Necromancer, summoning 055? What the heck?

Chapter 494 Metal Storm, Desperate Charge, Royal Court's Silence

Brox charged forward with great strides.

This Crusher, the Warlord, believed that the enemy was not far away, and he would use their blood to wash away the shame of the Savage Stone Gate.

He had completely fallen into a state of frenzied stress.

The rough breath exhaled from his nostrils condensed into white mist in the cold air, and the huge heart in his chest was pumping blood frantically at a rate of nearly three times per breath, sending scalding blood to his limbs.

He was running faster.

Brox was a pure infantry lord, so pure that he could not use any traditional mounts, not only during battles but even during marches.

He is dizzy with frost wolves, warhorses, lions, big cats... and any four-legged or multi-legged creature that can carry him at high speed.

Being carried at high speed by a mount, the spasms in his chest and abdomen and the dizzying sensation of the spinning world would instantly turn this warrior who had torn apart the cannibal into a puddle of mud.

The only thing Brox doesn't get dizzy about is people.

He often ripped off the forearms of human warriors and shredded the muscles of their upper arms, supposedly to make their legs more flexible and stronger. The remaining upper arms could be used to swing and help increase speed.

Insert the steel rod at the tip of a tough, oil-soaked rein into their mouths and cheeks, like putting a bridle on a wild horse, and then pull it out from the other side to tighten it.
Thick chains pass through the shoulder blades and are secured to the head with buckles at the top, forming a specially designed saddle.

Then, Brox would ride on that guy, or those guys, like an adult riding a child.

This is Broxigarst's favorite mount.

The long whip with barbs was swung again and again, and with each strike, it licked a piece of bloody flesh off that trembling back.

I'd like to remind them that life is about movement.

Is it cruel?
Brox didn't think so. He even said to the royal court's high priest with a tone of pity, "Look, this is how they humans treat other beasts."

"Hood the warhorses, put nose rings on the old oxen, and chain the hunting dogs..."

He opened his mouth wide and laughed wildly, revealing a set of fangs stained black and yellow with some kind of plant sap: "Humans are nothing but skinny, hairless beasts!"

"Isn't this appropriate?"

However, compared to standard mounts, these human professionals who can carry heavy loads at breakneck speed, obey orders, and even be described as submissive, are not easy to deal with. Broxigar brought only six of them to the front lines this time.

Unfortunately, in that damned bombardment from above the clouds just now, two of his "mounts" tied to the training ground stakes were killed and four were injured.

He's tethered to me; I can't even run away when the bomb falls.

Without a "mount," Brox had to run on his own.

This made the orc warlord extremely agitated. He didn't have the feeling of riding on a human's back, bouncing and swaying as he ran. Instead, he felt disgusted by the sharp, jagged stones and withered grass under his feet, which made him feel extremely uncomfortable.

He was eager to have a major battle with the enemy.

In order to maximize his speed, he began to drastically reduce his load.

He ripped off his thick armor, and the gust of wind from his rapid run ruffled his thick, dark brown hair, revealing the sharp, angular muscles on his body.

He discarded his warhammer, his waist knife, and even his beloved whip, leaving only a pair of dark, worn-out boxing gloves.

This did indeed greatly increase his speed; for the initial stretch of the journey, he was even on par with the galloping Frostwolf cavalry.

After galloping for dozens of kilometers, he remained close behind the cavalry, charging at the forefront of all the infantry orcs. His personal guard, waving two large banners, chased after him with all their might.

The ferocious beast totems on the banners became the guide for the entire army's advance.

Following behind the banner were the orc soldiers, who came out in full force, howling and roaring.

Of course, using the word "with" is a bit of a stretch.

Aside from the well-trained royal guard cavalry at the front, the only forces that could maintain speed and formation under such intense attack conditions were the two infantry groups, one heavy and one light, sent by the Wilderness Royal Court for support.

The heavy infantrymen clad in thick plate armor and carrying tower shields, and the light orcs draped in leather armor and wielding javelins and battle axes, were all gritting their teeth, panting heavily, and trying their best not to fall behind.

These orcs were equally eager to find those despicable cowards who only dared to cast spells from above the clouds, to find their hideouts, and to vent their pent-up resentment and frustration on their enemies.

