Chapter 395: WAR (07)

The orc shaman’s blood-red eyes widened, his pupils contracting into narrow slits as his rotten teeth ground against one another with enough force to chip them.

A monstrous scowl twisted his grotesque face even further, every muscle in his jaw trembling with pent-up fury the very moment Theron’s power hurled him backward like a mere rag doll.

His feet tore free of the ground, his body cutting through the air on an uncontrolled trajectory, the wind howling past his ears.

A tree exploded against his back, then another, and yet another. The trunks split in half as if they were nothing more than dry twigs under the force of his impact, sharp cracks ringing through the forest with each collision.

Muffled thuds echoed among the trees, leaves and splinters flying in every direction as the shattered trunks crashed to the ground.

The orc shaman didn’t stop until his back slammed, with full force, into a tree far sturdier than the rest. A hollow thud burst from his chest, accompanied by a jet of black blood that sprayed onto the moss at his feet.

"Cursed human!" he roared, falling to his knees as he coughed up viscous clots that pooled on the ground before him.

He was a powerful Fourth-Stage specialist, but he was still a mage.

Theron, on his own, already possessed enough power to match even the most brutal Fourth-Stage orc warriors of a similar level, despite being human.

In fact, the base stats of Goldenveil’s soldiers were so high relative to their own level that the orcs’ greatest advantage was practically nullified on the battlefield.

Because of this, even when the green-skinned horde collided with the front line of the Goldenveil army—aided by trolls standing over three meters tall—the army maintained absolute control of the situation.

The green skins tried to split up, seeking to encircle the Goldenveil army from three directions and banking on their numerical superiority.

It did little good, however. The two thousand soldiers Goldenveil kept in reserve acted immediately, stifling any attempt at encirclement before it could take shape.

Theron watched the battle for a brief moment and, upon realizing everything was under control, turned his gaze back to the orc shaman once more.

"Your level must already be high enough to rival that of a mediocre human. Do you wish to bow your head and die painlessly, pig?" Theron asked coldly, raising his blade into an execution stance.

"Surrender? Me? A worthy priest of the god of war? Senile human! A thousand deaths won’t be enough to make you forget my fury!" the orc shaman roared, throwing his arms wide as a whirlwind of mana surged into his body like a dense, visible aura.

His muscles swelled violently, every fiber twisting and thickening, his very height changing as a powerful energy, charged with murderous intent, burst forth from within.

In a single second, the orc shaman’s strength seemed to climb by at least twenty percent, and it showed no signs of stopping.

His body continued to expand grotesquely, veins bulging beneath his greenish skin, bones creaking as they readjusted under the weight of so much energy.

"Behold my true str—"

The words died in his throat.

Or rather, to be more precise, it was Theron’s sword that silenced them, cleanly slitting his throat before he could even finish the transformation.

His head was hurled into the sky amid a red spray, and his body, still in the midst of metamorphosis, twisted violently in on itself.

The swollen muscles exploded into a bloody mist, and even the bones collapsed, giving way under the uncontrolled force of an energy that no longer had a master to contain it.

Theron didn’t waste a single moment. He snatched the spatial ring from the Fourth-Stage orc’s fingers before dashing toward the rear of the green-skinned army.

His blade glowed with an intense golden aura, executing the fourth form of the Golden Dragon Emperor’s swordsmanship.

With every swing of his blade, dozens of enemies fell at once, the roar of a dragon echoing alongside the hiss of steel cutting through the air.

It was time to end that battle.

Ethan smiled with satisfaction as he watched Theron.

On Earth, he had always hated it when the protagonist let his enemies finish their powerful transformations.

Theron had done very well to execute that orc shaman the very moment he’d given him an opening during the transformation.

Now, with a Fourth-Stage expert striking from the rear, the green skin army was finished.

Of course, the battle was far from over.

The green skins hadn’t even realized their leader had fallen, and the few who did merely shouted with excitement as they threw themselves into the fray with even greater fervor.

After all, a dead leader meant there was now room for one of them to take that position.

Thus, the orcs fought with redoubled determination, some already declaring themselves leader amid the chaos of the two armies clashing head-on.

In this chaos, despite their superior power, it was impossible for Goldenveil not to suffer casualties against such a massive number of enemies.

The mages cast healing spells on the army without ceasing, greenish lights dancing over the wounded, while the rear ranks dragged the most seriously injured out of the fray.

Small routes were also formed through which exhausted soldiers could retreat, clearing the way for those behind them—still fresh—to take the vanguard.

The orcs, on the other hand, had no system whatsoever to allow their vanguard to rest. They simply fought until they fell dead.

And they weren’t just fighting the humans in front of them.

They were also fighting the orcs behind them, desperate to reach the front lines, and stumbling over the corpses of their allies, which slid down the hillside and tangled with their legs at every step.

The battle had reached ten minutes.

Seven thousand green skins lay dead, their bodies piled atop one another, forming grotesque heaps that exuded the metallic stench of blood mixed with sweat.

Seventy Goldenveil soldiers had been slightly wounded, and only two were seriously injured.

The line of orcs and trolls had been completely wiped out, and now the slaughter fell upon the goblins and kobolds, who charged just as desperately against the human blades.

Most still wore animated expressions, not even realizing they had already lost the battle.

Their intelligence was, at times, inferior to that of beasts, for unlike many animals, they possessed almost no sense of self-preservation.