Transmigrated with a Demon-Refining Pot: Hehehe, Refine in an instant

The walls of Iron Rock Fort haven't been closed for three days.

Marquis Mammon stood atop the city wall, gazing at the dark mass of orcs in the north, his face revealing neither joy nor anger.

His armor was still stained with blood from yesterday's battle; he hadn't had time to wipe it off, nor did he care to.

Several wounded knights stood behind him, but no one spoke. Only the occasional groans coming from behind the city wall broke the silence.

"My lord, the magic tower on the east side is running out of energy."

A mage in a blue robe walked up to the city wall, his face pale, clutching a staff whose crystal at the tip had lost its luster.

"The magic crystal cannon can fire six more rounds. After that, the city wall will be nothing but stone."

Marquis Mammon nodded silently.

The magician hesitated for a moment, then said, "Yesterday we contacted the duchy through the crystal ball. The duchy requested that we hold out for seven more days, and reinforcements will arrive soon."

Seven days. He wasn't sure if Iron Rock Fortress could hold out for another seven days.

Outside the city, the orcs' horns sounded. Another wave of attack was about to begin.

The Wolf Head Tribe's army surged out of the camp, a dark, dense mass, like locusts sweeping across the land. At the forefront were the cannon fodder—captured human prisoners and low-ranking orcs—driven towards the city walls.

The boar-men, with their thick hides and tough flesh, carried makeshift siege ladders, followed by minotaurs charging ahead. The werewolves, the main force, moved nimbly, using the ladders to attack the city.

"Prepare the magic crystal cannons!" the adjutant shouted.

On the city wall, a dozen or so magic crystal cannons turned around, their muzzles aimed at the most densely populated area of ​​orcs. Crystal cores were injected, and the cannons began to glow.

"put!"

Boom! Boom! Boom!

More than a dozen beams of light blasted into the beastmen's ranks, creating a huge breach. Blood and flesh flew everywhere, and screams were swallowed by the explosions.

But there were too many orcs, and the gap was instantly filled by those behind them, who continued to charge forward.

"Magic shield, maximum power!" Marquis Mammon ordered.

A pale blue light enveloped the entire section of the city wall.

This is Ironrock Fortress's last line of defense. The magic tower has stored up three years' worth of magic power, and most of it has been used up in the last few days.

The orcs' arrows struck the shield, bouncing off and creating ripples. The battering ram slammed into the city gate, causing the shield to tremble violently, but it didn't break.

The first wave of orcs charged to the city walls, and ladders were erected. The defenders stabbed them down with spears, poured boiling oil on them, and screams of agony filled the air. But there were just too many orcs; those in front fell, and those behind climbed over the corpses to continue.

"Mage Corps, Fireball!" Marquis Mammon shouted.

Dozens of mages cast spells simultaneously, creating a dozen or so blazing fireballs in the air that engulfed the ladder and the orcs.

The air was thick with the stench of burning, and the screams were deafening.

The spells have a huge area of ​​effect and cause far more damage to orcs than to knights of the same rank, but mages are a minority, and their magic power cannot sustain them for long periods of time.

The shield took a few more hits, and the light began to flicker.

"My lord, the shield's energy is decreasing too quickly!" the adjutant shouted.

Marquis Mammon gritted his teeth, drew his sword, and channeled his fighting spirit into his body.

Two of his great knights have already died, one has been captured, and the rest are all wounded. Marquis Mammon has long since begun to personally lead the charge.

Just then, a deafening roar came from the orc camp.

A huge figure emerged from behind the orcs.

That guy was two heads taller than an ordinary orc, covered in black mane, and carrying a bone club bigger than a man.

It slowly flew into the sky above the battlefield under everyone's gaze.

Chieftain of the Wolf Head Tribe, Level 3 Life, War King.

The faces of the people on the city wall changed.

"Aim the magic crystal cannons and alchemical crossbows at that!" Marquis Mammon shouted.

The magic crystal cannon spun, aiming at the behemoth-like figure.

"put!"

The beam of light shot out and struck the orc squarely in the chest.

As the smoke cleared, the orc swayed, glanced down at the charred fur on his chest, grinned, revealing a mouthful of fangs.

"Is that all you've got?"

He raised the bone club and slammed it down on the shield, the blood energy surging and hitting the shield squarely.

Boom! The protective shield trembled violently, and cracks spread like a spider web.

Another blow. The shield shattered.

Inside the magic tower, several magicians simultaneously coughed up blood and collapsed to the ground.

The orc slammed his club into the city wall again, causing bricks and stones to shatter. Several guards were thrown back and fell off the wall without a sound.

Marquis Mammon unleashed his full fighting spirit, leading several great knights into the air to meet them.

After becoming a formal knight, one can barely glide through the air; a grand knight can fly for extended periods; and a level three knight is indistinguishable between air and land.