The best fate for the enemy is to be crushed into dust by the orcs, just like those enemies who were destroyed by the orcs in countless past wars. Even their bones are finely crushed, pounded into bone meal with a stone mortar, and mixed into the tribe's winter jerky, leaving not a single bit of grit.

With such expectations, the orcs' steps became even wilder.

The team became increasingly scattered and stretched out over time.

They were like fermenting dough being slowly stretched into a strange, irregular long strip, their formation crooked and swaying, occasionally getting caught on a slope or a large rock on the ground, immediately branching out into many more forks.

But ultimately, one can still see the effort put into blending them together.

As for the other pursuing forces, they were already scattered and disorganized, strewn all over the mountains and fields.

If you've lost your way, it doesn't matter. You're still heading south, south with all your might!

In their search for the enemy, they did indeed discover some traces of humans, which made them even more ferocious.

Prior to this, in order to make the Eastern Xia Expeditionary Force's assault smoother, the Han Hai Territory dispatched dozens of elite squads to the area near the wasteland. These squads, centered around elven archers and coordinated with human assault troops or orc berserkers, eliminated the orc outposts scattered around the wasteland.

Now, faced with the crazed orcs, they have been ordered to retreat.

Clear hoofprints, fresh horse droppings, and a campfire still warm from being trampled out—all of this convinced the orcs that they were very close to the enemy! The vanguard quickened their pace once more.

Looking down from the sky, the front row of orcs stretched out in a dark mass across the wasteland, over the hills, and over the battle zones where the vast sea had once planted guiding flags.

The orcs in the middle row were gradually torn apart and scattered, turning into several chaotic herds of beasts.

As for those who lagged behind, the ranks were stretched further and further apart, scattered across an area seven or eight kilometers deep and more than ten kilometers wide, here and there, scattered here and there, in twos and threes, each striving and stumbling forward.

Just as these beastmen were struggling to maintain their physical strength and willpower, a clear signal came from the scouts in the air.

The enemy appears to be arrayed ahead!

Brox was invigorated.

He stopped abruptly, the immense momentum causing his feet to carve two deep furrows in the ground.

The orc warlord took a deep breath, then raised his bristling head, opened his blood-red maw, and let out a battle roar that shook the entire field—

"kill!"

"Kids, charge in!"

"Kill them!"

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.

The artillerymen of the Third Combat Group of the Hanhai are debugging their weapons.

According to the command's operational plan, the artillery group was originally supposed to quickly advance to a position 60 to 70 kilometers away from the orc wasteland defense line, and then launch a heavy artillery barrage to cover the area with firepower.

However, the orcs' attack disrupted this plan.

The images transmitted by the reconnaissance system showed tens of thousands of dark, swarming orcs rushing south like they were in heat. If they were to collide head-on, the consequences would be unimaginable.

The artillery had to halt early, deploy to their positions, and enter a state of combat readiness.

Those who were able to set off as the vanguard were all seasoned veterans. Although the formation was changed hastily, Dongxia executed it in an orderly manner.

However, having suddenly arrived at this battlefield in another world and fought against a group of "beasts" that only exist in myths and virtual imaginations, the warriors still found their throats dry and their hearts racing.

Excitement, anticipation, and a little bit of nervousness.

The commanders' voices echoed across the channel, filled with the excitement of impending battle.

"We've already done dozens of drills, what's there to be nervous about? Focus on combat readiness and execute according to the tactical manual!"

"Has the tire pressure gone down? Check it again!"

"Don't completely trust automatic control systems! Trust your eyes and hands! Double-check everything, don't be careless!"

"Weather data updated: wind speed level 3, wind direction southeast, humidity 43%! Parameter calibration, expected engagement in 15 minutes!"

"Let's fight with our spirit and morale, so we don't become a laughing stock among our brothers in front!"

The troops in front naturally refer to the army.

They set off before the Third Combat Group, always ahead of the artillery. Now, facing the orc army, they had no choice but to stop and take up positions about 15 kilometers in front of the artillery, constructing an arc-shaped defensive line on the spot to prepare to withstand this wave of enemy frontal assault.

They have a harder time than the artillerymen.

The army still needs to dig holes.

