Chapter 562: Such Carelessness
Immediately, Hubert, the Dragonblood Orc, turned to face Mark Watson, wearing his signature gloating expression.
Damn it, for Lord Hubert to avoid bad luck, I guess you’ll have to be the unlucky one...
If you want to blame someone, don’t blame Lord Hubert...
It’s your own fault for provoking Archmage Leon for no reason. To mess with someone so ruthless—you must have a death wish...
"Just you?"
Unfortunately, Mark Watson had no idea what Hubert, the Dragonblood Orc, was thinking. Being stared at so intently by an orc—especially with that inexplicable look—made him uncomfortable.
But soon enough, he stopped caring about those looks. After all, an orc at the Swordmaster level wasn’t worth his attention.
Let alone a Swordmaster—even the newly promoted Sword Saints weren’t worth his notice.
To him, all of them could be crushed with ease...
Suddenly, he found Archmage Leon rather amusing—actually sending a Swordmaster-level orc to deal with him.
A Swordmaster may be strong, sure, but in his eyes, it was nothing special.
"What's wrong..." Hubert, the Dragonblood Orc, looked at Mark Watson with a confused expression.
"You seem to be a Blazeforge Orc, captured by Archmage Leon, and then chose to follow him?" Mark Watson sneered. "I suggest you leave Archmage Leon immediately. He’s not worth following. Can’t you see he’s sending you against me just to get you killed? If you follow me instead, I can help you become a Sword Saint..."
In his view, it was a shame for a talented Blazeforge Orc to follow Archmage Leon...
Just look at how Archmage Leon treats this Blazeforge Orc—he’s been tormented so much, he barely looks like an orc anymore. If Mark hadn’t looked closely, he wouldn’t have even realized this was a Blazeforge Orc.
If this Blazeforge Orc chose to follow him, it wouldn’t be long before he became a Sword Saint. He might even reach the heights of a High Sword Saint someday...
A talented Blazeforge Orc sticking with Archmage Leon was a total waste...
"No, no, Archmage Leon is very good to me. He’d never try to get me killed..." Hubert was startled, his face turning pale as he waved his hands frantically.
Even if Archmage Leon wanted Lord Hubert dead, Hubert wouldn’t dare rebel—because that would mean dying even sooner...
Damn, like I’d ever choose to follow you...
Saying things like that—are you trying to get Lord Hubert killed?
If Lord Hubert even thought about betraying him, Archmage Leon would sense it right away. Then Hubert would die a horrible death...
Thank goodness Lord Hubert’s will is strong.
Without realizing it, Hubert, the Dragonblood Orc, was starting to hate Mark Watson.
Whatever Hubert, the Dragonblood Orc, was thinking, Mark Watson had no clue. He was still regretting it—looks like today he’ll have to kill this promising Blazeforge Orc. He sighed deeply, “So be it...”
"..."
Hubert had no time to deal with Mark Watson anymore. Archmage Leon’s warning was crystal clear: if he couldn’t make this white-robed mage suffer, he’d be the one to suffer instead. At the thought, Hubert broke out in a cold sweat. Damn you, Saeodous—one day, Lord Hubert will snuff you out.
"Roar..."
With a low roar, Hubert, the Dragonblood Orc’s skin turned dark red, as if wrapped in flames, radiating a scorching heat. Gripping Slaughter, his warhammer, he swung it fiercely at Mark Watson.
Not far away, Mark Watson shook his head in secret. He’d really overestimated this Blazeforge Orc. Now it seemed he was just a brute who relied on raw strength, knowing nothing of technique or skill—a simple-minded Blazeforge Orc. Even if he became a Sword Saint, he wouldn’t be much use.
Thinking it over, Mark Watson gripped his staff tighter. Suddenly, a powerful magical wave radiated from his body, spreading to every corner. With a sweep of his ornate staff, a spark appeared, quickly growing into a fiery shackle, sweeping out with terrifying heat and landing squarely on Hubert, the Dragonblood Orc.
In his mind, as a Title Archmage, dealing with a mere Swordmaster-level Blazeforge Orc—a single fiery shackle should be more than enough, right?
No wonder he thought so—the magical strength between an Archmage and a Title Archmage was hundreds of times apart. The power of a mage’s spell depended on magical strength...
But then...
That Tier-2 spell, Fiery Shackles, had just landed on Hubert, the Dragonblood Orc, when a deep roar sounded. Runes appeared all over his body, instantly absorbing every bit of flame. Gripping Slaughter, he leapt forward—now less than ten meters from Mark Watson.
