Necromancer, summoning 055? What the heck?

Chapter 393 The Echoes from the Bones Are All "Acquaintances"

Orcs are no strangers to undead skeletons.

Or rather, even if it was unfamiliar in the past, after being repeatedly "educated" by these undead warriors who shoot steel balls at the slightest provocation, it should have become familiar by now.

Even elite generals like Rod Ironspine, who had never been promoted to fill the gaps due to their "deep ambush" and "high meritorious service," had grown tired of hearing it.

Whenever this tiger general walked through the camp, all he could hear were the listless complaints of the various orc tribes.

"The laborers and bloodline warriors who had three beast claws blown off today are all top-notch! The leaders of the vassal races in charge of the excavation have faces as black as Chief Gemar's palm!"

"That's fucking black..."

"When will this battle ever end? Running around digging holes and gnawing on bones every day, how come we live like canine orcs!"

"You're kidding me! Yesterday, the dog-clan patrol spotted a skeleton emerging from the distance and ran faster than the leopard-clan! You think this is still one of those slow-moving, crumbling skeletons that crumble at the slightest tap?"

Outside, resentment filled the air, but once inside the main tent, a different scene of gloomy atmosphere prevailed.

Whether it was the three chieftains seated at the head of the table, or the various fangs, war banners, centurions, and commanders, each of them looked as if all the orcs in their families had died, their faces so gloomy they could wring water out of them.

Well, it seems that some of the generals did indeed have most of their relatives and subordinates killed.

The battles these past few days have been truly brutal. The valiant orc warriors have repeatedly crashed into the damned human defenses, leaving behind only corpses and blood-stained earth.

If it weren't for that grand plan hanging in the air, no one could withstand dying like this!

Fortunately, the long ordeal seemed to be finally coming to an end. After such a long period of digging, enduring and sacrificing in the dark, the moment of life and death had finally arrived.

Rhodes, who had been conserving his energy, was placed in the first wave of the stormtroopers.

The three most valiant generals of the three tribes—Bloodscar Rag of the Crack Claw tribe, Rhode Ironspine of Thunder Roar, and Worry Blackhorn of Skyreach Ridge—each led their carefully selected generals and elite soldiers, advancing along the dark underground passage to a location about two kilometers underground from the Han Hai Field Army's position.

The reason these underground tunnels were dug so slowly is because a lot of lateral widening was done, so that the elite troops preparing for the assault could get as close to the battlefield as possible.

The orcs waited for this heavy rain and seized this opportunity.

Although the torrential rain did not completely extinguish the enemy's firearms as expected, it did cause considerable trouble for Han Hai, especially the extremely low visibility, which completely obscured the battlefield's firing line of sight, giving the orcs a very favorable environment for their charge.

Lower visibility is more advantageous to melee units; this is a battlefield truth on the Star Continent.

Meanwhile, the mages sent by those mysterious forces used large-scale earth magic to construct a near-perfect charging barrier for the orcs. Not only were there earthen mounds in front to block enemy attacks, but earthen mounds extending from both sides also provided lateral cover.

Some of the mages even went so far as to use a large-scale "Solidified Ground" spell along the route of their charge to minimize the impact of the torrential rain and mud on their speed.

This is a meticulously planned assault route, tailor-made for orc warriors.

The perfect timing, the perfect location, the valiant orcs—everything was going perfectly according to plan.

The elite orcs, shouting the slogans of their tribe and ancestors, poured out of the ground through multiple breaches and charged wildly along the main road.

It's such a short distance, only a few minutes.

Just charge in!
Rod Ironspine's eyes were bloodshot, and a burning fighting spirit raged in his chest.

As soon as they charge in, into that group of weak humans disguised as mages who only know how to hide in trenches and fire their guns, the great orc army will crush them to dust, skin and bones!
The kind of thing that even the most skilled necromancers couldn't salvage!
Then he saw the riotous mountain of bones.