The Dongxia troops possess both exceptional talent and remarkable skill in civil engineering. The moment the troops landed, technicians and engineers would pinpoint locations and lay lines, and in an instant, shovels flew and dust billowed.

The soldiers' entrenching tools cut into the hard topsoil of the wasteland. With a push of their feet on the shoulders of the shovels and a twist of their arms, a square layer of soil covered with thick turf was completely overturned.

In just over twenty minutes, short trenches, each about six meters long and a little over one meter deep, had been dug out.

Fresh, moist soil was piled up in front of the trench, quickly compacted and reinforced, forming a natural breast wall.

This is a summary of the achievements of the Vast Ocean Territory in the war against the orcs. The orcs have relatively few ranged attack methods, and they can only use a few types of attacks: spear throwing, axe throwing, needle shooting, and stones thrown when they are desperate.

Standard trenches are completely unnecessary. These shallow trenches with breastworks and some cover in front can completely shield against most damage.

A short trench, just big enough to fit a squad of soldiers, set up two heavy machine guns and two grenade launchers, along with automatic rifles and grenades, to deal with the orcs charging in headfirst. This was a classic case of the father beating the son!
Despite seemingly having an overwhelming advantage, as the army's first battle after leaving the mountains, Dongxia still cautiously erected two layers of barbed wire in front of the position and deployed a mine-laying vehicle.

The Hanhai Field Army dared not lay mines indiscriminately, mainly for fear of blocking their own path for subsequent attacks, but Dongxia did not have this concern.

All landmines are locating, identifiable, and remotely controllable products. They're like fireworks when the enemy steps on them, but silent when our troops step on them.

The best field of fire was reserved for the heavy machine gun. The sturdy rotating barrel was mounted on the mound of earth in front of the trench, the tripod was opened, inserted into the pre-marked position, leveled, locked, and then shaken.

The ammunition handler opens the ammunition box, and the ammunition belt drops from the box opening and is inserted into the feed mechanism. After checking the sights and air cooler, the main gunner slowly places his hand on the trigger. The whole process is smooth and efficient.

The entire battle line was like a giant beast that had just awakened from its slumber, opening its eyes and baring its fangs. With a wild stretch, its bones, muscles, and skin moved layer by layer, gradually completing their preparations.

During this process, the frontline command vehicle makes continuous local fine-tuning based on prompts from the battlefield artificial intelligence system, and sends commands to the soldiers' ears through the headsets of the smart helmets.

"First Platoon, First Squad, Second Company, move your position five meters to the left. The original position has overlapping blind spots when firing from a crouching position. Be careful not to leave any blind spots!"

"Move position 117 thirty paces northeast, placing it on top of that earthen slope, to coordinate with the suppression of the open area at the front!"

"Reserve units, check your weapons, load live ammunition, and prepare for combat!"

"No firing without orders!"

With everything ready, and after another long ten minutes or so, a black line finally appeared on the horizon.

The black line was writhing, expanding, slowly but steadily creeping towards Dongxia's defense line.

It crossed hills and slopes, crashed onto low embankments, turned into many black dots, then gathered again and continued forward.

Thousands upon thousands of feet pounded the ground, producing a dull, chaotic, yet still thunderous sound that shook the plains.

As the charging orcs stepped onto an unseen red line, the artillery of the Eastern Xia Expeditionary Force opened fire.

A dull rumble sounded.

The roar seemed somewhat different from the previous two rounds of air force bombing.

The shrieks from the sky were piercing and tearing, hurtling down from overhead; while the roar was deep and resonant, as if rolling in from the depths of the earth.

Heavy artillery bombardment and aerial bombardment are completely different concepts.

Artillery is known as the "King of War" on Earth because it not only has sufficient destructive power, but also has an extremely high cost-effectiveness ratio and a powerful ability to suppress fire continuously.

For example, the Dongxia aircraft group that took off to bomb the barbaric Shimen Fortress twice, causing multiple damages and thousands of casualties.

However, if all the bombers were replaced with heavy artillery, and the bombs and missiles were replaced with artillery shells, then this famous fortress on the orc wasteland would probably be bombed so badly that not even an ant could crawl out.

As long as the artillery can hold its ground and continue firing, this is undoubtedly the strongest weapon after nuclear bombs.

