Era of Players: Death God

The familiar chime echoed in Noah's mind – {Ding! Level Up}. A surge of satisfaction washed over him, momentarily pushing aside the grim reality of the carnage around him. He wasted no time, his mind already set on his next move. With practiced efficiency, he opened his status window and allocated his two hard-earned stat points into Mana, exactly as he had meticulously planned.

■Status Window

Name: Noah Adler

Rank: Regular

Level: 39

Class: Angel of Death

Title:Goblin Slayer

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☆Stats☆

* Mana: 91 (→ 93)

* Strength: 102

* Intelligence: 81

* Dexterity: 102

* Luck: 77

This chapter upload first at NovelUsb.Com

Stat Points: 0

Coins:3060G

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☆Skills☆

Common Skills: {Basic Swordsmanship},{Basic Close Combat} {Presence Detection} {Master of Weapons} {Mana's Armor Lvl 1} {Shadow Steps Level 1} {Blood Flowers} {Splitting Ripple Slash LVl 1} {Fangs of Insanity} {Flame Art} {Telekinesis Lv1}

Exclusive Skill: {Seal of Death} {Night of Death}

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☆Runes ☆

{Basic Strength},{Basic Speed} {Angel of Death}

■

A satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he closed the window. Just one more level, and he'd reach the next Rank – a significant milestone in his journey. But there was no time for complacency. The discovery of orc scouts meant only one thing: an Orc Village lurked nearby.

Noah stroked his chin thoughtfully, his eyes gleaming with a cold determination. This wasn't just about advancement anymore. This was an opportunity, a chance to eliminate a potential threat and a veritable treasure trove of experience points.

"Looks like it's time for a village cleansing,"

he murmured, his voice devoid of emotion. The playful glint usually present in his eyes was replaced by a steely resolve. He wouldn't let sentimentality cloud his judgment. He had a mission, and these orcs were nothing more than obstacles in his path.

With a renewed sense of determination, Noah stood tall, his grip on Nemesis tightening as it emanated a chilling aura. The ethereal murmurs of the Whisperwood resonated with greater intensity, as if beckoning him onwards. Utilizing his keen Presence Detection skill, he meticulously surveyed the forest floor, ever vigilant for concealed perils.

Each step he took showcased his burgeoning wariness, while the subtle pulsations of Telekinesis at his temples expanded his perception, enabling him to delve into the depths of the undergrowth.

After an arduous hour of tireless exploration, his perseverance finally paid off.

On the other side of a small hill, blanketed in a thick layer of moss, sprawled the orc village, a festering sore amidst the otherwise pristine forest. The air was heavy with acrid smoke, billowing out from ten crudely constructed huts. These were not the sturdy log cabins of human trappers, but shoddy structures hastily assembled from rough planks and bound together with thick, knotted vines.

Animal skins, caked in mud, were carelessly draped over some of the roofs, offering a feeble defense against the elements. At the heart of the village stood a larger structure, perhaps a communal longhouse, its walls adorned with crude symbols etched into the wood and the bleached skulls of unfortunate creatures.

The scent of savagery wafted from its walls, permeating the air with a sickening presence.

A makeshift palisade fence, constructed haphazardly from sharpened tree trunks, encircled the entire settlement. Gaps and uneven heights in the fence hinted at a hurried construction, more of a deterrent to wandering animals than a formidable defense.

Orcish figures, clad in mismatched leather and furs, roamed the crude courtyard, their guttural shouts and raucous laughter carried by the evening breeze. The air was heavy with the odors of woodsmoke, cooking meat, and a faint hint of sewage, assaulting Noah's senses.

This was no place of peace or serenity. It was a den of violence, a testament to a brutal way of life. But for Noah, it presented an opportunity for growth, a challenge to be conquered. He hunkered down behind the cover of the hill, his eyes fixed on the orc village, a cold determination glinting in his golden gaze.

Like a coiled viper awaiting the perfect moment to strike, Noah maintained his hidden position for another hour. Every rustle of leaves, every guttural shout only intensified his focus. His skill in Presence Detection pulsated within him, providing a mental map of the orc settlement's layout.