The already towering earthen hill initially trembled only slightly, as if something within it was awakening. Then, as the orcish army charged to the top, the hill seemed to suddenly "grow" upwards a bit more.

This time, however, what broke out of the mountain was not damp soil and rocks, but... countless skeletons covered in mud!
One, ten, a hundred... Countless bone claws burst from the ground, using both hands and feet to grip the slippery earth, "pulling" skeletons out of the hilltops, revealing pairs of emotionless, empty eye sockets.

Rod Ironspine witnessed his second-in-command, the white-haired but still fierce old general Ruger, being held down by the legs by six or seven pairs of bone hands in an instant.

The massive body lost its balance, and with a roar of shock and anger, it flew sideways and crashed heavily into the muddy water, splashing up a high spray of murky water.

Rod violently shook off the raindrops hanging on his head and face, widening his eyes even further.

The skeletons were still somewhat stiff in their movements. Since they did not come from the underworld, they did not have the bone spears uniformly issued to them by the undead lords and chieftains. Therefore, they could only find weapons on the spot. Fortunately, when the Vast Ocean Territory buried the corpses, they thoughtfully buried the weapons they used in life with them. Some even preserved their armor, and some parts were even bound together.

And so, these skeletons, clad in half-armor or broken armor, wielding chipped-down long-handled battle axes, dull-edged machetes, hammers with cracked heads, filthy clubs, spears broken in half, short spears thrown by orcs, and even leg or arm bones broken off from nearby skeletons with sharp, splintered ends, launched an attack like a surging wave of grass.

The rain washed away the grime and grime that remained on their bodies, revealing their pale white or yellowish skeletons. In the dim light of the rain, they looked chillingly cold.

The charging orcs quickly crashed into the bone wall.

The orcs got their wish and entered the expected state of close-quarters, face-to-face, melee combat, except that their opponent was slightly different from what they had expected.

The fallen tiger clan elder, Lurg, roared, his thick tail whipping around and snapping the arm of a skeleton that was about to approach. At the same time, he rolled and leaped up from the ground, his greatsword cleaving through the rain and striking the shoulder of another skeleton wielding a broken spear.

The force was so great that the opponent's bones shattered and half of his skeleton collapsed. However, the skeleton showed no expression, and the remaining arm stubbornly thrust the broken spear towards his ribs.

With a clang, the spearhead slid off the steel plate armor, leaving a screeching sound.

Luger delivered another kick, striking the skeleton in the pelvis, shattering the already severed skeleton into seventeen or eighteen pieces. The remaining metacarpal bone futilely clawed at the muddy ground.

A fierce orc general would have no problem dealing with these stupid skeletons.

However, there were indeed too many opponents.

Luger was attacked by at least a dozen skeletons. As soon as he dealt with one, three or four more skeletons surrounded him. They ignored the "death" of their companion and just silently waved their broken weapons.

Despite the old general's swift and powerful swordplay, he was still surrounded and unable to break free. Rhodes was getting anxious and wildly smashed through several skeletons, preparing to join his lieutenant. Then, he witnessed a scene that sent chills down his spine.

A weapon that appeared to be in the shape of an orc javelin protruded from the ground, rising upwards and piercing into Lurg's groin through a gap at the bottom of his groin guard.

“Ouch————!!!”

The orc veteran's fur bristled all over his body, his eyes and mouth opened to their maximum size, and the skin at the corners of his eyes seemed to tear in an instant. His painful howl pierced through the heavy rain, causing Rhodes, who was charging forward, to stop in his tracks and clench his legs together.

More than a dozen weapons fell simultaneously on Luger, who was already unable to resist, engulfing the old general in red blood.

Water cascaded down like waterfalls, merging the sky and earth into a hazy gray expanse. The wild roars of orcs, the stomping of feet through the muddy water, and the muffled thuds of breaking bones rose and fell, all blending together into a chaotic cacophony amidst the torrential rain.

