Chương 159: 159：Bullying the Collaborators

Right behind his territory of Greywater Village. Hidden just beyond the steep, treacherous mountains that were perpetually shrouded in the toxic miasma of the ancient forest. There, marked by the Goblin Prospector with a glaring silver circle, was a distinct symbol. Beside it was a line of tiny, meticulously written goblin annotations: [Abundant mineral vein. Currently unmined due to treacherous topography and dangerous proximity to the human defensive line.] Soren, possessing a flawless understanding of the goblin language, held his breath. He stared hard at the exact resource that silver circle represented. It wasn't iron. It wasn't copper. It was a [Silver Vein]! And it was sitting directly behind Greywater Village! Less than three miles away!

"Heaven is on my side!" Soren's heart surged with pure ecstasy, his fingers gripping the edges of the parchment so tightly his knuckles turned white. An ordinary man might only look at silver and see coins to be spent. But in this brutal, magic-infused world, a massive silver mine was infinitely more terrifying than mere wealth! First: The Economy! The standard currency circulated by both the Silvermoon Kingdom and the Holy Halycon Empire was minted from high-purity silver.

By controlling this untouched vault of treasure, Soren effectively possessed an endless, bottomless source of wealth! As long as Luger tweaked the blast furnaces to refine the raw ore, Soren could literally cut it into crude silver blocks. He could toss those blocks directly onto the merchant Thomas's desk to purchase endless streams of weapons, grain, heavy siege engines, and even private mercenary armies! Second: Strategic-Tier Magical Material!

Greywater Village's Chief Mage, Victor, had constantly complained that the only reason his concealment arrays were so small was due to a severe lack of high-tier conductive materials. In this world, Silver was the absolute second-best mana conductor, eclipsed only by Adamantine! Once they mined enough silver to forge array foundations, the raw power of Victor's magical formations would multiply exponentially.

He could construct a colossal, territory-wide elemental defensive barrier capable of instantly incinerating high-tier orcs! Third: The Ultimate Bane of the Shadows! Against the impending threats of Shadow Shamans and Necromancers, pure silver was their absolute, biological counter. It was a strategic military resource that even Warchief Blackstone desperately coveted!

"As long as I can swallow this vein..." Soren's mind rapidly constructed a magnificent, towering blueprint of the future.

"Within two months, Greywater Village will evolve from a remote, backwater settlement into a heavily fortified, dominant military stronghold!" He carefully rolled up the priceless parchment, tucking it securely into the inner lining of his chest armor and patting it flat. Stepping out of the stone command shack, he saw that the loading operation had already concluded. The one hundred and fifty-six strongest laborers had formed a long column, huddling tightly around four massive, heavily reinforced flatbed wagons.

Piled high upon the groaning wood were literal mountains of bluish-black raw Black Iron Ore, yoked to the colossal, hill-like Kodos.

"My Lord, the cargo is secured. We are ready to move out," Reconnaissance Captain Gary reported as he stepped forward. However, looking at the four gargantuan, slow-moving herbivorous beasts, Gary's face was etched with deep concern.

"But there's a massive problem..." Gary pointed southward, toward the treacherous, acid-soaked bogs of the Misty Swamp.

"These Kodo wagons are unfathomably heavy. If we try to sneak back through the mud the same way we came in, these axles—carrying tens of thousands of pounds of raw iron—will instantly sink straight into the acidic sludge!"

"Even if we mobilized hundreds of men to pull, they wouldn't budge an inch." Meyer nodded gravely in agreement.

"He's right, my Lord. If we want to move this ore, we only have one option left."

"We have to take the main arterial road. The one paved with crushed gravel, specifically built for orc supply lines." This meant that this sixty-man covert strike force—alongside a hundred and fifty completely unarmed, emaciated laborers—would have to swagger openly down the primary transportation hub of the Orcish Alliance. They wouldn't just risk bumping into massive orc patrol columns at any given moment; they would have to pass directly through fortified checkpoints! Yet, Soren was in an incredibly good mood.

With that map resting against his chest, absolutely no obstacle in this world was going to stop him from hauling this black iron back to Greywater Village.

"Why panic?" Soren offered a faint, cunning smile, exuding absolute confidence.

"If they were kind enough to pave a main road for us, then we will march right down the center of it in broad daylight." Soren walked over to the corpse of a particularly massive orc. He stripped off a spiked leather vest and strapped it tightly over his own muscular torso. Once again, he activated the [Faint Blood of the Son of Titan]. The violent, oppressive aura of a hulking brute flared to life, his bones popping as his frame swelled.

He scooped up a handful of mud and aggressively reapplied the barbaric half-orc war-paint across his face.

"Tell the men to get into the mud pits and dig up the gear they buried," Soren commanded.

"Since we don't have to hold our breath underwater, have the sixty-three [Frontline Elites] put their black iron heavy armor and halberds back on!" Gary's eyes lit up. He instantly grasped the brilliance of the plan. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. He immediately ordered his brothers to gear up in their impenetrable iron plating.