After meticulous observation, a grim satisfaction settled upon his features. With a reasonable degree of certainty, he estimated that the enemy force numbered no more than twenty-five – a manageable challenge, especially considering his expanding arsenal of skills.

A predatory smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, sending a thrill of anticipation down his spine. The time for action had arrived.

The plan unfolded in Noah's mind, a series of brutal yet calculated steps. The first move required a shift in tactics. Gripping his trusted weapon, Nemesis, tightly, Noah focused his concentration on it. In his mind's eye, a vision flickered – not of the familiar sword, but of a sleek and predatory bow.

Determined to bring this vision to life, he willed the transformation, feeling a surge of energy course through him. Mana drained from his reserves like a bursting dam, momentarily weakening his mental strength.

With a gasp, Noah stumbled back, using a nearby tree for support. The world briefly swam before sharpening back into focus. In his trembling hand, Nemesis had undergone a startling metamorphosis. The cold steel of the sword had been replaced by an exquisite black bow, emanating an eerie inner light. The weapon felt strangely familiar, perfectly balanced in his grip.

''Nice!"

A satisfied grunt escaped his lips, a testament to his growing control.

However, this transformation had come at a cost. Half of Noah's mana reserves were depleted, and a dull ache throbbed behind his eyes. Leaning against the rough bark of the tree, he took a few moments to replenish his drained energy. The orcs were not going anywhere. He had a brief respite to recover and ensure that his first strike would be accurate.

This was no longer just about brute force; it was about precision and orchestration. With a cold certainty, Noah realized that the symphony of death was about to begin, he was but after all the Angel of Death.

Fifteen agonizing minutes dragged on, each passing second fueling his determination. With a deep breath, Noah straightened his stance, his grip tightening around the transformed Nemesis. The ebony bow felt like an extension of his own body, a conduit for the meticulously planned chaos he was about to unleash.

The first step. With a silent command, he tapped into the power of Flame Art once again. But this time, the flames didn't engulf the blade. Instead, they gathered around the arrow's nock, forming a flickering inferno. The arrow itself, crafted from pure energy, pulsed with an ominous heat.

Taking aim, Noah focused on the heart of the village, where the largest hut likely housed the orcs' communal fire. His finger brushed against the release, and the world seemed to slow down. The panicked screeching of unseen birds, the rustling of leaves in the wind – every sound became painfully clear.

Then, with a sharp exhale, he let go. The flaming arrow shot forward, a hissing streak of destruction. It sliced through the air, faster than any orcish reflex, leaving behind a trail of scorched atmosphere. Like a miniature comet, it crashed into the center of the target hut.

**Boom!**

The explosion ripped through the night, unleashing a thunderous roar that reverberated through the Whisperwood. A towering pillar of flame burst from the hut, hurling burning debris high into the sky. The shockwave rattled the trees, showering the ground with leaves like a twisted celebration.

From the village, a chaotic symphony of shouts and panicked screams erupted. Disoriented orcish figures stumbled out of their burning homes, their faces twisted in a mix of terror and rage. The carefully orchestrated chaos had begun.

A wicked grin, brimming with feral intensity, danced upon Noah's lips. With the fluidity of a seasoned warrior, he swiftly notched two more arrows, their tips pulsating with an infernal light that mirrored the glimmer in his piercing golden eyes.

"Double Impact," he whispered, the words dripping from his tongue like a sinister oath.

With a swift and precise double draw, both arrows soared through the air, leaving trails of scorching heat in their wake. They found their targets with lethal accuracy, striking the heart of the orcish horde. The result was instantaneous - a horrifying explosion of flames that consumed several orcs in a relentless inferno.

KaBOOM!

Screams tore through the night, a symphony of raw terror that sent shivers down the spines of even the boldest creatures in the Whisperwood. The once-organized village now resembled a scene from the depths of hell. Flames danced in a chaotic frenzy, casting grotesque shadows that writhed upon the terrified faces of the surviving orcs.

Chaos reigned supreme. Orcs, their initial shock transforming into primal rage, surged out of the inferno,

''Graa!"

''Graaa!!"

their guttural roars a testament to their fury. Yet, Noah remained unfazed. He was the apex predator amidst the pandemonium, the conductor orchestrating this symphony of destruction. Another arrow, infused with an icy blaze, found its mark.

Boom!