At this moment, more than 600 155mm self-propelled howitzers were deployed on the artillery positions of Dongxia, along with more than 200 122mm howitzers carried by the army, as well as various individual guns, recoilless rifles, and shoulder-fired rocket launchers, forming a firepower cluster that the orcs could not even imagine.

The artillery groups in the second and third cycles continued to enter the Starry World, rushing towards the battlefield one after another.

The devastating roar of war began to echo across the land.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
A continuous, thunderous sound, so dense that it was almost impossible to hear any breaks.

Fifty-kilogram projectiles rained down from the sky. The explosions had just created orange-red fireballs in the orc ranks when the second, third, tenth, and hundredth projectiles followed in quick succession, blooming into dense, deadly flowers of fire among the orc ranks.

The first volley of artillery fire landed precisely on the orc vanguard, on the heads of the troops who were still maintaining their formation.

On the battlefield, being able to maintain a neat and orderly formation is a huge advantage.

Unless there is artillery on the other side!
Shrapnel flew everywhere, and shockwaves rolled. Those figures who were just running were torn to pieces in an instant, thrown into the air, and then crashed heavily into pools of blood.

At this moment, the orcs were unaware of the seriousness of the problem.

Just as in every large-scale war before, when they charged towards the human magic arrays that filled the sky, the orc warriors tore through the surrounding scorching flames and shockwaves and continued their advance.

They firmly believed that as long as they broke into the enemy's ranks, those weaklings would cry for their parents and collapse instantly.

However, the density of this "magic" is a bit too high.

Some of the Frostwolf began to panic.

Whether you panic or not, it's all the same. It's a barrage of attacks; whether you advance, retreat, or cower and hide, everyone is equal under the firepower.

An explosion rang out not far in front of Broxigar, instantly slicing off half the head of a frost wolf riding a wolf rider. The momentum propelled the beast forward and to the side for another dozen meters, blood spurting from its neck in an arc, before it crashed to the ground, throwing the knight off its back and flattening him into a pancake.

A heavily armored cavalry captain was thrown to the ground. The thick armor blocked the initial impact and shrapnel, causing only minor deformation. But soon, another cannonball, which was at close range, blasted him into the air.

The continuous close-range attacks seemed to have finally broken through the orc's defenses. The cavalry captain spat out a thick mist of blood, which appeared to contain fragments of internal organs.

The blood mist, swept up by the shockwave, enveloped Brox's face, and seemed to still be warm.

Brox instinctively stuck out his tongue and licked the corner of his mouth—

It was blood, still warm, the blood of his own warriors.

His eyes widened.

Puffs of smoke rose in front of and behind him from all directions, like the surface of a lake after a rainstorm, rippling every moment and in every inch of space.

Amidst the continuous explosions, the roars, screams, curses, and shouts of tens of thousands of orcs were suppressed to a faint background noise.

The warriors following the orc overseer fell in droves, in rows and in swathes.

Brox turned around in astonishment. The war lord's banner had been blown to pieces and was submerged in a pile of bloody wreckage.

His loyal and brave standard-bearer, the captain of his personal guard, the old orc who had followed him for thirty years and shielded him from many fatal attacks, had half of his body sliced ​​off by a huge piece of shrapnel, a large chunk of it disappearing diagonally from his right shoulder to his left waist.

His internal organs flowed out of the huge wound, dragging on the ground, covered in sticky dust. He was still struggling to crawl forward, one hand, a severed arm with bare white bones, digging at the ground as he crawled toward him, shouting something incoherently.

A cloud of smoke from the explosion enveloped him, completely obliterating him.

Caught in the middle of it all, in this slaughterhouse, Broxigar let out a beast-like roar from his chest.

"No!"

"rush--"

"Charge! Charge!"

"Charge them, and they're doomed!"

The warlord has gone mad, and the orcs have gone mad too.

The orc's eyes turned blood red in an instant, and a bloodthirsty gene surged through his entire body.

Driven by the raging genes deep within their bones, they accelerated once again.

They trampled over the corpses of their comrades, stepped over still-wriggling limbs, and passed through walls of fire formed by explosions, launching their final charge toward the enemy position that seemed so close yet so far away.

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.