However, to completely mask the distinct, human-forged design of their helmets, Soren ordered them to lock their visors down and drape filthy, bloodstained cloaks—scavenged from the dead orcs—over their armor. At a glance, this unit transformed into a terrifying, blood-soaked, and heavily armed mysterious mercenary company. Acting as the heavily armored escort for a critical shipment of raw ore? It looked perfectly natural. As for the one hundred and fifty-six newly integrated, emaciated humans?

Soren simply waved a massive hand.

"Tie them all together with thick hemp ropes. Keep them cordoned around the Kodo wagons. They are the slave laborers I'm escorting along the route." With Soren—radiating the suffocating, tyrannical pressure of a Titan—sitting at the helm as the ruthless slavemaster, who would dare question them? With everything perfectly in place. CRACK! Soren deliberately snapped a heavy leather whip through the air.

Accompanied by the thunderous, rhythmic thud of colossal Kodo footprints, the incredibly heavy convoy rumbled out of the basin, its wheels smoothly hitting the crushed gravel of the main arterial road. The night slowly receded. In the pale grey light of breaking dawn, a freezing, fine drizzle began to fall. Normally, weather that severely limited visibility was a godsend for a covert march.

But as the convoy rounded a wide bend in the main road, a row of towering, jagged wooden barricades suddenly materialized from the fog. Hanging high on either side were two dim, eerie yellow phosphor lamps! The convoy ground to a halt. Clank! Clatter! Accompanied by the jarring sound of poorly maintained, clashing metal, dozens of figures erupted from the trenches flanking the checkpoint. Meyer's eyes narrowed instantly, his hand dropping beneath his cloak to grip his three-shot repeating crossbow.

But as the figures charged out of the fog and their features became clear, a wave of pure bewilderment washed over the elites. They weren't towering, muscular Black Iron Orcs. They were a group of humans, clad in a chaotic mess of rusty, scavenged armor! This was a checkpoint manned by the [Human Slave Army]! When pushed to the absolute brink, not every human possessed the spine to resist to the bitter end. There were always spineless cowards who completely abandoned their humanity.

To secure a scrap of moldy bread, to avoid being tossed into a stewing pot, they willingly chose to become the rabid guard dogs of the orcs. These collaborator armies suffered endless humiliation, beatings, and verbal abuse from their orc masters on a daily basis. In front of a green-skin, they were treated worse than literal dogs. But the exact moment an orc wasn't around? When faced with their own innocent countrymen or lower-tier scavengers?

They were notorious for being a hundred times more sadistic and cruel than the orcs themselves, frantically venting their repressed humiliation upon the weak. Right now, this pack of human collaborators was swaggering forward, aggressively pointing rusty spears at the convoy.

"Halt! Halt the damn carts right there!" The leader of the pack was a weaselly man with beady, shifting triangular eyes. He was wearing a visibly cracked, oversized orc helmet tilted to the side of his head. He strutted forward with an exaggerated, arrogant swagger, completely drunk on his borrowed authority.

"This is Checkpoint Three, under the jurisdiction of Commander Longtooth! Where did this convoy come from? What's in the carts? Prepare your cargo for the boss's inspection!" The collaborator captain bellowed, his greedy eyes rapidly darting over the massive Kodo beasts and the heavy flatbeds, clearly calculating exactly how much "toll money" he could squeeze out of this caravan. In that instant, the temperature around the convoy plummeted below freezing.

Beneath their cloaks, Gary and the heavy elites tensed every single muscle in their bodies. These few dozen spineless cowards weren't even enough to withstand a single, half-hearted charge from the vanguard. But the moment blood was spilled, these rabid dogs would instantly blow their warning horns and alert the orc main camps! Right at this hair-trigger, do-or-die moment.

"SILENCE!" A deafening, explosive roar suddenly detonated from the top of the lead Kodo wagon! The sheer, booming volume of the shout physically rattled the eardrums of the surrounding slave army! Soren sat towering atop a high stack of hemp sacks. Looking down from his absolute high ground, he exuded a domineering, god-like arrogance. He directed the full, crushing weight of his Titan bloodline aura straight down onto the weaselly captain! Soren stood up, planting an iron-shod boot heavily onto the wooden railing.

He instantly activated his [Max-Level Orcish Mastery]. Every single syllable that rolled from Soren's throat was an impossibly authentic, guttural orcish bark, practically dripping with untouchable, violent authority:"Are you hairless mongrels blind?!"

"Open your damn eyes and look at the wheel tracks! This is a top-priority, emergency Black Iron Ore shipment requisitioned directly by the Blackstone Main Encampment!"

"If you delay the weapon forges by a single second, I will skewer every last one of you lowly dogs on a spit and boil you into meat soup! Not even your precious Commander Longtooth will be able to save your miserable lives!" Soren's hand violently slammed onto the hilt of his broadsword at his waist, looking as if in the very next second, he would draw the blade and cleave the arrogant, weaselly captain perfectly in half!