85

The pillar I hurled flew straight toward the Orc King.

It managed to react instinctively and block with its greatsword, but before the pillar’s sheer mass there was no bracing; it tumbled down from the pile of rubble.

Satisfied that things had gone exactly as planned, I nodded, while the eight heavily armored orcs glanced back, faces pale.

(They’re probably thinking, “Win or lose, we’re screwed,” but a victory for you lot isn’t even on the table.)

So, to make victory even more certain, I mercilessly enacted my next move.

Dropping my pack, I charged into the mob of fodder orcs that had blocked off the street, as if to say, “Heeeyah! Time for a brawl!”

(Feels like I’m in an “Ore VS” game!)

I’m talking about those games where a single player takes on overwhelming hordes in hack-and-slash fashion, enemies throwing sheer numbers at you—the “Ore VS Series.” In this case, it’d be “Ore VS Orcs.”

For the record, my favorite was the third game, Ore VS Aliens.

Being able to snatch weapons from enemies and fly into the sky for a one-man army rampage was the highlight; a far cry from the first game where you just ran around mowing down goblin-level fodder.

Humming the series’ trademark “victory is assured” execution BGM in my head, I indulged in an all-out massacre on the main street jam-packed with pigs.

I ignored the heavily armored orcs bellowing like, “We came to fight you!” and instead slaughtered the panicked pigs fleeing all around, as if to say, “I didn’t come to fight you. I came to kill you.”

Punch to kill.

Kick to kill.

Throw to kill.

The unarmored orcs were fragile to a ridiculous degree.

Their meat wall crumbled instantly, and the main street became flooded with pigs trampling each other to flee.

I lobbed huge chunks of rubble into the throng to sow confusion and expand the casualties.

This worked perfectly; fallen orcs were trampled to death by those behind them.

The heavily armored ones tried running clumsily to stop me, but naturally, the more armor, the slower you moved.

Even at their best, orc speed was nothing to brag about; there was no way they could keep up with me darting all over the slaughterhouse.

Perhaps realizing this after running themselves ragged, they resorted to banging weapons against shields and waving while “boo-boo” squealing in an attempt to provoke me.

Naturally, I ignored them.

There were still plenty of pigs needing slaughter; I had no time to waste on fools.

The main street was overflowing with pig corpses, and the Orc King back atop the rubble was throwing a tantrum, shrieking furiously.

Seems the fall earlier knocked it out cold; its painfully late revival was earning it pitiful looks from the other orcs.

But the return of their commander dramatically changed the battle.

The warrior-type orcs gathered in one spot at its command.

I dove right in and quickly butchered them all—most efficient slaughter method ever.

As for the heavily armored orcs still panting, I planned to save them for last.

Having learned that a commander made the armed orcs easier to dispatch en masse, I waited for its next command—but apparently, the pigs learned too, ignoring orders and fleeing.

What a lack of popularity… or pigularity.

“Useless pigs like this are no longer needed,” I thought, and leaped at the Orc King, intent on mercilessly snapping its neck—but surprisingly, it dodged my aerial strike with a nimble backstep.

Not only that, it stepped in heavily to match my landing and swung down its greatsword.

Naturally, such an oversized swing would never connect; instead, I stomped on the greatsword with my foot—yet it didn’t break.

(Huh, did I hold back too much?)

Still, the impact felt strange, so I kicked its arm with my other leg, pried the greatsword from its remaining hand, and tapped its material with my fist to test it.

(Yeah, that’s crazy hard. And light for its size.)

Up close, I could also tell the blade was crudely made, like someone just shaved down a metal plate.

In other words, this greatsword was likely crafted by grinding down Imperial alloy.

This cast doubt on what exactly this so-called Emperor was.

At the same time, one concern arose.

If they truly were armed with Imperial-made alloy, then musket fire wouldn’t penetrate.

If I assumed this thing was “granted a portion of it,” then for the Furon Council-State to win against the orc horde, they’d need to confiscate these alloy weapons.

This could turn into a bigger hassle than expected, I thought with a heavy sigh.

As an aside, I hacked the begging, squealing one-armed pig with the stolen greatsword.

A little small, but usable like a short sword.

Of course, since it wasn’t originally designed as a weapon, its sharpness was nothing to boast of.

Still, it was a weapon meant to be swung with brute strength; I’d need to handle it more gently, or it’d get scrapped if I used it seriously.

All the same, I’d picked up a usable weapon.

Trudging toward the panicked heavily armored orcs, the eight pigs began quarreling as if saying, “You go! No, you go!”

Realizing they couldn’t escape, they were probably trying to pick a sacrificial lamb to buy time—but how many seconds could that really buy?

And even if they stalled me for ten seconds, what would that accomplish?

In the end, the orcs failed to pick a first victim even as I loomed before them; all eight departed to the afterlife together in harmony.

The alloy sword’s blade got blunted in the process, effectively class-changing into a club.

After that, I just needed to chase down the stragglers; my work here was done. I hurried back to sling on my pack.

As I hurled my new blunt weapon at fleeing pigs for sport and chased them, the sun had completely set. I searched the town for any survivors.

After disposing of about twenty orcs trying to hide and wait things out, my ears picked up a curious sound.

I paused to listen, and the sound also stopped.

(Hmm… that’s a human voice, right? And it doesn’t sound desperate… like they were chatting?)

No way anyone could’ve survived hidden in an orc-occupied town for days.

(Then they must’ve arrived recently… or there’s a hidden passage—oh, the sewers!)

Based on the direction and circumstances, that was likely correct.

If there were Imperial survivors, they’d at least have built sewers.

But my massive body couldn’t fit inside.

I had no choice but to ignore whoever might be below and give up on the intel they likely had.

I resigned myself, but it really was inconvenient not being able to speak in situations like this.

Anyway, there was still much to do, so I forced myself to drop the matter.

Judging that I’d cleared out most of the orcs hiding in town, I next pursued those that escaped.

Enough time had passed that they’d feel safe and flee straight back to their boss.

So I left town, tracking the pigs by their footprints.

Plenty had fled; finding them wasn’t hard.

The problem was that some panicked pigs might’ve fled in random directions.

I prioritized checking south where I thought the front line was, but barely any tracks led that way.

Looking east, I found plenty of tracks, all heading north.

Those that fled through the north gate also left tracks heading north.

(This is practically confirmed, huh?)

First, follow the tracks.

Whether the special individual “Emperor” was at the end, I couldn’t say, but at minimum there should be clues.

Now then, let’s corner the pigs.

I’d keep hunting them until they remembered that they were the ones meant to be hunted.