Chapter 794: The Flying Dutchman (Patreon)

By nightfall, Luke was back in his kingdom.

He opened the system interface. There were still twenty free points sitting there, so he dumped all of them into Lethality.

Name: LukeLevel: 124Race: Half-DemonRank: DCore: [Spectral Beast (Rank E)]Class: [Shadow Phantom Reaper (Lvl 120)]2nd Class: [Arcane Spellcaster (Lvl 116)]Profession: [Sentinel Botanist of Mother Freya (Lvl 111)]Titles: [Dark Lord], [Myth Slayer], [Champion of Earth], [Apostle of the Goddess Artemis]Bloodline: [Bloodline of the Dark Demon]Health Points (HP): 19910/19910Mana Points (MP): 34458/38170Stamina: 13215/14890

Stats:Strength: 1492Lethality: 3252Agility: 2864Dexterity: 1317Endurance: 1489Vitality: 1991Toughness: 1113Perception: 3217Wisdom: 3817Intelligence: 3769Willpower: 2475Free Points: 0

Class Skills: [Advanced Blade Handling (Rare)], [Advanced Shadow Knife Throwing (Ultra-Rare)], [Twin Blade (Common)], [Basic Dark Dash (Rare)], [Crimson Fang (Ultra-Rare)], [Predator’s Mark (Rare)], [Force Infusion (Rare)], [Advanced Shadow Stealth (Ultra-Rare)], [Assassin’s Tracking (Rare)], [Basic Archery (Common)], [Demonic Predator Hands (Epic)], [Demonic Predator Throwing Knife (Epic)], [Burst Throw (Epic)], [Stealth Critical Strike (Rare)], [Shadow Dive (Rare)], [Knife Storm (Epic)], [Feline Agility (Epic)], [Horns of the Demon of Darkness (Legendary)], [Shadow Phantom Reaper Dance (Legendary)], [Perception Sphere (Rare)], [Meteor Shot (Epic)], [Artemis’ Spirit Slash (Legendary)]

Second Class Skills: [Advanced Magic Conjuration (Uncommon)], [Teleportation Pentagram II (Legendary)], [Curse (Common)], [Cursed Weapon (Uncommon)], [Shadow Ball (Common)], [Enhanced Telekinesis (Rare)], [Witch’s Gaze (Uncommon)], [Cursed Weapon Throw (Rare)], [Telekinetic Impulse (Rare)], [Telekinetic Pull (Rare)], [Witch’s Thread (Rare)], [Despair Aura I (Rare)], [Clear Mind (Ancient)], [Shadow Mana Explosion (Ultra-Rare)], [Spell Grimoire (Epic)], [Tactile Telekinesis (Rare)], [Telekinetic Stasis (Rare)], [Transmutation (Common)], [Basic Appearance Shift (Ultra-Rare)], [Cloak of the Arcane Witch (Legendary)], [Arcane Infusion (Epic)], [Arcane Wall (Epic)], [Arcane Witch Golem (Legendary)]

Profession Skills: [Herbology of Mother Freya (Ancient)], [Precise Extraction (Common)], [Advanced Potion Crafting (Uncommon)], [Corrupted Plant Growth (Rare)], [Plant Sensor (Uncommon)], [Botanical Bond of Mother Freya (Ultra-Rare)], [Seed Conversion (Rare)], [Plant Manipulation of Mother Freya (Ultra-Rare)], [Corrupted Blood of Mother Freya (Ultra-Rare)], [Thorn Mutation (Uncommon)], [Soil Analysis (Uncommon)], [Botanical Purification (Uncommon)], [Acid Blood Arrow (Epic)], [Vegetal Respiration (Common)], [Stomach of Mother Freya (Ancient)], [Bones of Mother Freya (Ancient)], [Soil Guardian II (Ancient)], [Botanical Transmutation of Mother Freya (Epic)], [Tree of Mother Freya (Legendary)], [Arboreal Watchers of Mother Freya (Epic)]

Race Skills: [Identify (Common)], [Demonic Perception (Uncommon)], [Dark Blood (Uncommon)], [Deep Meditation (Rare)], [Demonic Endurance (Uncommon)]

Rank Skills: [Soul Infiltration (Rank F)], [Soul Infection (Rank E)]

Blessing: [Blessing of Artemis (Divine)]

Bloodline Skill: [Servant of the Dark Lord (Unique)]

Servants: [Charlotte Vespertilio (Vampire) - Lvl 114], [Angie (Archangel) - Lvl 118], [Frankzaroth (Jormungandr) - Lvl 6], [Servant Slot Available], [Servant Slot Available]

Level 124.