It must be said, orc hides are really tough.

The bombardment cleared out a portion of the orcs and successfully reduced the average density of the orc army.

From being able to take down dozens of orcs with a single shot, to only taking down a dozen orcs with a single shot, and now only taking down a few orcs with a single shot, and some orcs even managing to dust off the blood and flesh that covered them and get up to continue charging, the orc army seems to have found the feeling of "winning".

Their courage seems to have returned.

Despite such high-density, high-frequency, and high-intensity artillery bombardment, nearly 40% of the orcs still managed to break through the sea of ​​fire.

Although most of them were injured, some had their ears cut off by shrapnel, some had shrapnel stuck in their bodies, and some were bleeding from all seven orifices from the shock, they were indeed still alive, still running, still roaring, and still waving their weapons.

When this scene was relayed from the frontline mobile command post to the Qingfeng Mountain command center, several generals from Dongxia unanimously remarked:

"Still not enough firepower!"

"Seriously insufficient!"

The orcs seemed to see a glimmer of hope.

Then, the machine guns opened fire.

If artillery fire is the wrath of thunder, then machine guns are the scythe of death.

The weapon with the longest range, and the first to hit the orcs, was the anti-aircraft machine gun that had been laid flat.

These twin-mounted, 25mm caliber behemoths, having just finished serving those bipedal dragons in the sky, hurriedly lowered their barrels, or rather, their cannons, and unleashed another sweeping attack on the ground.

A long stream of fire shot out from the barrel, and ammunition poured out like water. The feed mechanism spun wildly, swallowing the ammunition belt at a speed too fast for the naked eye to follow. The golden, still steaming cartridge cases bounced and flew out, piling up at the shooter's feet into a rapidly growing hill.

The orcs charging at the front were turned into charging corpses in the blink of an eye.

Being hit by this thing isn't so much like being riddled with holes, but more like being sifted through a sieve.

The orcs in front fell, leaving long trails of blood, while those behind continued their charge, stepping over the corpses, only to fall one after another.

Charge again, fall again.

The orcs seemed to have collectively lost their minds, charging forward recklessly, using their flesh and blood to meet the dense barrage of bullets that resembled a violent storm.

They brandished their weapons, chanting the name of the beast god, their eyes bloodshot, fangs bared, each step treading on the corpses of their comrades, each step closing the distance between them and their enemies.

Two kilometers.

One kilometer.

800 meters.

500 meters.

Four hundred meters.

Four hundred meters...

Still 400 meters...

In the past, at this distance, an orc only needed one charge and a few quick steps to smash his battle axe into the enemy's chest.

But today, these four hundred meters are the orcs' end, a distance they can never cross.

Because within those four hundred meters, there is a cold, hard barrier made of barbed wire.

Under normal circumstances, such a thin, frail thing should be easily broken or torn apart by a burly orc.

but--

Following the advice of a paralyzed old man, Dongxia ingeniously left some patterns on the barbed wire.

The wire mesh is white, but through partial dyeing, it forms a series of metal wire mesh artworks that still have a certain three-dimensional effect.

The image depicts the spiritual totem of the orcs, the orc god Urgo, the most widely circulated image among orc tribes.

With a serious face and a sorrowful expression, he broke off a fang with one hand and held it forward, while setting his own thick, long hair on fire with the other.

Lifelike; no matter what angle you turn it to, its eyes seem to be looking at you.

Every orc who managed to rush here was the most valiant warrior in the tribe. When they saw this scene, even though their bloodlust filled their minds, they couldn't help but feel a little dazed.

And then, that was it.

This is a bloody battlefield, not the temple of the Beast Clan.

Hesitation means facing a merciless death.

Those orcs who staggered involuntarily, or even knelt down involuntarily, were immediately covered by a dense hail of bullets and fell down in unison like mowing grass.

And those orc berserkers who discovered it too late and couldn't stop in time chose to leap high at the last moment, trying to climb over the barbed wire and use their amazing jumping power to get over this damned obstacle.

The moment they jump, they become the most conspicuous and unshielded live targets.

The flames immediately shifted, weaving into a dense net of fire in the air. Leaping orcs were torn to shreds mid-air, their blood, flesh, and limbs raining down onto the barbed wire, turning the white net a shocking red.