He is a Level 2 Lifeform, at the peak of the Great Knight realm. But against a Level 3 Lifeform, that step is an insurmountable chasm.

Even with several great knights surrounding the werewolf war king, they could only barely hold their own, and that was only with the help of various alchemical items.

The sword clashed with the bone club, sparks flying.

A great knight was blasted away, flying backward and coughing up blood; his left arm was broken. The werewolf war king, however, was unharmed and brought his club down again.

Just then, a blinding white light suddenly shone on the city wall.

An old mage stood atop a magic tower, his body wreathed in pale blue flames, casting a spell while straining his mental energy. The magic tower provided the power, and a thick beam of light blasted towards the werewolf war king.

For the first time, the orc showed a serious expression and raised his club to block.

The beam of light knocked him back, carving a deep trench in the ground.

The old magician fell from the top of the tower and died in mid-air.

This brief respite allowed the defensive shields on the city walls to be raised again.

The orc looked down at the scorch mark on his chest and grinned: "Interesting."

He turned and walked back, waving goodbye.

The orcs began to retreat.

On the city wall, Marquis Mammon leaned on his sword, panting heavily.

The lieutenant crawled over, his face covered in blood: "My lord, more than a thousand more have died... One magic tower is destroyed, and the magic crystal cannon is almost gone... If this continues, we won't last more than two days."

Marquis Mammon didn't speak, he just stared north.

Two days. The Duchy's reinforcements will arrive in at least seven days.

He closed his eyes, lost in thought.

Ron knew nothing about Ironrock Fortress.

He was leading his men south, avoiding the main roads and choosing instead secluded paths. The group now included more than thirty of Victor's men; they moved slowly and were a larger, more conspicuous group.

Since yesterday, they have encountered three waves of orcs.

After each battle, the team suffered even more injuries, severely slowing down their progress.

Ron also noticed the problem.

His spatial bracelet was filled with hundreds of healing potions; once they were used up, he could simply use whatever materials he had on hand to create more.

But he didn't dare to take it out.

With over a dozen pairs of eyes watching him, it would be hard for him not to arouse suspicion if he were to take out something so precious for the soldiers. Not to mention that retrieving it would expose his spatial equipment.

Ron has come to realize in the last couple of days that bringing Victor along does more harm than good. Especially since Victor has now become a burden, and his combat ability is minimal.

He needs to find a way to solve this problem.

Laun leaned closer and whispered, "My lord, Victor has lost two more seriously injured. If this continues, they'll be worn down to death even without the orcs chasing them."

Ron didn't say anything, but glanced at Victor.

Victor was squatting on the ground, trying to convince a wounded soldier of his potential, his face covered in sweat.

He noticed Ron's gaze and quickly forced a smile: "Brother Ron, I... I can still walk this way..."

Ron looked away.

"Take a 15-minute break," Ron said.

"Laun, go scout ahead. Hart, keep an eye on the surroundings."

He turned and walked deeper into the woods: "I'll go take a look ahead."

I've been encountering orcs more and more often today; we're getting closer to Ironrock Keep.

The orc legions were gathering, and Ron had to lead his men carefully around them to avoid a battle.

Once we get around Iron Rock Fortress, the area behind us will be temporarily safe, and we can retreat to the vicinity of Sandstone Fortress to assess the situation.

If the situation can be stabilized, then report on it; if not, retreat quickly.

At night, the team set up camp in a cave.

Ron had his men guard the cave entrance and found a corner to sit down. Laun and Hart stood guard on either side, while Victor leaned against the rock wall at a distance, already asleep.

It was late at night, and a cold wind was howling outside the cave.

Ron closed his eyes, took out a bottle of high-quality concentrate, and swallowed it directly.

A surge of heat rushed into his body, even more intense than during the day. He could feel that power rampaging through him, as if it would burst him apart. He gritted his teeth and forced his battle qi to circulate, trying to guide that power.

Time passed second by second.

After an unknown amount of time, a cracking sound suddenly came from inside his body.

The fighting spirit remained the same; it neither condensed into a vortex nor showed any signs of breaking through.

But something broke, yet something else seemed to grow out.

He opened his eyes and looked down at his hands.

His skin was still the same skin, but he could feel that it was different. Power flowed through his blood, each heartbeat was like a war drum, and every cell in his body was cheering.

Level 1 Life!

His level of life transcended mere fighting spirit; he leaped forward.

As long as he can keep up with his fighting spirit, he will be a true and official knight.

Ron was startled awake. He looked at Ron and hesitated for a moment, then said, "Sir, you..."

Ron shook his head, signaling him to be quiet.

He closed his eyes, feeling the changes within his body; his joints cracked, and his strength was more than twice as great as before.