His eyes lingered on Lethality and Intelligence. Both were among his highest stats, and [Artemis’ Spirit Slash] scaled with both.

Twenty-four hours is a hell of a cooldown. Hopefully that drops eventually.

Luke closed the interface. He gathered everyone out in the open. Ratfolk, goblins, humans, dwarves. Some still had tools in their hands, while others carried sacks or simple weapons. When he finished explaining the situation, no one answered right away.

Two orc armies were closing in, one by land and the other along the coast. If Farmarug fell, there would be nothing between them and the Moonlight Kingdom.

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Luke said. “Farmarug is hell right now. Orcs, generals, fires, people dying in the streets. Anyone who comes with me is going to see some ugly shit.”

One goblin lowered his head, two ratfolk exchanged a quick glance, and even the dwarves, usually too loud for any serious gathering, stayed quiet.

Angie stepped up beside him.

“My lord is being generous,” she said. “The truth is worse. If Farmarug falls, the humans will retreat deeper into their territory and try to save whatever they can. No one’s going to send an army out here, and you’ll all be left to the orcs. The non-humans among you won’t even have a city to run to.”

Luke faced the crowd again. “She’s right. If they take the coast, this hell comes here next. And when it does, it won’t matter whether you’re human, goblin, ratfolk, or dwarf. They won’t stop to ask what race you are before they kill you.”

His gaze moved across the crowd.

“I’m not ordering anyone to go. Anyone who stays will still be protected. Anyone who comes will help however they can. Evacuation, first aid, rescue, supplies. Nobody here needs to die playing hero for people who wouldn’t do the same for you. But today, we have a chance to prove this place isn’t just a bunch of castoffs crammed into the same hole.”

Luke pointed at the ground beneath his feet. “This is a kingdom. Our kingdom. Not because I called it one. Because we decided it was ours.”

For a few seconds, no one moved. Then Kren stepped forward. It was only one step, almost laughably small compared to the war waiting for them, but everyone heard it.

Luke looked at him. Kren rarely spoke, least of all to Luke, and never in front of a crowd. Still, he lifted his head.

“They cut off our tails,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Beat us. Took our pups. Wouldn’t even let us keep our claws.”

The ratfolk nearby lowered their ears, and several clenched their fists.

“I’m not a soldier,” Kren continued. “I can’t fight like Charlie. I can’t kill like you. But I can carry the wounded. I can get through tight places. And I can bite if I have to.”

He took another step. “I’m going to make those orcs pay. Even if all I do is save someone they wanted to eat.”

Mivi stepped forward next, with Pip close behind her. The rest of the quintet followed. Norn stamped the ground, and Nara joined them without a word. Once they moved, others followed.

“What about us?” Bernard grumbled as he joined them. “You planning on having the dwarves wrap bandages and haul crates?”

“No,” Luke said.

Barb cracked her knuckles. “And I want my rematch.”

Dulok, Torren, and several other dwarves joined Bernard, and a few of the goblins and ratfolk looked a little less tense.

Luke raised his voice again. “Listen carefully. Nobody here is going to pretend to be a soldier if they aren’t one.”

He turned toward the ratfolk. “Kren, Mivi, you’ll lead small teams. Alleys, ruins, narrow passages. Find civilians and wounded soldiers. Don’t fight captains. If you see one, run.”

Kren nodded.

“Pip, the goblins handle supplies. Potions, bandages, arrows, tools. Simple traps if you have time. If not, move.”

Pip swallowed hard, then nodded.

“Nara, Norn, protect the evacuation routes and hunt the worst threats. Charlie goes wherever the line’s about to break. Angie stays with me.”

Luke looked over the gathered crowd. “And I clear the way.”

Tarvik still seemed stuck on one detail. “How are we supposed to get there? Even if we march nonstop, it’ll take days.”

“I have a ship,” Luke said.

Everyone stared at him. Bernard frowned. “A ship?”

“Yes.”

“We’re surrounded by land.”

“I noticed.”

“There’s no river leading there.”

“I noticed that too.”

Pip slowly raised a hand. “Lord Moon... ships need water?”

“Usually.”

“Usually?” Tarvik repeated.

Luke pulled the glass bottle from his pocket dimension and held it up. Dark mist churned inside.

“Hope none of you are afraid of heights.”

