Necromancer, summoning 055? What the heck?

Chapter 202 The Guidance of the Staff: The Unjustly Died General

Recently, due to the significant reduction in the intensity of the war between General Goldenmane's orc army headquarters and the Green Pine Kingdom, the shamans in the team have been able to relax and no longer have to cast spells until they are physically and mentally exhausted every day.

There are actually many types of spellcasters in the orc army. Each tribe has its own auxiliary psionic units, but they are generally divided into three main categories: ancestral shamans, spirit-speaking witch doctors, and totem controllers, who are rare and rarely deployed.

Garu belongs to the lineage of ancestral shamans.

The ancestral shamans are divided into nine ranks, and Garu is currently in the third rank, which is the state of a novice shaman.

On the battlefield, the lower the rank of the shaman, the busier they are; this is a common practice among orcs.

However, Garu will soon be free from this state. After so much battlefield experience, Garu's skill level and achievements are sufficient. Going back to the ancestral temple will definitely lead to an advancement in rank, and he may even be able to advance more than one rank.

A hundred-spirit shaman, or a thousand-spirit shaman?
The other shamans serving in this spellcaster squad were all smug and self-satisfied, seemingly already glimpsing a bright future. As the main force slowly retreated eastward, the shamans, free from the pressure of war, began to indulge themselves.

Besides the orcs' military camps, there were also labor camps and slave camps. In addition to slaves who did hard labor such as building camps and moving bricks, there were also female slave camps for the orcs to vent their frustrations on.

The female slave camp contained all sorts of female orc slaves, but of course, there were many more human slaves. These slaves were kept in tents of different ranks, used to entertain high-ranking officers of the rank of overseer and above, mid-ranking officers of the rank of beastmaster to beastmaster, and ordinary soldiers below the rank of orc warrior.

The shamans were qualified to enter the intermediate slave tent, and Garu, sitting in the tent holding his breath, heard their greetings time and time again.

At this moment, Garu sat cross-legged on his rough felt mat, his eyelids lowered, as if he were an old monk in deep meditation. The shamans in the same tent beside him were noisily changing clothes, teasing each other in crude orcish language, talking about which tribe's women had recently arrived in the female slave camp, and whose "assets" were more abundant.

These spellcasters are also "tattooed big shots," and they're incredibly rude.

"Garu! Let's go! The battle's almost over, no need for spells anymore! Why don't you come have some fun with us?"

A wolf shaman with indigo patterns painted on his face patted him on the shoulder, his breath reeking of alcohol.

Garu opened his eyes slightly, shook his head awkwardly, tapped his temple with his finger, and said in a hoarse voice, "My head is throbbing. You guys go ahead and have some fun."

The other shamans in the same tent went out noisily. Garu pricked up his ears, trying to distinguish the sounds outside, and could vaguely hear those guys' malicious taunts.

"You guys think, since this guy never goes, maybe it's because he's impotent! Haha!"

"That's quite possible. I've heard that this guy is not only indifferent to women, but also to men. The priests from Eagle Falling Mountain are even speculating whether he's hermaphroditic..."

"Don't talk nonsense, it's not a sea monster. We wasteland orcs don't have anything like that!"

"Alright, alright, be careful he doesn't hear you and then he'll come after you!"

"Who does he think he is? My uncle is the chief of all beasts. The fact that I can stand up and speak to him is already giving him a lot of face..."

As the hushed chatter faded into the distance until no sound could be heard at all, Garu raised his Ancestral Staff.

He didn't hang out with those guys for one reason: he had spent some time in the Vast Ocean Territory and knew some of the rules there.

Although this was absurd and many of the local people in the territory could not understand it, the lord's arrangements were final, and everyone could only obediently follow orders.

Sometimes at night, when he thinks back on it, Garu feels that he might feel much more at ease if he left his beloved in such a territory.

Secondly, Garu needs to use this quiet time to receive orders from the Han Hai Military Command.

