Chapter 409: Chapter 409: The Goddess’s Envoys

Thinking about this, Charles grew rather pleased. He gave the frozen orc corpse a gentle push, sending it toppling to the ground with a solid thud.

Then, hands clasped behind his back, he calmly strolled forward among the orcs as if nothing could touch him.

When they saw him eat a direct axe hit and not only come away completely unharmed but leave the attacking soldier dead and frozen stiff, the rest of the orcs looked like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over them. Their excitement drained away, replaced by shock and uncertainty.

Behind them, the despairing slaves—now illuminated by the magical light—saw what was happening. Hope lit their faces as they realized: they might be saved!

"WAAAGH—!"

Two more foolhardy orcs, maybe not yet convinced, charged him head-on, swinging their axes together at his body. Charles still didn’t dodge, letting them strike him directly. And, naturally, the result was the same: he was untouched, and the two orcs crumpled to the floor, dead before they could even scream.

This instantly crushed the orcs’ morale even further.

At the back, their only officer clad in metal armor let go of the bare-chested woman he was pawing at and fixed Charles with a heavy stare. He obviously realized something was very wrong.

He’d assumed a group of sixty orcs against six people would be an easy massacre. But now he saw that this skinny human male wielded some terrible arcane sorcery his ordinary warriors couldn’t touch!

Looks like I’ll have to handle this myself!

"Forget him! Take care of the ones behind him. I’ll handle this one!"

He stepped forward, spittle flying as he shouted orders, then jabbed a massive finger at Charles.

Hearing their commander, the orcs rallied a bit, splitting to either side. They ignored Charles, raising greataxes and rushing for the women behind him with guttural war cries.

Charles paid them no mind and focused solely on the orc officer ahead. The orc stared him down, growing warier by the second—it was clear he recognized Charles’s strength and wouldn’t take this lightly.

What enraged him most was that Charles—this human—hadn’t even bothered to draw a weapon or staff this whole time.

The insult boiled his blood, his hands quivering with the urge to make the arrogant human pay in blood, to show him just what it meant to mock orcish power.

"Gruumsh’s Fury!"

He sucked in a deep breath and bellowed, his booming voice echoing through the tunnel. His wild hair rose on unseen winds, muscles bulging and swelling until his body grew even larger.

A terrible aura burst from him—he had entered some kind of empowered state.

Charles was mildly impressed. He hadn’t expected this orc officer to actually receive a blessing from the orc god.

Or more precisely, from the orcs’ supreme deity "Gruumsh"—the officer was shouting his god’s name. Charles, though he didn’t speak Orcish, had heard this battle cry in games hundreds, if not thousands, of times. He knew exactly what it meant: Gruumsh’s Wrath—a channeling of divine power into one mighty blow.

No problem, though.

"Blade Ward." Charles chanted, pressing his left hand over his chest. The cantrip would halve any physical damage from the next hit—not a huge effect, but plenty for this fight.

The orc officer suddenly leaped, axe raised high, and brought it crashing down straight at Charles. The ceiling height limited his arcade, but the blow was still fearsome—enough to split an ordinary man in two.

Charles, however, stepped forward and actually reached out, as if to make sure he was hit.

The greataxe traced a perfect crescent in the air and slammed into Charles’s shoulder. For a normal person, that would have ended it right there.

But...

BANG—

Blade Ward shattered, dispersing most of the attack’s power. The rest, little stronger than an ordinary orc’s all-out swing, barely fazed Charles.

Next instant—a surge of frigid energy exploded out, freezing the orc officer and his metal armor solid!

As he felt his Armor of Agathys take only minor damage, Charles nodded. The calculation had been right: he was all but untouchable.

Gruumsh really was among the most powerful gods of battle, and certainly not stingy with blessings for his faithful. But there were just too many orcs in the world—no way he could hand out high-level boons to everyone. Besides, this officer only led a squad of fifty or sixty, not a massive horde, so Gruumsh’s favor was limited.

At the very least, the guy’s weapon wasn’t even magical—just a standard axe. What real threat could he pose?

So Charles remained totally unfazed. Without wasting any more time, he reached out and pressed his palm to the orc’s metal armor—chanting, "Shocking Grasp!"

Shocking Grasp.

Just a cantrip, but more than enough for this foe. Metal armor was the perfect conductor; Charles didn’t even need to use a single spell slot.

ZAP—

A surge of electricity tore through the orc officer’s frozen body. He convulsed violently, his muscles and innards fried and ruined—the body went limp.

"UURRGH—!"

With a final, despairing cry, the orc tried to swing his axe once more, fighting to the last—but it was futile. Each attack only fueled Agathys’s freezing retribution, wounding himself further.

Charles, unfazed, delivered another jolt. The unmistakable smell of burnt flesh filled the air as the orc’s knees buckled and he toppled to the ground, completely finished.

When his corpse hit the floor, Charles smoothly turned to the stunned, awestruck slaves behind him, and spoke gently, "Don’t be afraid—the Goddess of Life has sent her envoys to save you."

As he strode forward, Charles softly chanted a Light spell, and a gentle white glow suffused his body. Here in the black, freezing, hopeless Underdark he looked every inch a savior, walking toward his flock.

The freed, ragged slaves were left speechless by what they saw.

What did they see?

The orcs, monsters who had slaughtered their fathers, brothers, husbands, sons—destroyers of their homes, against whom all resistance was useless—were being wiped out effortlessly by this man!

And he said the goddess had sent him here to save them?

If he wasn’t a true divine envoy, who could be?

