders to ground himself, knocking his head against hers.

Blood trickled down from his forehead. Shockingly, the Oni’s head was harder, and her horns had given him a good knock. It was a miscalculation, but keeping the momentum was what mattered.

Varoon shifted his arms around, putting the ritual matron in a headlock. Of course she shocked him again, forgetting that his muscles would involuntarily tighten before they loosened. There was a snapping sound, and the Oni hung limply. Varoon’s body as well collapsed without her support. He felt his body tingling and covered in electric burns and groaned.

“Bad matchup,” he complained, slowly rolling back onto his feet.

He signaled the scout watching from a distance and made his way back to camp.

***

As Durghan plunged his sword downward, the ritual master’s eyes opened. He rolled off his bed and darted immediately for the window.

Durghan snorted (which made no sound thanks to the silencing spell) and grabbed a hand axe from his belt. He threw it and successfully grazed the ritual master’s arm, even though he did his best to dodge.

He must have a skill similar to mine that lets him sense danger, the Orc general thought.

With an expression of fury, the ritual master turned to face his assailant. After being injured, he now had no choice left but to fight, thanks to Nemeses’ curse.

He reached for a halberd mounted on the wall, and Durghan allowed him to take it. The Orc pulled his shield off his back and adjusted his grip on his shortsword.

Using a large weapon like that indoors… I don’t think he’s used to combat.

But Durghan was surprised. The ritual master swung the weapon in an arc and it cut through simple obstacles like the wall and an end table without difficulty, soon snaking for his throat.

Durghan was just a simple Orc. His strength couldn’t be compared to an Oni’s. Instead of blocking the attack, he parried it with his shield. No matter how strong the swings, a halberd couldn’t cut unless it’s blade was facing the right way. The blow from the flat of the blade did some damage to Durghan’s shoulder, but he still won the exchange.

Now, with the ritual master’s weapon fully extended, Durghan moved in, stepping up to where the weapon’s length would become more of a hindrance than a help. He kept his arm raised as he approached, dragging his shield along the body of the large weapon. He kept the halberd in an awkward position where it couldn’t easily be pulled back to block with and thrusted his shortsword at the Oni’s throat.

With super-monster reflexes, the ritual master tilted his body and evaded the strike, letting go of his weapon in the process. He attempted to throw a punch at Durghan’s face, but the battle master hooked their arms, diverting the blow over his shoulder and shield-bashed the Oni’s head.

A hoof found its way behind the ritual master’s foot while he was dazed and jammed the leg forward. Durghan used their linked arms to force the Oni’s chest back and the result was that the ritual master was floored despite his superior strength. A well-timed blade to the throat snuffed out the ritual master’s life and ended the battle.

Durghan stood up, rolled his sore shoulder and exited out the front door. The sounds of the night entered his ears again the moment he was outside. He gave the black goblin a nod of thanks and began moving as quietly as he could back toward their encampment.

All that was left was to keep an eye on this village until Nemeses’ blessing disappeared. Hopefully that would be before the war with the humans began, so they wouldn’t have to split their forces.