There is a hidden secret within his reassembled ancestral staff.

The Ancestral Staff is planted by selected young shamans on the sacred shamanic mountain and accompanies them as they grow up. It is taken out and crafted on the day the shaman comes of age, becoming a ritual implement that accompanies the shaman throughout their life.

Since it is a ritual implement, it is naturally susceptible to loss or damage.

Losing the Staff of the Ancestors would be quite troublesome for a shaman.

First, they must perform a lengthy atonement ceremony, pleading with the spirits of their great ancestors for forgiveness for their sins.

After completing this step, they still need to enter the sacred mountain, select a native tree from the sacred mountain, and undergo a series of extremely complicated rituals, including chanting, dancing, summoning spirits, and praying, lasting for eighty-one days, before they can take down the tree and remake their ancestral staff.

Oh, and finally, the shaman also needs to replant a few trees on the sacred mountain; the whole process seems quite environmentally friendly.

Including the time for the rituals, preparation, and replanting, it will take at least five to six months, which is far too long. Moreover, the cost of the various rituals is quite high.

That is why shamans wish they could keep the ancestral staff tied to their skeletons and pierced through their ribs at all times.

The procedure for replacing the Staff of the Ancestral is so complicated that when it is damaged, shamans usually just repair it if they can, or just leave it as is.

Garu's ancestral staff was completely broken in the last war. After becoming a prisoner of the Vast Sea Territory, Garu thought he would never have the chance to touch his staff again in his life.

Then, on the day he completed his studies and labor reform and walked out of the Hanhai Education Institute, the young man, a graduate of the first class of Hanhai Naval Academy, the captain of the Torch Youth Corps, and a teacher in the reform camp, handed him this newly repaired ancestral staff.

The pieces were joined together so perfectly that Garu couldn't even see where the ancestral staff had broken.

This walking stick is certainly not something that has been simply repaired.

The activation switch, located in a special position, can open the built-in storage space, where the miniature listening device provided by Hanhailing is placed.

At the top of the Ancestral Staff, several large, perfectly polished animal bones swayed and floated about. Inside the second largest bone was a miniature radio receiver.

Garu, leaning on his wooden cane, came to the door and carefully observed the scene outside through the gaps in the tent.

The orcs' headquarters had not suffered the brutal attack from the Vast Sea Territory, so their camps were still in the traditional, continuous layout. At this moment, one could clearly feel the restlessness of those eager to return home as the great battle was about to end.

As the weather grew colder, campfires were lit earlier than usual, piled up in the open space, crackling and reflecting on the faces of the orcs—some weary, some excited, some numb.

The various kinds of food and supplies looted were piled high on the supply wagons. Since they couldn't fit into the tents, they were arranged next to the camp fence. Occasionally, an orc captain would pass by, look him up and down, and see if there were any small items that he could stuff into his own pocket.

More orc warriors huddled together in twos and threes, chewing on their coarse rations, casting envious glances at the dire wolves gnawing on chunks of meat in the distance, occasionally swallowing to moisten their dry throats.

The group of shamans from the same tent who had just gone out had already left the camp and were gradually disappearing into the distance in the firelight. Next, Garu would probably have forty minutes to an hour of free time.

Garu took a deep breath, his gaze still fixed outside the tent. He pulled a button from the seam of his tattered leather coat and tucked it into his ear. Then, he gently stroked the "natural wood grain" areas on his ancestral staff with his fingers in a specific order and with a specific pressure.

After several repetitions, a very faint sound rang in Garu's ears.

Garu held his breath and began to listen carefully to the instructions.

"Passenger pigeons have been received. A storm will arrive in the northeastern forest region when eagles return to their nests. Priority markers: 9:00 AM and 12:00 PM tribal assembly areas. This may also affect the logistics and supply storage areas at these two locations."

"Do not take risks, safety first; remain silent and stay hidden; after the storm, wait for the return."

The command was received and then fell silent.

