Witch Monastery
Chapter 408: Orc Slaver Squad
Charles didn’t know much about the details of druids’ training routines, but he was certain the aggrieved, resentful look Adele tossed his way was not simply the result of catching a chill.
Still, all he could do was play along with concern: "Is it serious? Maybe you should head back and rest? Honestly, we have enough people for this Underdark expedition as it is."
"This doesn’t really concern you directly—you don’t need to put your training on hold for it."
Adele gritted her teeth silently.
What’s with the fake concern? Since when do you care so much about me? You just want to send me away and keep my mother all to yourself, don’t you?
Yeah, well, not happening!
"It’s nothing, really—just a minor thing. I’ll adjust myself tonight and be fine," she replied. Then, an idea struck her and she added, "But if Mother could spend the night with me, maybe help as well, I’d bounce back even faster!"
Willo looked puzzled. Why would her daughter—with much greater spellcasting skill—need her help now?
Still, she didn’t question it, only looked longingly at Charles before saying, "Alright, we’ll talk about it tonight."
Willo’s glance, of course, didn’t escape Adele. She felt a tight squeeze in her chest, then clenched her teeth, more determined than ever.
Just wait, Charles! Mother’s just lonely—she’s only fallen for you because she hasn’t known real comfort for ages. But I’ll save her from your clutches, just you wait!
Adele vowed fiercely in her heart, but for now, there was nothing more she could do. It was just a small drama on the road; soon enough, the group had settled back into their travel rhythm and carried on.
Led by Willo, they soon arrived at the mouth of a cave—its rounded tunnel mouth unmistakably carved out by a Chthonian.
This was one of the Underdark entrances marked on their map. The Haunted Gold Mine was no longer the only route down from Ridgecrest Plateau—this passage would also take them, after a long descent, straight into that lightless world.
Without further delay, they filed inside and rearranged their formation: Willo navigating point, flanked by Charles and Hattie on each side to deal with sudden attacks.
Nymeria and Adele walked in the middle, ready to rush forward to provide aid, while the strongest—Theresa—took the rear, filling the tunnel behind them with magical light, making sure nothing could ambush them.
Even with good light, the obstacles in these depths were enough to frustrate even the most seasoned adventurer.
There was no sunlight here; just rock walls, twisty tunnels drilled by the Chthonian, constantly sloping and turning. After hours, it was easy to lose all sense of direction—gravity was their only guide, just barely.
They frequently worried they’d lost their way, forcing Willo to rely on her psychic senses and Adele to seek aid from local creatures, just to confirm their path and make any corrections.
All of this made their travel even slower—but since the journey to the Underdark was long anyway, everyone already expected it.
After a full day of this, Willo found a safe spot to rest. Everyone pulled tents out of their Bags of Holding to set up camp. But before they’d even finished, a heavy, chaotic noise echoed down the tunnel—like a mass of marching feet.
The sound grew louder, bouncing off the walls as it neared. Charles frowned and shot Theresa a look. She nodded, muttered a spell, and her eyes glowed with arcane light.
But then she frowned and shook her head. "Priest, it’s too dark—I can’t see a thing!"
There were, in truth, glowing fungi for illumination deeper in the Underdark, but they hadn’t reached that area yet. For now, Theresa’s vision was limited by the lack of ambient light.
Charles gave a little sigh, then shook his head. "No big deal—let’s just go take a look."
He waved his hand, the party fell into marching order, and they moved toward the source of the noise. Theresa conjured a bright magical light overhead, illuminating the entire corridor—and their quarry.
A pack of orcs.
Not the half-orcs of tribes like Stonefist or Chimera—descended from humans and orcs, settled and civilized—but full-blooded orcs: skin gray as limestone, tusks like wild boars, features brutish and rough, utterly savage in body and mind.
They wore scrappy leather armor and carried huge greataxes slung over barrel chests. Every one of them looked mean—a real bad bunch.
There were forty, maybe fifty orcs—quite a sizable force. Their leader was obvious: fully outfitted in metal armor and towering over the rest. He stood in the center, one arm draped around the bare shoulders of a human woman, shamelessly groping her chest.
Behind him were more women, similarly dressed—or rather, undressed—all with hands and feet bound in rope or heavy shackles, forced to shuffle forward in tiny steps, no chance of escaping the orcs’ clutches.
Their faces radiated terror—obviously, these were the orcs’ slaves, their spoils of war.
By Theresa’s magical light, Charles took in the scene at a glance—a textbook orc raiding party, slavers who survived by plundering others, using their racial darkvision to thrive in these sunless depths.
Now that there was an open route between the surface and the Underdark, they could easily travel back and forth—capturing slaves up top, selling them below, or nabbing victims in the Underdark to traffic back on the surface.
Clearly, they’d just raided some village and were marching their loot off to sell.
"Prepare for battle!"
Charles gave the order without hesitation, first layering himself with magical buffs. The orcs, lit up by the magical spotlight, saw the party—and all those pretty women in their ranks—instantly growing rowdy and excited.
Any female slave they caught was "enjoyed" first before being sold. No wonder they were worked up.
Without any command from their chief, the orcs grabbed their greataxes, bellowing war cries in a tongue Charles didn’t speak, and charged forward.
He assumed they were yelling in Orcish, but it didn’t matter. It was obvious they just wanted a fight.
But really, a bunch of orcs with mundane weapons—what better way to test just how tough his defenses had become?
With that thought, Charles didn’t even bother to summon a weapon. He strode forward to meet the orc squad head-on.
"WAAAGH—!"
The lead orc soldier charged, mouth wide, swinging his massive greataxe straight at Charles’s head. Charles didn’t dodge—just trusted in Mage Armor, his supernatural enhancements, False Life, and Armor of Agathys for a full four layers of magical protection.
The greataxe slammed down onto his shoulder. Yet the orc felt an unnatural resistance, as though he was trying to split a boulder, not a body—the blade simply would not cut through!
A heartbeat later, a powerful cold burst swept through the orc’s body. In an instant, he froze—dead before he hit the ground.
Frostbite. Armor of Agathys working as intended.
Charles nodded, satisfied. Since hitting level eleven, his perception and control over his magic had improved massively. He could feel clearly that his fifth-level Armor of Agathys had only taken a tiny scratch—overall, his protection remained nearly perfect.
Wow. His defense was even better than he’d hoped.
Orcs, among non-magical creatures, had some of the highest raw physical strength—matched only by minotaurs. And since he had to keep diplomatic with the minotaurs these days, he hadn’t really tested his defenses against that level of brute force before.
Now, at last, he had an answer: even a full-strength orc warrior couldn’t break his layered protection, and would be killed outright by Armor of Agathys’s frost.
If orcs couldn’t do it, then honestly, barring magical weaponry, nothing in the Material World—not even mammoths or tyrannosaurs—could really threaten him. With a simple shield spell, he could just shrug them off, letting his defense do the killing for him.
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