Chương 162: 162：Dropping the Disguise

Soren sat atop the cargo on the lead Kodo wagon. Just as the convoy reached the midpoint of the canyon, flanked on both sides by towering, sheer black-rock cliffs... [Warning: Danger Sense Talent Triggered!] In an instant, a freezing chill shot straight down Soren's spine! He had intimately experienced this exact sensation in his past life. Back when he was a special forces operator, taking a sniper's crosshairs directly to the heart in the middle of a tropical rainforest.

At least a hundred silent, lethal intents were locked firmly onto him and his convoy from high up in the impenetrable fog!

"Halt the advance! Form up!" Without a single microsecond of hesitation, Soren violently threw his right arm into the air, his low roar echoing across the narrow canyon floor. Clatter! Gary, Meyer, and the rest of the elites who constantly walked the razor's edge between life and death instantly displayed their terrifying tactical discipline.

The absolute second the command dropped, sixty-three soldiers draped in rotting beast-hide cloaks—alongside Renn, Lyra, and the commanders—violently halted their momentum in perfect synchronization. Using the Kodo wagons as their anchor, they instantly formed an airtight, ironclad defensive perimeter facing outward, firmly shielding the hundred-plus bewildered, panic-stricken human laborers in the center. Soren stood up abruptly from the Kodo's back.

His eyes pierced through the freezing, driving rain, rapidly sweeping over the towering cliffs hidden within the toxic miasma on either side. Sheer, vertical drops on both sides. Brush and toxic vines so dense not even moonlight can pierce them. This is the ultimate tactical death-trap. The absolute perfect natural ambush zone. Soren's brow furrowed tightly as his mind began frantically running tactical simulations. The ones ambushing us up there are absolutely not orcs.

Those brainless greenskin beasts possess zero patience, and they could never master stealth this completely soundless. Then who is it? Human border guerrillas? Or exiles? In a flash of lightning-fast realization, Soren violently looked down at the spiked leather armor he was wearing, and the brutal war-paint smeared across his face. He then shot a glance behind him.

Four Kodos, prominently bearing the brand of the Blackstone Warband, accompanied by a group of human laborers looking incredibly tragic as they were being "brutally" driven forward. Dammit! Soren instantly cursed in his heart. The disguise was too damn perfect. It had literally drawn friendly fire! With his current appearance and demeanor, paired with a textbook orc logistical convoy formation, in the eyes of any righteous anti-orc resistance hiding in the dark...

they were the absolute, number-one priority target for a raid! The exact moment those unknown forces above released their taut bowstrings, this narrow canyon terrain would make it physically impossible to deploy his troops effectively. Even if his frontline elites could tank the arrow rain with their black iron heavy armor, the hundred-plus poor countrymen he had just rescued in the center would instantly become collateral damage. They would be slaughtered in droves by friendly fire!

I absolutely cannot let them loose those arrows! I have to declare our identity right now! Just as the killing intent from the cliffs crested to its absolute peak, hanging by a single, hair-thin thread.

"Meyer! Keep everyone's crossbows lowered! Without my direct order, absolutely no one raises their head to counter-attack!" Soren barked the command. And then, under the utterly shocked gazes of every single person present... He completely abandoned the massive pile of raw Black Iron Ore acting as cover. Entirely unarmed and defenseless, he leapt straight down from the back of the Kodo.

He marched straight to the absolute front of the convoy, completely exposing himself in the open terrain between the two flanking mountains! Riiip! Soren violently tore off the foul-smelling orc spiked leather armor. He ruthlessly wiped the mud and war-paint from his face, revealing his distinctly handsome, human features. He tilted his head back, facing the endless, freezing rain.

Expanding his chest, he channeled every ounce of strength he possessed, roaring out toward the silent, deadly cliffs:"Friends on the cliffs! Lower your damn bows!"

"I am the Commander of the 1st Vanguard Battalion of the Silvermoon Kingdom's Crimson Moon Knights! I am the Lord of Greywater Village, Soren!"

"The 'prisoners' escorted in this convoy are citizens of Silvermoon I just rescued from the Black Iron Mine! If you want to kill the enemy, come out and parley! Do not let your arrows be stained with the blood of your own countrymen!" The sheer volume of his roar violently bounced between the sheer rock faces, leaving a ringing echo in its wake. These booming declarations carried an earth-shattering shockwave. Instantly, both the top and the bottom of the entire canyon plunged into an incredible, deathly silence.

"What?!" Standing inside the convoy's perimeter, Intelligence Captain Meyer and the Throwing Knife Assassin Lyra—who always took absolute pride in her instincts—simultaneously sucked in sharp breaths of freezing air. They whipped their heads up in pure terror, staring at the cliffs where absolutely nothing but rain seemed to fall. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. The Lord sensed people up there?! How is that possible?!