The entire area in front of the hill and on its slopes had become a chaotic and turbulent battle.

Rhodes was actually a very capable fighter, especially now that he was filled with grief and anger. Once he regained his senses, the tiger clan's giant axe swept across the battlefield, cleaving several approaching skeletons in half or decapitating them.

He wiped the rain off his face with his large hand, his gaze quickly sweeping across the battlefield.

By now, the orcs have been completely trapped in this quagmire.

Bloodscar Rag of the Crackclaw Bear Clan, like a true ferocious beast, wielded a short-handled warhammer in each hand, and bones flew everywhere he went.
On the right flank, Wori Blackhorn, his massive body encased in heavy plate armor, neither dodged nor evaded, charging directly into the horde of skeletons, his armor strewn with bone fragments and broken plates. The other orc warriors smashed skulls with warhammers, cleaved ribs with scimitars, cleaved spines with giant axes, and even used their burly bodies to knock down swaying skeletons, wreaking havoc among the skeletons.

However, they could not push, tear, or break through this wall of bone.

Those skeletons, incapable of pain or fear, silently, mechanically, and stubbornly wield their weapons against their enemies in a simple, clumsy, yet relentless manner.

Even if a part of it is completely shattered, it will still launch an attack using its movable parts.

Another factor that cannot be ignored is that the vast majority of these skeletons are from orcs, and orc bones are much stronger than those of ordinary humans. Killing these guys requires much more effort than killing the skeletons summoned by necromancers.

With repeated attacks, there was bound to be a point where defenses crumbled. The orcs' elite warriors fell one after another in this siege, at an ever-increasing pace.

Rainwater and blood pooled at their feet, forming a dark red stream.

In this stream, the mountain of bones continues to "grow," with more skeletons emerging from within the mountain and from the rain-soaked soil beneath their feet, silently joining the battle.

The worst-case scenario is that at this moment, those despicable humans have already adjusted their artillery positions and launched a high-frequency fire attack on the orcish advance route under the cover of the earthen mound.

The dense barrage of mortars, howitzers, and rifle grenades almost completely blocked the orc army's advance.

The firepower was intentionally avoided over this hilltop battlefield, so the fighting here continues.

Rhodes was getting a little anxious.

What the hell is going on?

Isn't this a perfect plan?
Shouldn't we take advantage of the heavy rain and cover to charge into the enemy trenches and mercilessly chop those cowards who only know how to use firearms from afar, chasing them away like we did those slaves of the plains people, making them scream and flee everywhere, and cutting off all their heads to make drinking vessels?

Where did all these skeletons come from, that can't be killed off?
Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Rhodes hadn't figured it out yet, but the orc warriors fighting fiercely on the field were gradually recognizing it.

Those armors, those weapons, and even certain unique features were all too familiar.

The armor plates bore the tribal emblem, and the warhammer was identical to the one he carried. A throwing axe, a specialty of orcs, was loosely fastened to the belt around his waist. Among the skull fragments that had been shattered into powder, many were unique to orcs: sharp teeth.

They even discovered some "familiar orcs".

A young bear warrior, having just smashed the skull of a skeleton with his shield, suddenly lost his footing and a bone claw grabbed his ankle, dragging him to the ground.

His companion roared and chopped off the bone claw. The young warrior, still shaken, leaped up and glanced instinctively at the skeletal hand on the ground, which he had stomped on and broken.

His gaze froze instantly.

The shattered metacarpal wrist was encased in a heavily corroded copper ring, but the pattern on it was still faintly discernible—an etched claw mark.

This is a ring of honor that only officers who have received commendations are allowed to wear among the "Cracked Claws," and the small hook on the claw mark is the finishing touch that the soldier carved for his younger brother.

This bronze ring was a gift he had commissioned from a craftsman at great expense, a personal present for his younger brother who had just joined the battle and earned his first meritorious service! His brother, however, had disappeared during a charge last week, his body never recovered…

"Ah... Brother?"

