CHAPTER 225: INTO THE MIST

Two months of relentless, grueling discipline transformed Castle Precipice’s subterranean staging grounds into a terrifying arena of war. High upon the sovereign’s balcony, Caius sat back in his dark stone throne, casually resting his chin on his gauntleted hand. To his left stood Patriarch Vane and Sereth, their eyes wide with quiet apprehension. To his right stood Old Bones and Archmage Orven. Below them, ten thousand wild, unrefined orc brutes stood massed across the stone floor, roaring and beating their bare chests in a chaotic frenzy. Opposing them stood the newly forged physical army, exactly one thousand, three hundred and fifty elite warriors lined up in silent, terrifying symmetry.

Caius leaned forward, his voice amplified by spatial mana to echo off the basalt walls. "Wooden weapons only. No intentional slaughter. Mages will strike strictly to stun and disable. No summons and no puppets will step onto this floor today. Begin!"

The ten thousand raw orcs erupted into an unbridled green tidal wave, charging forward with wild, chaotic fury. But the six-foot barbarian orc general did not flinch. With a single barked command, the one thousand heavy orcs slammed their heavy wooden shields together with a deafening, unified crash. A forest of long wooden pikes shot out between the shield gaps, forming an immovable, impenetrable wall. When the wild horde collided with the square phalanx, it was like a stormy ocean crashing against a basalt cliff. The front ranks of the ten thousand were instantly halted, pinned, and methodically repelled by disciplined, synchronized thrusts.

Overhead, the twenty-five barrier mages raised a shimmering kinetic dome that swallowed wild stone projectiles, while the twenty-five assault mages unleashed waves of concussive stun-lightning that dropped dozens of wild orcs in single bursts. Before the horde could regroup, the two hundred and twelve auxiliary flankers swept around the sides. The barbarians, their veins glowing with Volcanic Earth heat, smashed into the wild orcs like runaway battering rams, while the dark elves blurred in Gale-Tide shadow-steps, driving stun-pikes into every exposed joint. In less than an hour, ten thousand wild brutes lay sprawling and groaning on the stone floor, completely neutralized by an army less than a fraction of their size.

As the dust settled, Caius rose from his dark throne and walked to the edge of the balcony, looking down at the ten thousand groaning orcs on the floor and the additional three thousand reserve garrison watching in stunned silence from the upper galleries. He recognized that leaving over thirteen thousand garrison orcs within Castle Precipice as unrefined brutes was an unacceptable vulnerability. While his one thousand, three hundred and fifty elites were forged for conquest beyond the borders, the fortress itself required an immovable, disciplined shield.

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Caius raised both gauntleted hands, fanning his fingers as tens of thousands of gossamer-thin Arachne threads erupted from his palms like a silver rain. The micro-thin lines pierced the crown points of all thirteen thousand-plus remaining orcs simultaneously. In a massive, unified neural transfer, Caius imprinted the ancient Vel'drin tactical codex directly into their minds. He commanded the entire thirteen-thousand-strong garrison to divide themselves into fifty-orc-manned squares, elect their respective squad leaders and unit officers, and adopt the heavy infantry matrix. Under the administrative oversight of the orc general before his departure, this massive force was reorganized into the permanent, standing Castle Guard Army of Castle Precipice, guaranteeing that his stronghold remained impenetrable while he marched outward.

Watching the sheer, mechanical perfection of the sweep, followed by the instant, synchronized reformation of over thirteen thousand green behemoths into disciplined garrison squares below, Old Bones stood utterly frozen. The old dark elf looked at Caius in sheer, breathless awe, his hands trembling against the stone railing.

"My Lord..." Old Bones whispered, his voice shaking with reverence. "Even without your court summons... leaving thirteen thousand standardized guards behind to hold your citadel while this elite expeditionary army marches... no kingdom or empire in this realm could ever block your path to absolute supremacy."

Caius leaned back into his throne, a cold, dark smirk carving across his face as his violet-gold eyes glittered with terrifying ambition.

"Who said I intend to waste this elite army conquering the rest of this empire and its pathetic kingdoms?" Caius asked smoothly.

Old Bones blinked, taken aback. "Where then, My Lord?"

Caius looked out past the subterranean arches, his gaze piercing through space itself toward the uncharted, deadly territories beyond the known world, where his elite one thousand, three hundred and fifty warriors would march at his back.

"To the abyss," Caius whispered softly, his smile deepening into a dangerous promise. "We will enter the mist."