I didn't detect a single drop of killing intent spilling over! Lyra's back was instantly drenched in cold sweat. She was a former wandering mercenary! When it came to assassinations and counter-reconnaissance, she considered herself absolutely top-tier. Yet, she had been completely, utterly oblivious to the approaching danger! Meanwhile, the survival veteran, Darion, was so terrified his legs nearly gave out.

Holding such a treacherous high ground, if the enemy unleashed a volley of arrows, the unarmored laborers wouldn't even survive for thirty seconds! But the shock wasn't just limited to the bottom of the canyon. At this exact moment, Ilya, hiding at the absolute peak of the cliffs, was experiencing an unprecedented, mind-shattering shock of her own!

Behind the toxic briars one hundred and twenty meters in the air, the slender fingers Ilya used to grip the nock of her meteoric iron armor-piercing arrow were actually slightly trembling. How were we discovered? That is absolutely impossible! The color drained from her face, replaced entirely by unadulterated disbelief. A Half-Elf's racial talent allowed them to perfectly meld their body temperature and heartbeat into the surrounding wind and moisture.

Even an Orc Shaman couldn't dream of detecting them unless they stepped within ten paces. Yet the man down below hadn't just pinpointed their ambush location through heavy fog from a hundred meters away... he was absolutely certain she hadn't given the order to fire yet! However, what sent an even more profound shockwave through Ilya's heart... was the name that had just echoed through the valley. Soren! He is Soren?!

The legendary existence who easily annihilated the five hundred heavy-armored elites of the Bloodaxe Battalion on Lone Cliff?! Ilya's cold, breathtakingly beautiful face was written with sheer incredulity. Her mind raced, violently splicing together all the intelligence she had gathered recently. Over the past few days, the name "Soren" had become the single most unbelievable true story spreading across the Misty Swamp.

Even half-elves like them, wandering on the absolute fringes of society, had heard tales of that awe-inspiring, miraculous victory. Ilya stared intensely at the tall, solitary, and uncompromising figure standing in the freezing rain. This unit... if that man down there isn't lying... If they truly are humanity's strongest elites currently fighting the orcs... Then if I loose this arrow, I won't just be slaughtering humanity's final line of defense.

I will be executing the very hope of survival for countless civilians... I absolutely cannot spill the blood of an ally! Ilya took a deep breath and violently jerked her left hand up.

"De-tension your bows! Without my command, absolutely no one fires!" She issued rapid orders to the equally dumbfounded half-elf girl, El, beside her:"El. Take the others and maintain maximum alert! Keep their perimeter completely locked down. Be ready to provide me with crossing cover fire at a moment's notice."

"Leader! What are you doing?! It could be a trick by orc spies!" El frantically hissed, keeping her voice low.

"Whether it's a trick or not... I'll know the second I go down there and see exactly what kind of cargo he's hauling!" Before the words even finished leaving her lips, Ilya executed a wildly dangerous maneuver that none of her subordinates had time to stop. She leapt directly off the cliff. Her long trench coat, tanned from Demon Lizard hide, whipped violently in the howling gale as she plummeted downward at blinding speed.

Using nothing but the tips of her boots to lightly kick off jagged rock outcroppings three times to break her momentum, the unimaginably agile female leader landed lightly onto the muddy gravel path of Broken Tooth Canyon. Her landing point was less than twenty paces away from Soren! Her sudden appearance violently shattered the dark tension of the standoff.

"My Gods!" Gary and Meyer sucked in sharp breaths, their eyes widening in sheer shock. It was a Half-Elf! An existence considered profoundly secretive and elusive, even in legends! There really was a lethal ambush waiting up there! If the Lord hadn't seen right through it and halted them... as scouts, we were completely oblivious! We would have been slaughtered by a dense volley of half-elf arrows!

Gary was equal parts terrified and deeply ashamed, causing his reverence for the Lord he followed to explode to an entirely new stratosphere! However, this shock did not delay the reactions of these battle-hardened veterans for even a microsecond. The absolute instant Ilya's boots touched the mud.

"PROTECT THE LORD!" Gary let out a suppressed, guttural roar. Absolutely no further commands were needed. Shing! Shing! Shing! The sixty-three "filthy guards" standing in the front ranks instantly shed their disguise, exploding into a hyper-aggressive combat stance! They violently ripped away their rotting cloaks, revealing the terrifying, oppressive black mass of their full-body Black Iron Heavy Armor. Simultaneously, a flawless phalanx materialized!

Sixty-three pre-loaded, heavy repeating crossbows snapped upward with a unified, chilling clack! Within exactly three seconds, sixty-three cold steel bolts formed a flawless, half-moon crossing fire matrix, locking absolutely dead-center onto Ilya!