I’ll be the Red Ranger
Chapter 133 – The Red Skinned

- Oliver -

"What is a globûrz human doing on this ship?"

Oliver barely had time to register the guttural shout before a massive Ork fist collided with his chest. The impact was like getting hit by a speeding freight train. He was launched backward, crashing through the cockpit and shattering the ship's front viewport. Glass fragments and twisted metal shards spiraled around him as he hurtled outward.

Gravity seized him, and he plummeted to the ground outside the ship. The hard surface knocked the wind out of him, pain radiating through his body. As he pushed himself up, he glanced down to see the state of his armor. The protective plating on his arms was in tatters.

"Dammit," Oliver hissed, wincing. He began channeling Energy through his arms, willing the armor to self-repair. Threads of luminous blue light wove across the damaged sections.

His eyes flicked back to the transport ship. Smoke billowed from the gaping hole where the cockpit used to be. Electrical fires sparked, and warning lights flashed erratically along the vessel's hull. The ship was most likely a lost cause.

But that was the least of his problems.

The commotion had drawn attention. Dozens of Orks now surrounded him in a tightening circle. Their hulking figures loomed menacingly, green skin glistening under the lights of the docking bay. Yellowed tusks jutted from snarling mouths and heavy weapons in their grasp. None of them looked particularly formidable individually—standard grunts by the look of them—but their numbers posed a significant threat.

Except for one.

Perched atop the wrecked ship stood a red ork, his crimson skin a stark contrast to the others. Spiked armor adorned his massive frame, and he towered over his kin. His cold, calculating eyes watched Oliver intently, like a predator sizing up its prey.

Oliver let his rifle slip from his grasp, the weapon dropping to the ground. ‘The rifle won't help me with them,’ he decided. Instead, he drew his Energy Pistol. The pistol hummed to life, its barrel emitting a faint azure glow.

He took a deep breath, quickly assessing his surroundings. Approximately twenty Orks encircled him, the Red Ork observing from his vantage point. Beyond them, he noticed several Orks handling cages and crates—likely filled with contraband or captured beings.

‘I'll start with them,’ Oliver resolved.

Without waiting for the Orks to make the first move, he sprang into action. He charged toward the nearest cluster of cargo-bearing Orks in a burst of speed, pistol raised.

"Get the human!" one of the grunts bellowed, his voice gravelly and rage-filled.

"Don't let him get near the cargo!" the Red Ork commanded from atop the ship, his tone icy and authoritative.

A sly grin tugged at the corner of Oliver's mouth. ‘Understanding their language sure comes in handy.’ The fact that the Orks were so protective of the cargo piqued his curiosity. ‘What could be so important?’

"Don't attack him individually! He's one of those armored ones!" the Red Ork warned, his eyes never leaving Oliver.

The grunts hesitated, their expressions flickering with uncertainty. In his peripheral vision, Oliver could see the Red Ork sitting calmly as chaos unfolded—a puppet master pulling strings.

‘Is he using me to train them, or is he simply not interested?’ Oliver wondered, glancing at the imposing figure of the Red Ork, who stood observing the skirmish from a distance. ‘Well then, let's give him a reason to get involved.’

Without hesitation, Oliver leveled his pistol as he advanced. Channeling energy into the weapon, he prepared a shot potent enough to cause an explosion. But instead of aiming at one of the charging Orks, he directed his fire toward one of the massive cages the creatures had been hauling moments before.

The reaction was immediate. Panic flashed across the faces of the Orks—or at least that's how Oliver interpreted their guttural exclamations and frantic movements. One even threw himself into the blast's path, sacrificing himself to protect the cage.

‘So whatever's in there is that important?’ Oliver mused as the explosion obliterated the Ork.

The remaining Orks didn't wait to see what else the young human might do. Each drew their weapons, roaring as they charged straight into close combat.

Oliver didn't need to activate [Observation] yet; these opponents were far less challenging than those he'd faced before. ‘Is this difference just because I'm wearing a Ranger Armor?’ he thought, sidestepping a swung axe. ‘Or have I just gotten used to fighting in near-impossible battles?’

A sword sliced through the air close to his head, but Oliver effortlessly dodged, countering with two point-blank shots that exploded the attacker. If not for the sheer number of foes and their simultaneous assaults, he could eliminate them without breaking a sweat.

"Come on, damn it! He's just a human! You're gonna disgrace our entire race fighting like this!" The Red Ork's roar resonated through the hangar, dripping with contempt.

"Yes, master!" several of the Orks responded, or at least those still capable of speech.

‘He trained these guys? Doesn't seem like the training did much good,’ Oliver thought dryly, ducking under another attack.

Despite the odds, he felt confident these grunts wouldn't pose a real threat. Still, he was conserving his strength for when the Red Ork decided to join the fray. ‘No point in wasting energy before the main event.’