Similar thoughts flashed through every rescued woman’s mind. The terror, agony, and hopelessness that had plagued them melted away, replaced by grateful tears. One after another, they fell to their knees, sobbing and whispering in dialects Charles couldn’t understand.

Seeing their reaction, Charles felt a surge of relief.

Good—now we’ve established trust. At least they won’t mistake me for another slaver or something.

Helping them from here on out should be much easier.

He glanced back at the others, but honestly, there was no need to check. Even though the girls were fighting off nearly fifty strong orc barbarians, their battle was practically over.

Willo and Adele had conjured countless vines to tangle the onrushing orcs’ feet, sending the first wave sprawling. Those following tripped over the bodies ahead, resulting in a domino collapse. Half the raiding party was disabled and demoralized before a single real blow landed.

The orcs who managed to keep their footing faced Hattie’s defense. She cast Arms of Hadar—countless icy magic tendrils erupted around her, blocking all passage. Any orc touched by them went cold and stiff, losing fighting strength until they were nearly useless.

Nymeria, for her part, chose to save spell slots. Instead of using cantrips, she just swung her snake-shaped greatsword with terrifying efficiency, slicing through orc greataxes, opening bellies, and cutting bloody swathes—not a single orc could stand against her and Hattie’s line; together, they formed a wall the orcs simply couldn’t breach.

Seeing all this, the remaining orcs realized, at last, these weren’t ordinary travelers. No matter how savage or fearless their race, even orcs weren’t going to throw their lives away for nothing. Terror spread—just one more jolt would shatter their will.

Finally, as someone shouted, "Boss is dead!" panic took over. The survivors threw down their weapons in terror and fled, stumbling over each other, some tripping and falling in their mad dash.

No one bothered to pursue. They watched coldly as the raiders vanished into the dark. When the last orc disappeared from view, the battle was over.

"Whew..."

At the rear, Adele finally let out a breath, her pale cheeks flushed with tension as she tried to look nonchalant. She had less battle experience than anyone here—also the least exposure to bloodshed. Even as a powerful caster, the orcs’ initial charge had rattled her.

It made sense—she’d once come within an inch of dying to an enemy blade. Old traumas die hard.

After she settled her nerves, she finally looked up at Charles—standing bathed in holy light at the front, unlocking the women’s shackles and ropes, pulling blankets from his Bag of Holding to help them cover themselves.

Most of the rescued slaves knelt at his feet, faces streaked with grateful tears—he was their only savior.

Seeing this, Adele felt oddly conflicted.

Judging from their features and skin, these women must be mountain folk from Ridgecrest Plateau. The Underdark’s new connection to the surface hadn’t really affected prosperous Liberl Port—but the small tribes in the mountains were already suffering, preyed upon by underground raiders.

She couldn’t help but think: the one who slew the Abyssal Lord Montport (the very creature who awakened the Chthonians) was this man; it was this man who gave her tribe and friends a new home; and even these strangers here, they owed their rescue to him...

Was he truly the one fate had sent to deliver these mountains?

Adele’s heart twisted. She looked down, brooding.

Regardless of her feelings, Charles carried on. Once the women were settled, comforted, and modestly covered, he started asking questions: "Who are you? Where’s home? I’m the adventurer who slew the Abyssal Lord Montport and now lord of Willowwind Town—Nigel Charles."

"You may have heard of Willowwind Town—newly founded this year, a safe place for adventurers, with supplies and healing."

At first, the rescued women just stared, confused. Then, one raised her hand excitedly and replied, "I’ve heard of it! I even bought herbs there! Ah, so it’s called Willowwind Town now!"

Others came to their senses, looking at Charles with awe and admiration. "It’s you! We know you. Thank you! Thank you!"

Charles just nodded, thinking, Well, guess my reputation really is useful here. "So—where are you from? What happened? If there’s any way I can help, I’d like to."

The woman who’d first responded spoke up: "We’re beekeepers from the ’Bee Flower’ tribe. Last year, after the demonic invasions, we had to abandon our old home and settle elsewhere."

"We didn’t realize the new caves nearby linked to the Underdark, or that orcs would come pouring out. We didn’t stand a chance... My father, husband, my child..."

Thinking of their loss, she broke into sobs, others quickly following, their composure shattered.

Charles nodded grimly, piecing together the story: the orcs had raided their new settlement, the men had fought to the death and been butchered; the old and useless were also killed. Only a few surviving men, and most of the women and children, had been captured and brought here—likely to be sold as slaves or used as chattel by the orcs.

Realizing this, his heart filled with sympathy.

Those poor tribes—dodging the Chthonian earthquake, the Montport massacre—had been incredibly lucky so far, but even luck runs out. Disaster would keep coming.

Willo stepped up beside him, looking over the rescued women. She immediately recognized their tribes.

Her heart ached. She turned to Charles and quietly whispered, "We have to help them, Charles. Their tribe’s numbers are so low, they’ll never survive alone in the mountains."

Charles nodded. "I agree—but so far, I haven’t thought of a great solution."

He did a quick headcount of the survivors, then checked his Bag of Holding. "Either way—let’s clean up these orc corpses and make camp first."

The others agreed. Everyone pulled out tents from their Bags of Holding, setting up a makeshift camp and sharing spare tents with the rescued captives. It’d be a tight fit, but workable.

Just then, Theresa, who’d been watching the shifting shadows, noticed something—a patch of darkness moving along the cave wall, like someone was trying to slip away while they were distracted.

With narrowed eyes, Theresa barked, "Who’s there? Show yourself!"

Her shout cracked like thunder. The shadow instantly froze, trembling and too terrified to make a move.

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