The moment he opened the bottle, mist exploded outward. Wind slammed into the crowd, followed by the groan of timber, snapping ropes, and sails unfurling somewhere high above them. People shouted and stumbled back while several goblins threw themselves to the ground. A vast shadow swept over the kingdom as the Flying Dutchman emerged overhead. Its hull was black, its sails torn, and dark mist poured over the sides like living smoke. The wheel turned on its own, ropes shifted without hands, and rows of dark shapes lined both sides of the hull.

Bernard looked up, mouth hanging open. “Fuck.”

Luke pocketed the empty bottle. “Now we have a ship.”

Bernard stared at the hull a moment longer.

“Wait... are those cannons?”

***

Garen Voss had nowhere left to retreat. Orcs blocked the streets ahead and behind him, Prince Lorian was bleeding beside him, and every route deeper into Farmarug had become another trap. No reinforcements were getting through.

“Damn them...” Prince Lorian muttered.

Only sheer pride kept him on his feet. Blood stained his clothes, and his breathing had turned ragged.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness. I’ll get you out of here,” Garen said as he cut down the orc charging straight at them.

Other soldiers still held the line around them, but Kyran was the reason it hadn’t collapsed. Alone, he could handle orc captains and keep them from tearing straight through the line.

A heavy impact shook the street as something massive landed on the rubble ahead. The orc was broader than the others, with sharp tusks and an enormous axe resting across one shoulder.

[Orc General - Lvl 136]

Garen’s stomach dropped. Facing a general would have been bad enough under normal circumstances. Here, surrounded, wounded, and with nowhere to run, he was as good as dead.

“You’re still standing?” the orc asked with a grin. “Figured you’d be in my captains’ stomachs by now.”

Kyran backed up until he stood beside Garen.

“Still able to fight, my friend?”

“Always,” Garen replied, raising his sword.

He tightened his grip on the hilt, trying to hide the tremor in his hand. Even wearing his father’s armor, he wasn’t as strong as Solvar’s generals, and this time there was no denying the fear.

He clenched his teeth and kept his sword raised. “I still have breath in me.”

The orc approached slowly, then exploded forward.

Skill.

“Where—?”

The orc vanished and reappeared above Garen, his axe already coming down. Garen barely had time to look up before a fist slammed into the general in midair. The impact sent a shockwave through the street and threw Garen and Kyran off their feet. The orc shot backward into the rubble, stone cracking beneath him.

Garen stared through the dust, dazed. “Dead?”

As the dust cleared, he saw a woman in full plate standing a few paces in front of him, facing the rubble where the general had landed. Her face was hidden behind a closed helmet, smoke still curling from one gauntlet while she held a sword in the other. The rubble shifted as the orc started moving again, but she didn’t turn around.

“Stay behind me.”

Kyran stared at her.

She just punched an Orc General out of the air.

The knight tossed several potions toward them. “Drink those. Healing potions.”

“Who are you?” Kyran asked.

“Help.”

She raised her sword, and a blue cloak stirred behind her. Garen didn’t recognize the emblem on it: a moon and a dagger. It wasn’t Rosemark, Jungral, or Solvar.

“The king I serve ordered you to retreat,” she said. “Don’t attack anyone wearing his symbol. He’s here to end this war.”

Garen blinked. End the war?

Behind the knight, the rubble shifted again. She took one step toward it, but before Garen could make sense of any of this, a shadow passed overhead. For an instant, he thought the winged creature had returned, and his whole body locked up. But the shadow was far too large and moving far too slowly.

He looked up and froze. A black ship descended through the smoke above the city, its ragged sails billowing as mist spilled over the sides.

“It’s flying?”

A cannon boomed overhead, and the street shook.

***

Luke stood aboard the Flying Dutchman, looking down over Farmarug. Nearly half the city was in orc hands.

“Man the cannons!” Bernard roared. “Let’s kick some orc ass!”

The dwarves answered with enthusiastic shouts. Another cannon fired, then the rest joined in, tearing chunks out of towers, barricades, and siege weapons. Bernard bellowed orders from the deck while Barb laughed whenever an explosion sent a group of orcs flying.

The Flying Dutchman had resisted Luke for most of the trip. Once they reached the battle, though, it stopped fighting him. The sails shifted on their own, the wheel turned without hands, and mist rolled across the deck as the ghost ship glided above the burning city.

Down below, ratfolk slipped through holes, broken windows, and narrow alleys, dragging wounded soldiers away before the orcs could reach them. Goblins raced after them with potions strapped to their bodies, bandages clenched between their teeth, and knives in their hands. They looked more terrified than brave, but they ran anyway.