Garu carefully cradled the Staff of the Ancestor in his arms and stepped out of the tent. The setting sun was painting the sky a magnificent orange-red. He slowly turned toward the direction of the Vast Ocean Territory, closed his eyes, and murmured to himself.

Centered on myself, the area at nine o'clock is where the orc air force's wyvern perches are located, and as for twelve o'clock... that's the military tent of the vanguard general under General Goldenmane.

Looks like something big is going to happen tonight. Suddenly, a voice rang in my ears.

"What's wrong, Little Garu? You're not eating or playing any games. Are you really sick? Should we take you to see a witch doctor?"

The speaker was the overseer of this territory, Rom, a bear-like general. He was known for his violent fighting style on the battlefield, but when not fighting, he was a well-regarded orc. He was very dedicated to protecting the group of shamans he was responsible for, and he could even name each of them.

Garu bowed slightly, gripped the Staff of the Ancestor in his hand, and his face revealed an expression that was appropriate for his shamanic identity, a mixture of worry and intuition. He murmured in a voice that General Rom could just hear, as if talking to himself, or as if praying to some unseen being.

"The spirits of our ancestors are whispering!"

"An uneasy feeling came from the wind, and anxiety came from the earth...an anxious mood."

"I have a feeling... something bad is about to happen!"

The shaman's premonition carries a mysterious aura in the orcish tradition. Legend has it that every great shaman of the ancestral shamans possessed the ability to sense calamities.

Faced with Garu's solemn murmur, Overseer Rom's thick eyebrows furrowed, and a look of hesitation and scrutiny appeared on his hairy face.

He looked Garu up and down. This young shaman was usually rather taciturn, even seeming out of place, but at this moment, the expression on his face did not seem feigned.

However, Rom didn't really believe in the whispers of the ancestral spirits; he worshipped the ancestral spirits and knew their nature well.

The spirits of ancestors usually only "favor" those shamans who are powerful or make generous offerings. How could this mere third-tier, penniless little shaman possibly receive a warning from the ancestors in advance?
Unless... he really is exceptionally gifted...

Overseer Rom shook his massive head, dismissing the somewhat absurd idea, and slapped Garu hard on the shoulder, almost making him stumble, before grinning an ugly smile.

"Alright, stop overthinking! The war's over, what could possibly happen? You're just exhausted! Go back and get a good night's sleep, you'll be fine when you wake up tomorrow!"

After saying this, Rom didn't linger. He turned and strode away. When Garu saw the general again, it was already midnight.

The orc camp was attacked. The attack came so suddenly and fiercely that it caught the orcs completely off guard.

What terrified the orcs even more was the target of their attack.

The camp of General Ras Bloodfang, a trusted and beloved general under Lord Goldenmane and the vanguard officer of this southern expedition, became the primary target.

When several meteors suddenly appeared in the sky, trailing fiery tails, they pierced through the night and crashed into the orc camp at a speed imperceptible to the naked eye, the speed was so fast that even the sentries had not yet issued any warnings.

Then came the intense flames, like a gigantic torch lit in the night.

The fences shattered, the tents collapsed, and blazing flames shot into the sky. Screams, cries of terror, and howls of dire wolves filled the air in an instant!
On the other hand, the wyvern perch area was given special attention. The wyverns, awakened from their rest by the explosion, hurriedly tried to take off and escape, but were blocked by the perch's gate, letting out painful howls in the flames.

The nearby logistics camp was also engulfed in flames by the explosion. Grain, fodder, and looted valuables burned fiercely in the flames, emitting a blinding orange-red light.
"Enemy attack!!!"

"It's an enemy mage! Take cover!"

"Put out the fire! Put out the fire quickly!"

"General Bloodfang! General Bloodfang's tent has been hit!"

"Witch doctor! Where is the witch doctor?!"