Taking off in the face of heavy firepower will inevitably result in a complete takeoff and a sporadic landing.

Thus, the three-layered barbed wire fence, six meters high and located 400 meters from the front line trench, became an insurmountable barrier for the orc army.

The orc chieftain at the forefront could see the machine gun muzzles swaying wildly, the spent shell casings gushing out like a waterfall, and even the uncontrollable excitement and exhilaration on the faces of the young warriors from Dongxia opposite him.

However, they could only watch in vain, never able to reach it.

The Beastmaster opened his mouth and let out a short, furious roar. Then, a series of blood flowers exploded on his chest, and he collapsed to the ground as if his bones had been removed.

The spear, which had not yet been thrown with force, fell weakly forward and stuck obliquely in the soil in front of the barbed wire, its shaft trembling precariously.

"Beast God...by yours!"

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.

Finally, the most valiant of the orcish charging warriors were all dead.

The orcs behind, already disorganized and torn apart by the forced march, hesitated and panicked after witnessing the horrific scene at the front of the battlefield and being subjected to extended fire from the Eastern Xia heavy artillery. Then, in large numbers, they turned tail and fled.

In an instant, the entire battle line collapsed like an avalanche.

They pushed and shoved each other, trampled each other, lost their armor and weapons, and fled in disarray.

Brox did not go that far.

Because he had no mount, he stayed in the middle to front of the orcish column. When the Dongxia artillery roared, he witnessed firsthand how his most elite cavalry were shredded in the meat grinder of the battlefield.

Then, he roared in anger and launched another charge, only to be held back tightly by his subordinates.

A dozen guards surrounded him, wrapping their bodies around him and shielding him from most of the shrapnel, leaving him almost stranded on the spot to witness the spectacular sight of the orc army charging toward their deaths.

A shell exploded nearby, and two guards groaned and fell to the ground, while the remaining orcs held Broxigar even tighter.

When the war lord finally regained consciousness, he was left with only a handful of guards, surrounded by a scene of carnage and corpses.

He was afraid.

Even the most ruthless person, when faced with a situation where they are powerless to fight back and can only be slaughtered, cannot suppress their fear and trembling.

He reluctantly agreed and was dragged away from the battlefield by the guards.

During this period, he also encountered several shelling attacks. The most recent one was when a shell landed less than five meters behind him. The huge shockwave threw him into the air and crashed heavily to the ground. His ears were ringing and his vision went completely black.

However, he ultimately survived thanks to the orc's strong physique and the fighting instincts he had honed over the years.

In the eyes of the AI ​​screening system of the Dongxia reconnaissance system, an orc who is shirtless, not wearing armor, has no mount, and even seems to have lost his weapon is obviously not an important target.

Rockets and loitering munitions were all aimed at those fully armed guys who were clearly Orc generals.

Thus, after a hasty skirmish, the orc army that had launched its attack from the Savage Stone Gate suffered a complete rout.

The brave suffered heavy casualties, their bodies strewn across the fields.

Those who survived were utterly devastated, their souls scattered and their livers and gallbladders shattered.

The Eastern Xia combat group began to expand its reconnaissance, clean up the battlefield, organize equipment, replenish fuel and ammunition, and clear the way for the advance.

The second batch of army groups, with eyes full of envy, saluted and paid tribute to their comrades who had just completed a "live-fire target practice exercise," before quickly passing through the battlefield and continuing their advance.

Meanwhile, the air force combat group, which had been ignoring this battlefield, had abandoned the empty, desolate Stone Gate Fortress and begun bombing deep into the orc wasteland.

Soon, one piece of bad news after another flew into the Orcish royal court.

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.

When the battle report arrived, the orc royal court was bathed in the warm afterglow of the setting sun over the wasteland.

This is a massive fortified village nestled against a high mountain and facing the Baishui River.

One side of the royal court is a steep cliff, a wound left by the earth's crust tearing apart countless millions of years ago. The dark brown rock walls stand as if carved by a knife and axe, covered with vines and moss. The other side is surrounded by two streams flowing down from the top of the sacred mountain, one on the left and one on the right, meandering down.

