For low-tier adventurers like the Rotten Fish and Shrimp Squad, a person's strength could often be judged by their appearance alone.
A frail and skinny man would, in most cases, have limited combat ability. Conversely, if one's opponent was a barbarian built like a mountain of muscle, it was safe to assume his power matched his physique.
An adult bugbear stood roughly seven feet tall—about two meters and twenty centimeters. Coupled with a body packed with thick muscle and layers of fat, it resembled a moving mound of flesh.
Compared to that, Gagou, despite his trace of orcish blood, was only slightly taller than the average human. Even when he activated his bloodline and entered battle mode, his height barely reached the bugbear's shoulder.
Standing side by side, they looked like an adult facing a child.
And in terms of actual combat ability, the difference was even starker.
Earlier, Sainan had been too focused on fighting the goblins to pay attention to his surroundings.
So he hadn't seen what had happened on the other side of the battlefield during those twenty-odd seconds.
All he saw was the scene before him now.
Compared to last night's ambush, Gagou's body was relatively clean—aside from some dirt and dust, there was barely any blood on him.
He was also very quiet.
No guttural orc slang. No deafening battle cries.
Not because he had suddenly learned human manners.
But because, at this moment, he had lost the ability to speak altogether.
Jagged shards of bone pierced through torn flesh, jutting grotesquely from his abdomen.
At the center of his chest was a deep, caved-in crater.
His eyes had rolled back, his mouth slack, and bloody foam dribbled from the corners of his lips.
Like a broken toy, Gagou dangled upside down, held by one ankle in the bugbear's massive grip.
In its other hand, a wicked, iron-studded maul hovered in the cold air, poised to strike again.
For some reason, watching this scene, Sainan was suddenly reminded of an ancient night watchman beating a drum to mark the passing hours.
A second later, the maul swung.
Thwack!
A sickening crunch split the air, the sound of something hard shattering—like an eggshell breaking, its viscous contents spilling out.
Gagou's body swung like a pendulum.
A fresh smear of red and white clung to the maul's surface, and the half-orc lost the ability to make a sound—permanently.
Thud.
His headless corpse was tossed carelessly to the ground, blood gushing out like a fountain, pooling beneath him.
"DIE! AAAAAHHH!"
The very next moment, as Sainan stood frozen, witnessing the gruesome end of Gagou, a hoarse, desperate cry erupted beside him.
Gagou had died horrifically, but he had fulfilled his role—stalling for time.
Bowstring taut.
The bow's frame bent almost to the point of snapping.
A steel-tipped arrow, gleaming with a metallic sheen, was gripped tightly between Magi's fingers, its purplish arrowhead aimed squarely at the bugbear's skull.
[Precision Strike]
One of the prerequisites for becoming a "Ranger."
And the only offensive battle skill Magi had mastered in his years as an adventurer.
In higher-tier combat, this skill mainly provided pinpoint targeting.
But for low-tier adventurers like Magi, even its "weak" power boost was often enough.
If the arrow pierced the bugbear's eye socket and reached its brain, it would be an instant kill.
If it struck the skull, the force would still be enough to leave the bugbear critically wounded, allowing Magi to finish it off.
Even in the worst-case scenario—if he missed—[Precision Strike] would ensure the arrow left a wound.
And that's where his trump card came in: a custom-made, specially crafted arrowhead that had cost him a fortune.
The arrowhead was coated in pit viper venom, capable of swiftly paralyzing the bugbear's body, drastically reducing its speed and reaction time.
At that point, whether to press the attack or turn and flee would be entirely his decision.
All these thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant.
Magi held his breath, aimed at the bugbear's weak spot, and released his fingers.
Whoosh!
The bowstring snapped back, sending a tremor up his fingertips and into his forearm.
The instant the arrow left the bow, decades of hunting experience told him:
"This shot is perfect."
Under extreme pressure, he had performed flawlessly. Every movement was textbook.
A few strands of gray at his temples swayed in the wind left by the arrow's flight.
Magi was confident—so much so that he could almost hear the arrowhead puncturing the bugbear's eye socket, burrowing into its skull. He could already hear the beast's strangled death cry.
But then, a flicker of reddish-brown shattered his illusion.
As if sensing the impending fatal blow, a semi-transparent shield glowing with a crimson hue materialized out of thin air before the bugbear.
Neither solid nor ethereal, it was some kind of condensed energy field, pulsing with unstable power.
The arrow, despite carrying the full force of Magi's body, merely grazed its surface before being deflected sideways.
Its speed remained, but its trajectory changed.
Instead of the bugbear's skull, the arrow shot past, embedding itself deep into the cave's rocky wall.
Thunk!
The metal shaft buried itself into the stone, leaving only its fletching trembling violently in place.
Magi's face drained of all color.
"How… how is that possible!?" His lips trembled, his body shaking with fear. "My arrow—"
For the first time since appearing before them, the bugbear spoke.
"Your little tricks... magic."
Its voice was as rough as gravel scraping over stone, the words distorted by its broken grasp of the common tongue.
But at that moment, it no longer mattered what the bugbear was saying.
Because in the next instant, its towering, death-laced shadow had already loomed over Magi, swallowing him whole.