The attack lasted for three waves, with wave after wave of attacks raining down from the sky like a meteor shower. The roaring orcs frantically searched for the source of the attacks, only to be met with the endless darkness of the night.

That night, the orcs' command center, scattered military tents, air base, and logistics area suffered severe damage of varying degrees. In particular, when the news came that General Ras Bloodfang was seriously wounded and the witch doctor had died before he could arrive, the entire orc army felt as if the sky was falling.

Originally, everyone had won a decisive victory and was looking forward to returning home to celebrate. Now, the general is dead, the dragon is gone, and the goods are burned. Although it is only a partial loss of one camp, it is still a devastating blow.

A frantic investigation was launched immediately and quickly yielded the conclusions that Han Hailing wanted them to obtain.

The magicians of the Green Pine Kingdom launched a shameless sneak attack on the orc camp using some kind of long-range fire magic.

The targets, methods, and even timing of the attacks chosen by Han Hailing were all meticulously planned.

After being educated, many shamans surrendered to the Han Hai Territory, but Chen Mo was extremely cautious, preferring not to use them rather than take any risks.

After all, the more spies you send in, the greater the chance of them being discovered, and the greater the risk to the safety of those who have successfully infiltrated the enemy.

The core principle is to prioritize quality over quantity.

Guided by this line of thinking, so far in this battle, Garu and another infiltrated shaman have deployed a total of seven listening devices, mainly targeting orc generals of the Thousand Beasts Commander level and above. The highest-ranking target is this Bloodfang Vanguard General.

The core idea behind Han Hai's attack on the command headquarters of high-ranking generals is to eliminate the orc generals who do not carry listening devices, thus giving more opportunities for those who do carry listening devices to rise to power.

So why was this Bloodfang general killed in an explosion even though he was clearly bugged?

Because this guy got a little cocky.

Rhys Bloodfang was wearing a set of deep blue quality heavy armor, forged to the level of Thunderclap Hundred Forging. As a powerful vanguard who liked to charge ahead, he had participated in several head-on confrontations with the Green Pine Kingdom's army, and even carried out attack missions as a spearhead to forcefully charge into the enemy's position. Naturally, there were several obvious dents and cracks on this armor.

Due to differences in body size, human armor is generally unsuitable for these orc generals, so Ras Bloodfang has never found a suitable replacement.

Until yesterday, General Jin Zong announced that the army had broken camp and retreated, returning in triumph.

As the hero who made the greatest contribution to the southward campaign, Ras Bloodfang took off his armor, put on a traditional orc dress, and attended the victory celebration of General Goldenmane.

Bloodfang casually bestowed the discarded armor upon his beloved general, Baltan.

The battle is over, and I no longer need to charge into battle. When I return to the royal court, I will at least be granted a set of orange-gold armor.

Of course, whether it's armor or not doesn't matter; the key point is that the armor plate has a location-tracking eavesdropping device on it.

The logic behind the Han Hai Territory's choice of targets is roughly as follows: in the war zone between orcs and humans, their own reconnaissance teams cannot get close, so they mainly rely on eyes in the sky.

The field army command would select locations that were clearly the core military tents of the tribe from the on-site images taken by airships and high-altitude drones, mark them, and then hand them over to the information department for comparison.

The information department marked the areas where eavesdropping devices were located in red as no-attack zones before returning to the field army command.

Before launching the final attack, both sides will check the data again and report it to Chen Mo for confirmation.

During this final check, they discovered that one of the bugging devices was far from the original camp where it was stationed. Chen Mo decisively made a round and focused on this spot!
According to Chen Mo's logic, since the general carrying the bugging device left his own tent for some special reason, that's fine, we'll just pretend we don't know and attack his original tent.

Although it may not yield any significant results, it's equivalent to adding a set of random data to the target, disrupting the enemy's potential reconnaissance direction.

As a result, they achieved their biggest victory.

The highly decorated Ras Bloodfang died inexplicably on this night of victory simply because he changed into a different suit.

(End of this chapter)