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墨書 Inktalez
With a chime, John received a notification for killing a werewolf, gaining experience points for his Soldier Profession. He discarded the weapon that had become lodged in the werewolf's body and casually picked up a metal spear. After so much time spent in battle, the weapon in his hand was no longer the original Long-handled Warhammer he had started with.
Looking around, he realized his familiar teammates had long since vanished. He had no idea where he had been swept away to; all he could see were towering white birch trees surrounding him. Leaning against one of the massive trunks, he scanned the battlefield while attempting to quench his parched, cracked lips with water from his canteen.
Desperately pouring the water down his throat, he soon discovered that the canteen had been torn open at some point. He ripped off a piece of ragged cloth and tried to wipe the bloodstains from his mask, questioning himself in frustration.
When would this damned slaughter ever end?
Though he wished time could freeze at that moment for a brief respite, how often did things go as one hoped? A flying axe whizzed past, scraping against John's helmet and embedding itself deep into the tree trunk.
"Come forth, warrior of the Orc Language! Bet your life and honor; I shall grant you death!"
As he watched a three-meter-tall orc charging toward him with a spear in hand, John wished he could convey that he was not a warrior but merely a cook (and how fitting it was to rhyme).
Without fear, he faced the oncoming spear. Instinctively, he slid to one side, planting his feet against the tree trunk. John darted through the orc's legs. As he executed the maneuver, he felt something sharp graze him; warmth seeped through his armor and trickled down his neck.
He scrambled a few steps away and stumbled to his feet, adopting a defensive stance. It was only then that he realized what had happened.
"You bastard! You’re not a warrior! Woe is me, my younger brother!" cried the orc in anguish.
John glanced at the writhing Orc Warrior on the ground and then at the mysterious object stuck on his spear, now obscured by what looked like a mosaic pattern.
He quickly shook off the spearhead, watching as it splattered on the ground and turned into a mushy mess—definitely not salvageable.
Great, this spear is enchanted. Will I ever be able to use it again?
"You chose me! You chose me!" shouted the Beast Soldier on the ground incessantly.
Feeling compelled to help according to the principles of mutual aid from the Red Cross, John lifted his spear and performed an emergency procedure on him.
"Hey! Why are you dodging? Did I miss?"
With another chime, John received notification of killing an orc captain, gaining ten points of experience for his Soldier Profession and leveling up to level three.
[Profession: Soldier]
Level: Proficient
...
Ah well, he's dead. Too bad I couldn't save him.
Adhering to the principle that a failed operation cannot delay payment, John hurriedly rummaged through the orc lying on the ground.
As he examined his findings, a smile creased his face beneath the mask.
Truly, these orcs were among the elite; they were incredibly wealthy. Just moments ago, John had discovered a pouch of gold coins hidden in the orc's underwear, which explained why it felt so bulky despite being empty before.
There were a full fourteen gold coins, along with two pearls as large as eyeballs and a gemstone the size of a pigeon egg.
After ensuring no one was watching, he tucked the pouch into his clothing and quickly climbed up a nearby tree. Earning money was important, but having a life to spend it was even more crucial.
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