What...
Mark Watson was dumbfounded. He, a Title Archmage, had cast an enhanced Fiery Shackles, and it hadn’t affected Hubert, the Dragonblood Orc, at all.
Wait a second...
He’s a Blazeforge Orc...
Only now did Mark Watson realize he’d made a stupid mistake.
He hadn’t spent long in the Blazeforge Plane, but he knew Blazeforge Orcs had a natural resistance to fire and terrifying control over flame. Some Blazeforge Orc Shamans could even summon hordes of fire-elemental creatures...
Such carelessness...
How could he make such a mistake...
"Heh, you won’t be so lucky next time..." Mark Watson sneered and shook his head, giving up his favored fire spells. As he finished, he began chanting, long and heavy incantations echoing as a chilling aura spread out. With a flick of his hand, countless shards of frost swirled around him, forming icy spikes that shot toward Hubert, the Dragonblood Orc.
The sharp ice spikes glimmered with a ghostly blue light as they sliced through the air...
But...
Once again, things didn’t go as Mark Watson expected. A dozen ice spikes flew out, but Hubert, swinging Slaughter, didn’t even bother dodging. The spikes hit him, leaving no mark at all.
Even Larn Merlin, watching from the sidelines, couldn’t believe his eyes. It was unbelievable—a Swordmaster-level orc, with one foot in the Sword Saint realm, should still be worlds apart from a true Title Archmage...
Besides, Mark Watson was clearly no ordinary Title Archmage. Just the power of those instant-cast ice spikes would be enough to leave most new Title Archmages scrambling in panic.
But for a Swordmaster-level orc to not even bother dodging—this was just unnatural...
And it got even stranger...
After taking a dozen ice spikes head-on, he didn’t even have a scratch. Larn Merlin was stunned—this level of spell resistance was just terrifying...
Of everyone present, only Leon remained calm. He wasn’t surprised at all by Hubert, the Dragonblood Orc’s performance...
Ever since Hubert, the Dragonblood Orc, fused with the Golden Three-Headed Dragon's Blood, Leon had witnessed his terrifying resistance firsthand. Back then, Hubert had just become a Swordmaster—taking a blow equivalent to a top-tier Archmage’s strength, and only ended up with a bloody nose...
Now, Hubert, the Dragonblood Orc, stood at the very peak of Swordmaster, with one foot in the Sword Saint realm. There was no way Mark Watson’s ice spikes could hurt him.
Unless Mark Watson unleashed a Tier-7 spell—something only Title Archmages could use—he might barely leave a scratch on Hubert, the Dragonblood Orc...
But now, it was clearly too late...
Even the shortest Tier-7 spell required at least eight seconds to cast.
In another second, Hubert's Slaughter might smash right into Mark Watson.
"Damn..."
Mark Watson suddenly screamed, a hint of panic in his voice. He might have reached the heights of a Title Archmage, with more than a dozen protective spells layered on his body, but faced with the charging Hubert, the Dragonblood Orc, he didn’t feel confident at all.
With a curse, he stopped caring about anything else. His staff burst with dazzling light, the thirty-five-tier magic crystal at its tip casting a mesmerizing glow. In a flash, three ice walls erupted from the ground with a muffled boom, blocking his front.
But...
Boom...
The three ice walls shattered instantly. Hubert, the Dragonblood Orc, smashed through them with brute force, but even so, Slaughter didn’t lose any power, swinging straight for Mark Watson’s chest...
With a dull thud, Mark Watson—who’d just finished casting—had no time to react before he was sent flying by Hubert, the Dragonblood Orc’s blow. His face twisted with shock, fear, and disbelief. Then, with three loud crashes, Mark’s body smashed through three barracks before finally hitting the ground, rolling dozens of meters away...
"Cough, cough..."
Pale-faced, Mark Watson covered his mouth, but after a few coughs, blood still seeped through his fingers, staining his pristine white mage’s robe red. Glancing at his chest, he felt a surge of relief—most of his protective spells were focused there. If not for that, he might already be dead...
That strength was just terrifying...
To Mark Watson, it didn’t feel like fighting a Blazeforge Orc at all—it was more like battling an adult dragon. Even now, his heart was still pounding.
How could there be such an orc in the world?
Wait a minute...
Could it actually be a dragon adept at shapeshifting...?