CHAPTER 221: THE THOUSAND STAND

Returning through the spatial rift back to the subterranean staging grounds of Castle Precipice, Caius stood upon the high stone overlook, looking down at the massive green sea below. Fourteen thousand, nine hundred and ninety orcs stood in rigid formation, their heavy breathing creating a warm, humid haze in the vast cavern.

Caius leaned casually against the stone balustrade, his violet-gold pupils reflecting the sea of muscle and iron.

From a small embroidered velvet pouch held in his left hand, Caius pulled out a small handful of fire-roasted nuts, tossing one into his mouth with a crisp, satisfying crunch.

"Listen up, you brutes," Caius’s voice carried across the vast hall, amplified by a subtle thread of spatial mana that rattled in every orc’s ears. "I require the absolute best among you. One thousand warriors. No more, no less."

A collective, eager growl rippled through the ranks, fifteen thousand pairs of yellowed eyes locking onto their sovereign.

"The rules are simple," Caius continued, chewing slowly. "All-out battle. Pure brute strength, iron, and grit. You will not intentionally sever limbs, and you will not kill your brethren. Beyond that? Hammer each other until only one thousand are left standing."

Caius hadn't even finished swallowing his nut, nor had he uttered the word begin.

ROAR!

The cavern erupted into instant, apocalyptic chaos.

Without waiting for a formal signal, a massive three-hundred-pound orc warrior turned and drove a bare, tree-trunk-sized fist straight into the jaw of the soldier beside him. Teeth flew like white gravel across the floor. Before the struck orc even hit the stone, three others leaped onto him, turning the rigid military squares into a colossal, chaotic brawl of fifteen thousand thrashing monsters.

The roar of violence was deafening.

Earth-shattering blows rattled through the subterranean grounds. Heavy iron gauntlets smashed into green noses; heavy round shields crashed into ribcages with sickening thuds. Orcs threw each other over shoulder-blades, body-slamming their comrades into the basalt flags. Blood, sweat, and spit flew through the air in a thick spray.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

True to Caius's mandate, no heads rolled and no limbs were severed, but the sheer physical brutality was staggering. Crushed cheekbones, dislocated shoulders, split lips, and swollen eyes were dealt out by the thousands. When an orc was beaten unconscious, those around him simply stepped over his groaning body to tackle the next standing challenger. The fanatical lust for battle was absolute, every single brute fought like a rabid beast just for the privilege of being chosen by their master.

On the high overlook, Caius watched the spectacle with genuine entertainment, tossing another roasted nut into his mouth.

"Ah," Caius murmured, nodding in approval as an exceptionally large orc picked up two of his brethren by their ankles and slammed them together like clashing cymbals. "Good form on that leverage."

Beside him, Old Bones stood holding a silver bowl filled with fresh roasted nuts, his dark face contorted in a mixture of exasperation and weary dread. The old dark elf let out a heavy, suffering sigh.

He’s just bored, Old Bones thought to himself, watching Caius crunch contentedly on his snack while ten thousand green behemoths beat each other into pulp below. He’s completely bored and just wants an excuse to pick a fresh batch of one thousand guinea pigs for his crazy experiments... May the ancestors have mercy on whatever nightmare he builds out of them.

"Something on your mind, Old Bones?" Caius asked smoothly without turning, extending his hand to grab another pinch of nuts from the bowl.

Old Bones immediately plastered on a flawless, polite smile, bowing his head gracefully. "Not at all, my Lord! I was merely admiring your sovereign wisdom in testing their physical resilience under extreme pressure."

"Mmh," Caius smirked, his eyes glittering with dark amusement. "Of course you were."

Below, the storm of violence gradually began to subside. The deafening roars turned into heavy, ragged gasps.

After nearly an hour of unbridled, bone-crunching brutality, the dust began to settle across the blood-slicked parade grounds. Nearly fourteen thousand orcs lay sprawling across the stone floor, bruised, battered, bleeding, and utterly exhausted, groaning in heaps.

And in the center of the carnage, precisely one thousand orcs remained standing.

They were covered in dark green bruises, blood dripping from their split knuckles and cracked tusks, their armor dented and caked in sweat. Yet, despite their broken ribs and swollen eyes, every single one of the thousand stood tall, their chests heaving, their eyes burning with wild, triumphant fanaticism as they turned as one toward the high balcony.

They raised their bruised fists into the air, bellowing a single, unified, gut-wrenching roar that shook the entire castle:

"SOVEREIGN!"

Caius dusted his gauntlets off, tossing the last roasted nut into his mouth with a dark, satisfied smile.

"Excellent," Caius murmured, looking down at his fresh batch of one thousand elite subjects. "Now we begin."