CHAPTER 242: THE VANGUARD OF SLAVES

Caius stood upon a low, barren ridge overlooking the wide, dusty plain that stretched toward the fourth Veyuun Gate. Hovering before him was a glowing astral star map, its celestial threads tracing the long, four-world bypass route he had been forced to take.

Because the Mordrakhs had taken the sealed shortcut gate back in the deity realm, Caius had been forced to take the open, longer path. Three worlds had already fallen behind his heels like dry leaves in a storm: first the marshlands of the Croc-heads, then the rugged canyons of the Bull-heads, and third, a human realm ruled by oppressive slave lords.

Now they stood in the fourth world, where a feathered host of avian Bird-heads guarded the final exit gate, the gate that reconnected directly to the destination realm where the Mordrakhs had exited.

Old Bones sat on a folding stool nearby, idly sipping tea from a delicate porcelain cup with the refined, dark-skinned fingers of his prime dark elf physique while scanning the vast plain toward the gate.

Spread across the dusty valley below stood Caius’s disposable frontline, a 20,000-strong Tethered Army. A mix of Croc-heads, Bull-heads, and liberated human slaves, every single one bore a glowing black essence bead embedded into the center of their forehead, binding their wills directly to Caius's Crown Core.

Fifteen thousand of them formed a loose, chaotic mob at the front. But a distinct block of five thousand stood apart, locked into remarkably tight, disciplined square formations.

"Old Bones, look at that human with the wild red hair," Caius noted casually, gesturing toward the center of the structured block. "He’s organizing his men in square blocks like our legion."

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from NovelPhoenix. Support the author by reading it there.

Old Bones squinted through his shadowy sockets, letting out a dry rasp from his athletic, middle-aged dark elf form. "Not bad... at least they are learning to survive under your shadow, Sovereign."

Caius turned to an Arachne steward standing silently behind his chair. "Mark him down. Record his designation as 'Red Hair.' If he survives this engagement, promote him."

The Arachne steward bowed multi-limbed arms, quickly scratching the note onto a parchment scroll.

Caius closed the star map with a flick of his wrist. His core Expeditionary Army remained completely unblemished, zero casualties across three world transitions, having met no fierce resistance yet.

Old Bones suddenly chuckled, pointing a shadowy finger toward the main legion's staging ground. "Look at the Orc General, Sovereign. It seems your habits are contagious."

Caius looked down. Resting on an empty supply crate, the compact six-foot Orc General was awkwardly holding a tiny porcelain tea cup between his massive, calloused fingers, taking slow, deliberate sips alongside his ten Titan captains before battle. Caius let out a rare, amused laugh at the sight.

"Sound the horns," Caius commanded softly, his demeanor instantly returning to ice. "Let us finish this."

At the rear command anchor, the Orc General set his cup down, stood tall, and let out an earth-shaking roar that rattled the valley. Behind him, the main obsidian cohort snapped into iron ranks with terrifying synchronization.

Across the plain, the enemy avian army panicked. High-pitched, piercing shriek-alarms shattered the sky as forty thousand Bird-head warriors mobilized. Thousands of winged archers and javelineers launched into the air, while thirty thousand foot-soldiers advanced on the ground, wielding light wicker shields and long thrusting spears.

Caius gave the signal.

With a deafening roar of raw desperation, the 20,000 Tethered Slaves surged forward into the valley, hitting the 40,000-strong avian host like a runaway landslide.

The collision was instantaneous and brutal. Shields caved in, weapons shattered into iron splinters, and severed limbs flew through the air as twenty thousand chained slaves threw themselves directly into the feathered tide.