Ashen Dragon

"Hurry! Quick, move!"

"By Father God Guosh, how could those Imperial people possess such weapons!"

"No wonder the High Mountain Kingdom fell to them! With just these low-level Beastmen, how could we possibly reclaim Aivendel?"

Staring at the earth covered in thick smoke and flames in the distance, the Orcs looked terrified, abandoning their supplies as they fled hurriedly northward once again.

Fortunately, the camps of these pure-blood Orcs were all located far behind the battlefield, requiring only a retreat of a dozen leagues to reach their homeland—the Wuge Prairie.

Solo rode atop a Wildland Dragon Beast, turning his head to gaze at the war-torn battlefield. Reflected in his eyes were flickering flames, but deep in his pupils burned profound hatred.

At this point, Solo's grand ambition of capturing Aivendel, leading the Orcs to conquer the Fianso Continent, had utterly dissolved into a mirage.

His "million Beastmen" army hadn't even breached the walls of Aivendel before being incinerated en masse by the Ashen Empire's overwhelming flames.

Alongside those green-skin Orcs who had been burned to ash, Solo's prestige and honor as a Great Chief also turned to dust.

——In recent days, he'd heard many unsettling rumors that, due to their defeat on the battlefield, the Clan Leaders were planning to break away from the Red Blood Tribe after the war ended, no longer obeying its leadership.

How could he not hate?

Solo hated not only the Ashen Empire for crushing his dreams, but also those selfish and shortsighted Clan Leaders, harboring bitter resentment for their plans of betrayal.

Thinking of this, the veins on Solo's forehead bulged as he forced out a few words through clenched teeth: "Ashen Empire, one day I'll lead countless Orcs to massacre your citizens. I'll personally sever the head of that cursed Red Dragon and hang it upon Aivendel's walls...

Of course, I'll deal with those damned traitors first!" The Orc Chief tightened his grip on the Blood Spear, his murky eyes emanating an intense, murderous aura.

"Swoosh—"

A piercing whistle echoed from the distant horizon, as several Bipedal Wyverns flew high across the sky, dropping bomb after bomb onto the advancing Orc army.

"Boom!"

"Boom! Boom!"

Fire surged skyward, reverberating across the earth, while the Orcs waved their weapons in panic and terror, helpless against the assault.

"Damn it, it's those Imperial Wyverns!"

"What's going on? They've actually pursued us here!"

"By Guosh above, could these Imperial magic and Divine Arts truly be endless?"

"Hurry! Damn it, shoot them down for me!" Solo roared as he saw dozens of his elite Orc warriors obliterated. He raised his eyes to the sky, staring at the black dots, bellowing furiously.

An Orc Cavalryman beside him trembled with a forlorn look, murmuring, "Great Chief, they're flying so high and moving so fast—our short bows can't possibly..."

"Worthless, all of you are useless trash!"

Solo erupted in fury. It was bad enough that the low-level Beastmen were slaughtered, but these cursed Wyverns dared to slaughter his elites! Dared to revel in slaughter in front of him!

Using the crude vulgarity of the Orcs: this was like taking a dump on his head!

"Damned Imperial people, I'll make you pay the price!"

Solo snatched the spear from the hands of the Orc Cavalryman, his bloodshot eyes fixating on the sky. In the distance, the Bipedal Wyverns began to ascend, seemingly preparing to return.

...

High above the battlefield, the Aviation Corps' Wyvern Knights were methodically conducting their routine assignments—pressing buttons, dropping bombs, killing Orcs.

Compared to the intense and thrilling aerial combats of the past, their current operations felt almost like mechanical labor on an assembly line, monotonously repetitive, their only reward the "fireworks" fueled by Orc lives.

This time, their targets were the retreating pure-blood Orcs.

Watching the system panel flood with experience notifications, Mantou frowned: "The Orc density here is insanely low. A single bombing run only killed a dozen of them. At least their Challenge Levels are somewhat decent."

Singo remarked, "You've gotten spoiled by the recent missions, haven't you? Back then, you rushed to do cleaning chores worth a few hundred experience, and now you're grumbling over thousand-exp bombings."

Mantou pouted: "Back then was back then, now is now. Ugh, this mission is fine in every respect, but it's too boring—no combat adrenaline at all.

Every day it's just eat, sleep, bomb Orcs, and rake in thousands of experience points. Boring. Truly, mind-numbingly boring!"

Singo chuckled, "If you said that out loud, I bet those newbies struggling to level up would be waiting to stage a revolt."

Mantou huffed with righteous indignation: "So what? There's no way they could kill me, right? Humph! If they even try, I'll lob a bomb and send them straight to heaven!"

Singo casually observed, "'Arrogance brings downfall.' Looks like you're getting carried away..."

Mantou curled his lips and countered, "Singo, shut up! Don't bring that philosophy crap here. You're always the show-off, stealing the spotlight in every event."

"Wait—"

Singo's tone suddenly became strange: "Mantou, I think your combat adrenaline… might be arriving soon!"

"What?"

Confused, Mantou glanced downward, only to see a hulking Orc clad in heavy armor, gripping a spear, staring up at him with gritted rage.

Meanwhile, the display on his helmet's screen abruptly flashed bright red warnings—"Danger, danger, you are about to encounter imminent threats! Please evacuate immediately!"