Ashen Dragon

Its name is Barn, and it is widely known as a "smart" Orc.

The so-called "old things" is what the green-skin Orcs call the pure-blood Orcs.

The two actually despise each other. Pure-blood Orcs consider green-skin Orcs to be cheap and vile, while green-skin Orcs regard pure-blood Orcs as "cowards even afraid of death."

However, under the mediation of the Great Chief Solo, who carries the blood of both kinds, the green-skin Orcs temporarily submitted to the strength of the pure-blood Orcs and were tempted by their rhetoric to "plunder Aivendel". Only then did they come to the front lines as cannon fodder.

At this moment, realizing the truth, some Orcs thought it better to fight those "old things" than to die meaninglessly on the battlefield, at least they could have a satisfying kill spree before their end.

In their hearts, who they were fighting wasn't important. What mattered was having a fight—seeing blood, killing.

As a result, with this extraordinary logic incomprehensible to normal beings, tens of thousands of green-skin Orcs marched forward aggressively, charging towards the rear—the camp of pure-blood Orcs.

"Old things, we can't beat those Imperial People, we can't even approach them, so we'll have to fight you instead!"

"Brothers, let's enjoy ourselves before death! Follow me, kill!"

"Waaagh! Old things, I'm going to slaughter you all! For making us cannon fodder! And trying to deceive us!"

Those defecting green-skin Orcs swung their Bone Rods and Stone Axes, roaring madly, rushing toward the Orcs' positions.

The ground trembled, rocks rolled down the hillside.

"Gush above..."

"Get back! Are you planning to be deserters?"

"Damn low-level Beastmen! What are you doing? Rebelling?"

"No, it's not that... They're... They're really rebelling! These low-level Beastmen have betrayed us!" shouted a Beastman Guard.

Barn swung a Bone Rod and smashed the shouting Orc's skull into pieces, brain matter splattered everywhere, then righteously rebuked him: "You old things, you still want to trick us into dying—should've been beaten to death long ago!"

The Orcs stationed at the camp were caught off guard. They could only shout a few curses before being overwhelmed by the flood of green-skin Orcs.

Even in death, they didn't expect that these barely qualifying kin would defect and counterattack for such an absurd reason as "lack of battles."

However, compared to the battlefield with millions of Orcs involved, the betrayal of these Orcs caused barely a ripple.

"Chieftain! Chieftain! This is bad! The low-level Beastmen at the front lines have rebelled!"

"Chieftain! The Imperial People's Magic is far too powerful. The low-level Beastmen on our side have been completely slaughtered—none remain alive!"

"It's bad! The Imperial People's iron monsters are about to crush us!"

Beastman Scouts riding Worgs rushed hurriedly from all directions of the battlefield, bringing urgent reports—all of them bad news without exception!

Solo sat grimly on the Bone Throne, his face as dark as a storm, his right hand tightly gripping the Blood Spear, trembling faintly, the sound of cracking knuckles echoing.

"Damn Imperial People..."

The Orc leader gritted his teeth, abruptly stood up, and bellowed at the assembled Orcs beneath: "You worthless bunch! Idiots! Can't even handle a group of low-level Beastmen!"

"We have three million warriors! Three million warriors attacking a single fortress of the enemy—and we end up utterly defeated!"

Solo turned his head sharply toward a robed Shaman in the distance. Bloodshot eyes filled with rage, he shouted angrily: "Mo Ke! Is this what you call a plan?

Is your so-called plan—to have tens of thousands of low-level Beastmen counterattack us instead?!"

Mo Ke lowered his head respectfully, his voice still hoarse and devoid of emotion: "Great Chief, I sowed a 'Seed' among them—a seed that could nurture powerful Beastmen.

It's just... the enemy we're facing is too strong. A Legendary or greater individual intervened, and even I am powerless."

Upon hearing this, Solo erupted in fury, almost throwing his Blood Spear at the Shaman.

He strode over, grabbed Mo Ke by the neck with one hand, lifting him completely off the ground, roaring at his withered face: "That's just your incompetence! Useless!"

Despite being strangled, Mo Ke still spoke word by word: "Great Chief... This... is meaningless."

"Boom!"

A shell landed outside the camp, causing an explosion that soared into the sky, engulfing several Orc soldiers and Clan Leaders, leaving a charred crater outside their tents.

"The Black Bird Clan's Chief was killed by the explosion!" someone screamed from outside.

The Orcs in the tent turned to look, gasping in horror, their expressions becoming increasingly chaotic and fearful.

The terrifying weapons crafted by the Imperial People could now threaten even those stationed far in the rear!

Seeing this, Solo dropped Mo Ke casually, though the rage in his eyes grew even stronger. A trace of unease and fear emerged, sweat trickling down his forehead.

"Huff, huff, huff..."

Solo panted heavily, taking a long time to calm down. He looked around and asked: "Everyone, now... what should we do?"

"Fight them to the end! Even now, we still have over two million warriors!"

"Exactly! Even if we were two million pigs, the Imperial People wouldn't necessarily be able to kill us all!" someone slammed the table, their voice fervent.

"The Imperial People's weapons can kill from thousands of meters away..."

"Indeed, those low-level Beastmen are useless. Their numbers mean nothing..."

"We should retreat to Wuge Prairie, scatter to our own grasslands. The Imperial People likely won't chase us there..."

But more Orcs shook their heads, whispering among themselves, hesitating and discussing softly. After witnessing Batú's Red Blood Tribe's downfall, they had become increasingly cautious.

—After all, those filled with passion and recklessness had largely died on the battlefield, fallen before Aivendel's walls.

Hearing the murmurs, Solo's expression grew darker. He once thought he would surpass Batu, realizing the Orcs' thousand-year ambition.

Yet now, Solo's dream had utterly shattered.

The brutal reality was: under his leadership, the Orcs hadn't even seen the walls of Aivendel, reflecting the massive casualties and vast stretches of land covered by their bodies.

Mo Ke stepped forward, saying: "Let's go, Great Chief. We must leave here, return to that valley."

He pointed to the green-skin Orc tsunami in the distance, saying: "These low-level Orcs are like weeds on the prairie; burn one patch, another patch grows. They're impossible to kill off completely."

"We just need to bide our time in Wuge Prairie, continuously breed low-level Orcs, let them proliferate endlessly. One day, the Imperial People will show fatigue, and then—that will be our chance."

Once this was said, the various Clan Leaders all voiced their agreement. After all, the sacrifice made this time had only been the lives of the low-level Orcs — those pests could grow back like weeds at any time.

Even if millions had died, it was nothing more than a simple statistic.

As for their elite Orc Warriors, if killed by the Empire's weapons, it would take years, even decades, to cultivate replacements, making such losses a waste.

Additionally, these Clan Leaders harbored ulterior motives—they relied on their strong warriors to compete with other tribes for grazing lands and hunting grounds, especially if the Red Blood Tribe were to collapse again.

"Bang!"

Solo thought for a long time, finally tightening his fist and slamming it hard on the table, reluctantly saying: "Fine, then... we'll do as you say."

We'll retreat to Beastman Valley for now, waiting for the next opportunity. As for those low-level Orcs... leave them all here."