Chapter 230: Passage of Death

A few kilometers outside Blade Fortress.

Under the cool moonlight, a soldier leaned against a rock, a piece of paper in one hand and a diary in the other, scribbling away.

I am Moran. I am a soldier, born of the common folk.

Ahem.

Right now, my squad and I are about to execute orders from our superiors: gather intelligence on the Orc Race.

Those damn greenskins somehow got their hands on a batch of crossbow cannons and shot one of our comrades dead. I heard the poor bastard was carried a fair distance by the bolt.

Oh, what a poor, unlucky bastard!

So, we bear this mission: find the source of the crossbow cannons, gather evidence, and send all those damn smugglers and traitors to the gallows.

Then we'll be heroes. We'll bask in the flowers and applause of the ladies, get promoted, earn a raise, marry a rich beauty, and reach the pinnacle of life.

"Rookie, it's time to move!"

The captain's shout jolted the dreaming young soldier awake.

Rookie?!

That's right, he meant Moran. In this three-man scout team, he was the only fresh recruit.

Actually, he wasn't exactly a raw recruit. Before his transfer to the scouts, Moran had already spent a year in the regular army. Thanks to his outstanding performance across various training exercises, he had caught the attention of his superiors and been reassigned.

The scout squad wasn't a place just anyone could join.

To become a qualified scout, a soldier had to learn reading and writing, sign language, code words, wilderness survival, trapping, and the use of various weapons. In short, the scout squad was the elite essence of the army.

However, all this knowledge couldn't be mastered in a day or two.

Because of this, the scouts operated on a system of veterans guiding rookies.

Moran's mentor was his captain, Taim—the very man who had just shouted for him.

"Coming!"

Scout Moran hurriedly closed his diary, stuffed it into the small pouch on his back, and jogged over to his captain.

The three of them stealthily approached the vicinity of the Orcs' camp.

This mission lacked a clear objective, leaving them to figure everything out on their own. Thus, the experienced Taim planned to lead his two subordinates deep into the heart of the Great Orc Prairie to gather intelligence.

But before that, they had to slip past the blockade set by the Orc Clans.

Inside Blade Fortress, more and more soldiers were arriving from all over the empire.

Outside Blade Fortress, the Orc Clans were also arriving one after another. They pitched their camps just a short distance from the fortress, their densely packed encampments sealing off the road leading to the Great Orc Prairie.

Therefore, the scout team had to take immense risks to slip through the Orcs' encampment zone.

They hadn't embarked on such a perilous mission out of a profound sense of duty, but because the empire's reward for this task was simply too lucrative!

Uncovering the source of the Orc Clans' equipment would directly earn them a hereditary Viscount title.

That was enough to make every scout willing to put their lives on the line.

So, Moran's diary entries about getting promoted, earning a raise, and reaching the pinnacle of life weren't just idle dreams; the opportunity was right in front of him.

Taim stared into the pitch-black Orc camp. Most of the Orcs were already fast asleep, their thunderous snores carrying through the night. Outside the camp, however, two Orcs and a worg were patrolling aimlessly.

The scout captain looked up at the moon, which was just about to dip below the horizon. Once it vanished completely, the land would plunge into total darkness. That was the hour when both men and beasts grew drowsy, making it the perfect window to slip through the Orc camp.

The gaps between the various Orc Clans' campsites provided the scout team with their opening.

As the silver moon prepared to sink entirely below the horizon, Taim whispered his orders.

"Get ready."

The men hastily pulled small boxes from their packs, retrieved the medicinal powder inside, and carefully rubbed it all over their bodies. This special plant-based powder masked their scent, hiding them from the worgs' noses.

Otherwise, sneaking through the Orc camp would be a fool's dream; those worgs had incredibly sharp noses.

By the time they finished their preparations, the land had plunged into absolute darkness. Even the chirping of the insects had faded away.

All was dead silent.

Under their captain's command, the scout team pressed flat into the knee-high grass, inching their way toward the Orc camp.

Moran gently parted the grass ahead with his fingers. As his fingertips brushed against the tender green blades, he could feel their soft fuzz and wet dew. His dew-dampened fingertips lightly touched the dirt, followed by his palms, and he dragged his body forward another short distance.

They kept their movements incredibly slight, terrified of drawing a worg's attention. Surrounded by formidable enemies, discovery meant certain death.

With a stroke of luck, the trio managed to avoid the patrol route of the two Orcs and the worg, creeping all the way into the center of the encampment.

The snores of the Orc soldiers inside the tents rang right in their ears. Moran could even hear them muttering in their sleep.

Reaching this point, however, it seemed the scout team's luck had run out.

The patrolling Orcs and their worg were walking right toward the scout team. The men immediately flattened themselves against the ground, not daring to move a muscle. They controlled their breathing, slowing their very heartbeats.

Rustle, rustle.

The sound of the Orcs' massive feet brushing against the grass drew closer and closer.

Powerless to do anything else, the men could only lie flat and silently await destiny's judgment.

The Orcs and the worg passed closely by Moran. Suddenly, the worg stopped.

The men's hearts seized.

The worg simply lowered its head, opened its massive jaws, and yawned.

The night breeze carried the foul stench of the beast's breath straight into Moran's nose. He pressed himself even closer to the dirt.

Right after, the worg lifted a hind leg. A stream of pungent liquid shot from its crotch, hitting the grass and splashing right onto the prone Moran's face.

Sssss...

Listening to the hissing of the worg emptying its bladder, one of the Orcs patted the beast's head and bragged to his companion.

"Haha! Listen to that! This fine lad pisses like a champ! Dolf! Want me to have Black Flag mate with your Snow Cabbage? I guarantee they'll produce some sturdy pups!"

"Hah?! Keep him to yourself. My Snow Cabbage is too good for that scrawny black mutt of yours."

Once the worg finished relieving itself, the two Orcs walked away, laughing and cursing at each other.

Moran wiped his face and crawled forward once again.

Endurance training was an absolute necessity for the elite members of the scout squad. Moran had eaten fresh rats pulled straight from the sewers, and he had lain beside anthills for entire days.

For the elites of the scout squad, something like this was nothing but a light drizzle.

The scout team pressed on.

Up ahead, Captain Taim suddenly froze, cold sweat breaking out across his forehead.

Hidden in the grass directly in front of him lay a sleeping worg. The knee-high blades had completely concealed the beast's figure. By the time Taim noticed it, he was barely a meter away.

Under Taim's terrified gaze, the worg rose to its feet in confusion.