High up on the mountainside, a stream secretly slips into the mountainside, and when it emerges again, it is filled with steaming heat and white mist, as if draping half of the royal court in a hazy veil.

Finally, the two streams, one hot and one cold, converged at the foot of the royal court to form a dark green pool. After filling the pool, the water churned and overflowed, creating a long river that flowed towards the distant southeast.

The airships of the Vast Ocean once briefly reached this place, saw the royal court, which the orcs regarded as the supreme and sacred place, and also photographed this deep pool, which the orcs called "Urgo's Navel". It is like a huge obsidian mirror, reflecting the cliffs, the sky and the stars and moon in the high sky.

Geologists from Dongxia determined that the lake must contain abundant minerals to give it such a deep, dark color.

Long ago, orcs chased wild beasts across the wastelands, living a nomadic life and wandering from place to place; there was no such thing as a royal court.

It wasn't until the legendary beast god transformed his body into this "Mount Urgo," and his tears flowed from the sacred mountain, gathering at his "navel" to form this "Pool of Urgo," that the beastmen finally had a royal court.

The royal palace complex is situated on a hillside between cliffs and streams.

Unlike the refinement of humans, the elegance of elves, and the elaborate carvings and decorations, the overall style of the Orcish Royal Court can be summed up in two words: rugged.

Huge stones, giant trees, and enormous animal bones were the main building materials for the royal court.

Using the massive boulders that jutted out of the mountains, some weighing tens of tons, the orcs carried out extensive excavations, inserting century-old giant trees and using even more timber to build houses.

Various white skeletons—mammoth ribs, earthworm spines, the enormous skulls of unknown beasts, and so on—were used as columns, arches, and decorations, embedded in the stone walls and beams.

From a distance, it looked as if the fortress had truly grown from the remains of some ancient deity.

In the center of this royal city stands the Beast King's royal palace.

To be precise, it can't really be called a palace because it has no roof. It is surrounded by huge stone walls that are over ten meters high, forming a huge open-air plaza.

In the very center of the plaza stands a high platform carved from a single massive stone, its base layered with animal bones. Each bone belongs to one of the most powerful heroes, the most terrifying enemies, or the most legendary beasts in orc history.

Every orc warrior sends the most beautiful bones from the first beast they hunted upon reaching adulthood to this place, leaving behind their mark and legend, which also becomes part of the eternal orc throne.

The throne, symbolizing the orcs' supreme power, sits atop Bone Mountain, overlooking the entire plaza, the royal court, and the wasteland.

Even half a star!
Seated on the throne was the current Beast King, or Beast Emperor.

Golden Mane Reinhardt.

This creature was incredibly tall, over two meters even when seated. It possessed an exceptionally dazzling head of thick, golden mane that cascaded over its broad shoulders, adorned with trophies representing supreme glory—the jade-like finger bones of an elven ranger, the withered scalp of a human general, the cervical vertebrae of an adult cannibalistic mage, and the short fangs of an orc chieftain…

Reinhardt's face was sharply defined, with high brow bones and deep-set eyes that were a deep amber color. They were half-open, half-closed, as if listening or perhaps dozing.

He sat there lazily and casually, one hand supporting his chin and the other resting on the armrest of the throne, his breathing steady and long, his golden mane rising and falling slightly with each breath, like a lion taking a nap in the afternoon.

A scout lay prone on the ground, his forehead pressed against the cold stone slab, trembling all over. Sweat dripped from his body, matting his fur together, and his eyes were filled with uncontrollable terror.

He brought back the latest news from the front lines.

One bad news after another, one after another.

A deathly silence fell over the scene.

Throughout the council hall, hundreds of tribal chiefs, war lords, shamans, witch doctors, and totem guardians gripped their bone chains tightly, held their breath, and dared not utter a sound.

A gentle breeze swept by, and Reinhardt suddenly opened his eyes.

Those deep, amber eyes, like two lamps suddenly lit in the darkness, gazed at the messenger prostrate on the ground, and at the tribal elders who stood silent below the platform.

He slowly sat up straight.

"So, Brox lost?"

"The Desolate Stone Gate is lost?"

"The Azure Thunder Legion is gone?"

"In just one day, the glory that the Great Beast God bestowed upon us for ten thousand years has been completely squandered?"

(End of this chapter)