Nara and Norn leapt from rooftop to rooftop, dropping onto groups of orcs trying to seal off evacuation routes, while Charlie handled the worst threats on the ground. The moon-and-dagger emblem was everywhere now, on cloaks, armbands, and whatever scraps of cloth Luke’s people had managed to find.

“Charlie’s already down there,” Angie said.

“Good. Keep anything on the ground from hitting the ship.”

“Here’s the bow,” Torren said, handing him the weapon. “Hope it works for you. And here are the arrows.”

Luke took it and tested the weight. “Feels sturdy, Torren. Nice work.”

“I could’ve done better, but with one day to prepare, that’s the best I could manage.”

“It’s perfect.”

He activated [Weapon Assimilation] using the kukris. The shape of the orc axe broke apart, and the two blades merged into the bow. Wood and metal darkened until the entire bow turned black.

Knowledge flooded his mind at once: how to hold it, how to aim, when to breathe, when to release. He already had [Basic Archery], but this was different. His assassin skills worked with the bow just as easily as they did with the kukris.

It worked.

Luke nocked an arrow and looked down at the city. Orcs held towers, barricades, siege weapons, and the streets they needed to keep advancing. Farther out, their ships remained anchored offshore.

He drew the string. The bow didn’t creak. Nothing snapped.

Promising.

“Let’s see what this baby can do.”

He aimed at a tower the orcs were using as a command post and let the arrow fly.

[Meteor Shot activated]

The arrow tore across the sky. For half a second, nothing happened. Then it became a meteor.

It smashed into the tower and obliterated the entire structure, blasting wood, stone, and orcs across the street.

“Holy shit!” Bernard shouted.

Luke grinned at the bow. “Hell of a debut.”

He kept firing. One meteor ripped through a siege weapon, another blew apart a barricade and opened the street behind it. By the time the orcs started looking up, Luke was already picking apart the siege piece by piece, targeting towers, weapons, barricades, and squads blocking retreat routes. Every shot opened another gap in the orc lines.

He drew another arrow.

[Knife Storm activated]

The arrow split into dozens in midair.

[Shadow Mana Explosion activated]

Explosions ripped through orc positions across the city. Human formations that had been trapped for hours suddenly had room to move, and wounded soldiers started pouring through streets that had been blocked minutes earlier.

Luke placed a hand against the ship’s hull. “Keep them busy.”

The wood beneath his palm groaned. Luke smiled, then stepped over the side.

He dropped toward the city and hit the street in the middle of a human formation, never breaking stride.

“Who the hell are you?!” one of the soldiers shouted.

Luke didn’t slow down. “The cavalry.”

He spotted Charlie up ahead with a few familiar faces.

“These guys were supposed to have retreated already,” Luke said.

“I told them to,” Charlie replied. “They didn’t want to.”

“Lord Moon?” Garen asked.

Luke looked at him through his mask. “That’s me.”

Garen struggled to straighten himself, still shaken. “I tried to warn her. There’s another orc here. Stronger than anything we’ve faced before.”

“I’ll handle it.”

“No, you don’t understand. He has a dra—”

A torrent of fire came crashing down toward them.

[Arcane Wall activated]

Luke raised one hand, and a barrier of mana formed in front of the group. Flames slammed into it with a roar and spread across the shimmering surface. Through the fire, Luke caught sight of an orc riding a large, dragon-like creature high above the street.

Well, look at that. They finally brought something new.

The torrent ended, leaving the wyvern hovering above the street with the orc on its back.

“Do not think this will be an easy victory, humans!” he roared.

The kukris snapped back into shape in Luke’s hands. Pale light ran along the blades.

“Right back at you, General.”

The orc bared his tusks. “I am not a general. I am a War General.”

Luke looked up at him. “My mistake.”

He raised the kukris.

Artemis, you're my beautiful goddess.

A blue streak ripped across the sky and struck the orc and his winged mount at the same instant. Blood sprayed through the air. The wyvern went limp, and its rider was ripped from the saddle as the creature plummeted, both disappearing into the smoke and burning streets below.

[You have slain a Strider Wyvern - Lvl 138][+55 Soul Energy absorbed]

For several seconds, no one spoke. Human soldiers, the wounded, knights, even the nearby orcs stared at the sky.

Then someone asked, voice cracking, “Who the fuck are you?”

Garen was still staring at the spot where the creature had vanished.

“Lord Moon...”

“No.”

The moon-and-dagger banner snapped in the wind above them.

“King Luke Moon.”

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