CHAPTER 239: TRAINING 2

The first five orcs were just a warm-up. Nero’s ominous red eyes glowed with a cold fire. He could feel it—the barrier inside him, the wall holding back his second star. It needed more. It needed battle. With a thought, his great wings of fire exploded from his back once more. He shot into the sky, a red streak against the sun. The hunt was on.

His prana sense tingled. Below, in a narrow, rocky gully, three Red Orcs were resting by a small stream. A perfect chance for a surprise attack. Nero didn’t just dive. He became a meteor. He pulled his wings in, his body falling like a stone. At the last second, he flared his wings, stopping his fall with a thunderous WHOOSH that kicked up a storm of dust and leaves.

The orcs jumped up, grabbing their clubs.

Nero’s sword was already moving.

"Flame Slash!" He didn’t swing at them. He swung at the ground in front of them. A wave of fire rolled forward, not to burn, but to blind and separate them. As they stumbled back, shouting, he moved.

Flash!

He appeared next to the first orc. A simple, clean thrust. The sword, coated in white-hot fire, went straight through its chest. He didn’t wait to see it fall. He was already spinning.

The second orc swung its heavy club. Nero ducked under it, his body low. As the club passed over his head, he swung his sword upward.

"Rising Phoenix!" A blade of fire shot up from the ground, cutting the orc from hip to shoulder. It fell in two pieces.

The third orc turned to run. Nero pointed a single finger. A tiny, super-fast bullet of fire shot out. Pew! It hit the orc in the back of the head, and it fell face-first into the stream. The water sizzled.

Three down. He took a deep breath and flew again.

Next, he found a patrol of four orcs marching along a high ridge. No chance for a sneak attack here. So, he gave them a show.

He landed on the path ahead of them, his sword held loosely. They roared and charged, all four at once.

Nero smiled. It was time to test his control.

The first orc reached him,axe high. Nero sidestepped, and as the axe fell, he tapped its side with his flaming sword. He didn’t cut. He heated. The metal axe head glowed red, then white. The orc screamed, dropping the now-molten weapon, its hands burned.

The second and third came at him together. Nero didn’t retreat. He jumped, spinning in the air.

"Fire Cyclone!" A tornado of flames spun out from him, knocking the orcs off their feet and setting their clothes on fire.

While they were on the ground, rolling, he dealt with the fourth. This one had a spear. It thrust the spear at Nero’s heart. Nero caught the spear shaft with his free hand. His fire ran down the wood. In a second, the whole spear was ash in the orc’s hands. The orc stared, stunned. Nero finished it with a quick, powerful kick to its chest, the force so great it cracked its armor and sent it flying off the ridge.

He then turned and finished the burning orcs with swift, precise strikes. Four more. The fight was clean, controlled. He was an artist, and fire was his brush.

His final hunt of the two hours was the biggest. Five more Red Orcs, these ones bigger and meaner, were at a small camp near a roaring waterfall. The mist from the water filled the air.

This would be difficult. Water weakens fire. But Nero saw it as a challenge.

He didn’t land in the camp. He landed on a rock in the middle of the waterfall itself, the water steaming around his feet. He was a dark silhouette against the crashing water.

The orcs saw him and went crazy, throwing rocks and shouting.

Nero ignored them.He held his sword in both hands and focused. He pushed his prana, not to make a big fire, but a hot one. A focused, intense heat. The water around his rock began to boil violently, sending up a huge cloud of steam.

Under the cover of the steam, he moved. He was a ghost.

He appeared behind one orc, his sword a blur, and was gone before the body hit the ground. He came out of the mist beside another, his blade cutting its throat in a quick, silent motion. The orcs were swinging their weapons at the fog, hitting nothing.

The leader, a huge orc with two axes, roared in fury. It charged at Nero’s shape in the mist.

Nero stood his ground this time. As the orc swung its axes, Nero’s sword moved faster. Clang! Clang! Two quick strikes. He didn’t block the axes; he cut through their handles. The orc was left holding two useless sticks.

It stared, confused. Nero placed his palm on the orc’s chest. "Internal Combustion."

There was no explosion on the outside. But inside the orc’s body, its organs were cooked. It fell over, smoke coming from its mouth and eyes.

The last orc tried to run into the forest. Nero didn’t chase. He threw his sword. It spun through the air, a spinning wheel of fire, and cut the orc down before returning to his hand.

Silence, except for the waterfall.

Nero stood in the empty camp, the steam clearing. Twelve Red Orcs slain. His body was tired, but his spirit was burning bright. He could feel the wall inside him cracking. The golden star was close. So close. He looked up at the sky, his red eyes filled with a hungry light. The day was still young in this world, and he was just getting started. He absorbed their souls further cracking the last black chain sealing the golden star.

°°°

The clearing, littered with the smoldering remains of the Red Orcs, was not a place to linger. The scent of blood and ash would draw scavengers, and Nero’s goal was bigger game. He found a secluded spot beneath the roots of a colossal, ancient tree, its gnarled bark scarred by centuries of storms. Here, he sat in a deep meditation.

His breathing slowed, becoming a steady, rhythmic tide. Around him, the abundant prana of the pocket world stirred, drawn by his will. It flowed into him, a river of raw power entering the reservoir of his core. But he did not let it settle there. With immense mental control, he guided a concentrated stream of this refined energy downward, channeling it not to his primary core, but to the second, dormant core nestled deep within his heart. It was like filling a second, smaller vessel, a hidden reserve that felt bottomless and hungry. The process was slow and demanding, a meticulous act of internal alchemy. When he finally opened his eyes, they blazed with renewed intensity. The fatigue from the earlier fights was washed away, replaced by a surging, vibrant energy. The path to the golden star required a full reservoir.

With a sharp exhalation, crimson wings of pure flame erupted from his back once more. He shot into the sky, the canopy rustling violently in his wake. His prana sense, sharpened by meditation, swept over the forest like a net. He ignored the smaller, flickering lights of common beasts and the dull, brutish signatures of more Red Orcs. He was searching for a specific kind of pressure—denser, sharper, more cunning.

He found it near a rocky outcrop that resembled a broken crown. The aura was compact, not large and blustering like the Red Orcs, but coiled and potent, like a spring ready to unload. Peering down, he saw his prey.

It was a High Orc. Shorter than its brutish cousins, its body was a testament to lean, efficient muscle, covered in scars and tough, grey-green hide. It wore pieces of crafted armor, not crude iron, but hardened leather and polished bone. In its hands, it held not a clumsy axe, but a well-made halberd, its blade gleaming wickedly in the sun. Its eyes, small and intelligent, were scanning the surroundings, and its snout twitched as if it had already caught a foreign scent on the wind. This was no mindless brute.

Nero didn’t hesitate. He folded his wings and dropped like a stone, a silent, deadly arrow. But the High Orc was already moving. It didn’t look up; it felt the displacement of air. It lunged to the side with surprising speed just as Nero’s flaming sword carved a furrow of molten rock where it had been standing.

Landing in a crouch, Nero faced the creature. It had already regained its footing, halberd held in a expert guard position. It let out a low, guttural chuckle, a sound of dark amusement.

"You. Hunt. Me?" it grunted in broken common tongue, its voice a rough grind of stone. "I. Hunt. You. Now."

It was the first monster here that had spoken. Nero adjusted his grip on his sword.

"Try."

The fight was about to begin, his blood boiled facing this monster.