A quick glance around the hangar brought a grim realization. ‘Damn, there's no other ship here. If that one isn't operational, I'll have to find another way out.’ Oliver began strategizing possible escape routes, all while parrying blows and returning fire.

He finally noticed the muffled cries emanating from the cages and crates the Orks were moving. He couldn't see inside from where he was, but the sounds were unmistakable. ‘Time to see what they're carrying.’

Dodging a flurry of strikes, Oliver broke free and sprinted toward the cages. Just as he was about to peer inside, the ground exploded before him, sending debris flying and forcing him to skid to a halt.

The Red Ork landed heavily before him, the impact cracking the floor.

"No. Fight them," the Ork commanded, his deep-set eyes glaring down at Oliver.

"Tsk. Asshole," Oliver muttered, brushing dust off himself.

‘Let's check his level.’ Seizing the opportunity, Oliver tested using [Observation]. But as he expected, nothing appeared. ‘Damn. At least Bishop level, if not higher.’

While Oliver weighed his options, the ten remaining Orks began to encircle him, weapons at the ready.

"Wait for my signal, then attack all at once," the Red Ork instructed. "Now!"

As soon as the command was given, Oliver was already in motion. Anticipating their coordinated assault, he fired his pistol with unerring accuracy, targeting the Orks' faces as they charged recklessly with their guards down.

"Something's off about him, master," one of the Orks groaned, clutching his wounds.

"It’s like he knows what we're gonna do before we do it," another snarled.

"Leave him to me," the Red Ork declared, stepping forward with menace.

At those words, Oliver turned his full attention to the towering figure.

"You son of a— you understand our language," the Red Ork spat, realization dawning. "You've been listening to our conversation."

Oliver shrugged nonchalantly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, confirming the Ork's accusation.

"What's your name?" the Ork demanded, his voice a deep, guttural growl.

"Oliver," he replied calmly, meeting the creature's gaze without flinching.

"Interesting," the Red Ork mused, a hint of curiosity flickering in his eyes. "For the first time, I understand a human. What title shall I earn for killing the first human who speaks Orkish?" He seemed to ponder this aloud, almost as if addressing an unseen audience.

"The Great Dreamer, perhaps," Oliver quipped swiftly. "Or maybe 'He Who Had a Wild Imagination.' "

"I preferred it when I couldn't understand you," the Ork snarled, spitting onto the ground with disdain.

"I don't know," Oliver retorted, a sharp edge to his words. "I rather like that you understand when I call you a son of a whore."

That was the breaking point.

With a roar, the Red Ork lunged forward, unleashing a flurry of three rapid punches. Oliver's reflexes kicked into overdrive. He dodged the first strike and narrowly evaded the second, but the third connected solidly with his ribs. Pain exploded through his side as he was lifted off his feet and sent hurtling backward. He crashed into a pile of debris, the impact rattling his bones.

'Speed isn't his strong suit, but that overwhelming strength... damn it,' Oliver groaned, pushing himself upright. His chest throbbed where the Ork's fist had landed. ‘I still have Prometheus, but will it be enough?’

Steeling himself, Oliver activated [Prometheus]. Energy surged through his veins, his fists crackling with raw power. With a burst of speed, he charged at the Red Ork, aiming to catch him off guard just as he'd done with the Red Ranger.

But something was different this time.

In a split second before impact, Oliver noticed a glint of recognition in the Ork's eyes—a realization of the threat he posed. Just centimeters away from striking, the Ork moved with uncanny precision. He grabbed Oliver's arms, redirecting their trajectory and sidestepping effortlessly. The blast of energy from Oliver's fists shot past harmlessly, colliding with a distant wall and erupting in an explosion that left a gigantic gaping hole.

"Aha! So that's what you were trying to hit me with?" the Ork mocked, a sly grin spreading across his scarred face.

Oliver's eyes widened. Not only had the Ork anticipated his attack, but he'd also managed to counter it with minimal effort.

Just then, a translucent notification flickered in the corner of his vision.

| Left Eye of Learning

| Learning …

| [Combat] Imperial Ork Style

| Progress: 0.01%

‘So, my Eye is trying to learn his combat style?’ Oliver thought. He knew he couldn't perfectly replicate the Imperial Ork Technique—not with his human physiology—but understanding it might give him an edge in predicting the Ork's movements.

"What's the matter, human? Realizing you're outmatched?" the Red Ork taunted, cracking his knuckles. "I expected more from someone who talks so big."

‘Think, think. I need a new plan.’ Oliver weighed his options rapidly.

He glanced at the Energy Pistol in his hand. It might not be enough to take the Ork down, but perhaps it could create an opening.

Suddenly, a distant cry pierced the air.

"HELP!"