The warrior let out a muffled murmur and couldn't help but bend down to get a better look. Then, another bone claw shot out and pierced his wide-open eye, and blood gushed from between the fingers and between his eye socket.

Another veteran centurion from Motianling stomped through the skeleton with a war stomp, but his peripheral vision was involuntarily drawn to a long, curved horn not far away.

It was a long horn, a uniquely shaped bull horn with obvious signs of being joined in the middle, growing on the skull of a relatively intact minotaur!
As a "secondary sexual characteristic" of the Minotaur race, the warriors of Sky Ridge regard bull horns as honor, power, and a second life. However, damage is common in battles, so the race has professional repair and restoration masters.

Each broken-horn creature has a different shape and curvature of its horn, and the location, direction, and materials of the repairs also vary. To a familiar orc, the differences are easily distinguishable.

The old ox commander of Motianling was struck dumb at first glance.

That horn, that distinctive slightly outward curve… He couldn’t be mistaken! That was his mentor, a Minotaur captain who, though limited by his talent, had never been able to advance to the Totem rank, but whose battlefield experience was extremely rich and who had pulled him back from the brink of death time and time again!
Seeing the long horn being violently severed once again, the commander of Motianling roared, seemingly losing his mind in an instant. He lowered his head, bent over, and his thick hind legs unleashed astonishing power!
[Savage Charge] crashes into the orc teammate who is "damaging the teacher's remains".

Caught off guard, the orc warrior was sent flying through the air like a rag doll without even uttering a sound. His sternum visibly caved in, and he coughed up blood. He flew seven or eight meters before crashing into a pile of broken bones and mud, his fate unknown.

Then, the centurion, who had taken his teammate's place, was met with a barrage of attacks from his own teacher.

"Roar!!!"

A roar of extreme pain and rage reverberated through the rain, even drowning out the sounds of artillery fire and wind on the battlefield. It came from Bloodscar Rag, the bear-man commander of the Crackclaw tribe, known for his bravery and rage.

He stopped his frenzied slaughter, stood amidst a pile of broken bones, his warhammer hanging low, his chest heaving violently.

His gaze was fixed intently on his feet.

There lay half of a particularly robust skeleton, shattered completely by his hammer blow. Hanging from the broken cervical vertebrae was a palm-sized bone pendant covered in mud. Rainwater was slowly washing away the grime, revealing worn red tassels.

The pendant is engraved with the unique mark belonging to Rag's own family: a bear claw tearing a shield.

He was very familiar with this bone chain; it was a coming-of-age gift he gave to his most beloved eldest son, who had just died on this very battlefield a few days earlier.

Now, it seems he has killed the child again!
Bloodscar Rag suddenly looked up, his crimson eyes sweeping over the ever-surging tide of skeletons around him. His gaze was no longer simply filled with killing intent, but rather with disbelief, rage, and a trace of deep-seated pain.

The cold rain poured into Rag's neck armor, but he felt a surge of hot blood rushing to his head, accompanied by a chill that penetrated to his very bones.

He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, to roar, to question, to curse, but his vocal cords had already been torn in that desperate roar, leaving only hoarse, gasping breaths in his throat.

In the end, he didn't utter a single word!
This is war!

It was a brutal war!

It's a war of life and death!

But now, for the elite orcs who have charged here, what has this turned into?
It turned into a war where you live, I die, you live, and then I die again!
Those currently waging war against the orcs are yesterday's comrades, today's undead, and perhaps, tomorrow's version of themselves.

Before them, one skeleton after another staggered forward, their skulls reflecting the dark, rainy clouds, the flashes of artillery fire that pierced the sky, and the orc warriors' faces contorted with terror and rage deep within their eye sockets.

"May the spirits of our ancestors be upon us!"

"These despicable humans... how many of our tribe's warriors have they buried here?"

"What should we do?"

"what to do???"

(End of this chapter)