Chương 194: 194：The Illusion of Safety

Soren slumped onto the freezing stone slabs of the inner courtyard. His face hung low, concealed by the shadows, but his expression was completely relaxed. This seemingly suicidal, solo infiltration was, in reality, a meticulously calculated gamble. He had successfully deceived the brutal Orc Commander due to three unreplicable factors: First, his flawlessly pronounced Orcish, heavily peppered with authentic Blood Province slang.

Second, the prestigious family signet ring, representing an undeniable, high-ranking identity. Third, the gruesome, bone-deep blade wound just below his collarbone—a real injury with deliberately jagged edges. But this brutal act of self-mutilation harbored a fourth, infinitely deeper layer of calculation! When the Orc army mobilized to march out, the Commander had casually pointed to a Centurion.

"Tie this messenger trash to the back of a wolf! He's going to lead the way!" Just as the Centurion approached with a vicious sneer, Soren—using "severe blood loss and extreme trauma" as his flawless excuse—rolled his eyes back and "passed out" completely. He even managed a few realistic twitches before his breathing dropped to an imperceptible, ragged thread.

"Son of a bitch! What a useless half-breed piece of trash!" The Commander furiously kicked over a nearby brazier.

"Grab two grunts and drag him to the rot-Shaman medical ward at the back of the fortress! Don't let whatever plague he's carrying infect our reserve war boars!"

"Yes, sir!" Two low-ranking Orc peons left behind swore under their breath as they dragged Soren's unconscious body away, dumping him in the deepest, most unguarded interior barracks of the fortress. This was his ultimate goal. The self-inflicted wound wasn't just to gain their initial trust; it was the perfect, irrefutable excuse needed to penetrate the absolute core of the enemy's stronghold! When the rough dragging stopped, the rotting wooden door to the barracks slammed shut.

The noise outside gradually faded, leaving only the scattered footsteps of the skeletal garrison and the distant rumble of thunder. Lying on a cot that reeked of rotting herbal poultices, the heavily wounded "Half-Orc deserter" slowly opened his eyes. In those pitch-black pupils, there wasn't a single trace of weakness. The freezing winter rain continued to wash over the muddy expanse of Soul-Sever Gorge, slightly suppressing the thick stench of blood hanging in the air. Time ticked by.

Half an hour slipped quietly away in the dead silence. The steep slopes on either side of the ravine were choked with dense brush, and jagged rock overhangs cast deep shadows. Hidden within, seventy Frontline Elites of Greywater Village lay absolutely motionless. Their heavy black iron armor had been enchanted with concealment magic by Victor, swallowing every trace of light. Beside every two heavy halberdiers knelt a shooter wielding a heavy repeating crossbow.

The armor-piercing bodkins were already locked dead onto the inescapable path below. Chief Mage Victor had his eyes closed in deep concentration, silently chanting incantations within his sleeves as he felt the flow of wind and fire mana in the surrounding air. The throwing-knife master, Lyra, perched weightlessly on a thick, dead branch, two throwing knives glowing with cyan wind mana pinched between her fingers.

Gary, responsible for managing the traps and coordinating the response, stared intensely at the corpse-strewn pass below, his grip tightening around a red signal flag. Positioned in the rear, Leona, Commander of the Crimson Moon Knights, Military Priestess Elena, and Cedric of the Ironpeak Duchy held their breath.

"They're here," Cedric suddenly whispered, pressing his palm flat against the cold, damp mud. As a battle-hardened veteran, he acutely detected the faint, chaotic tremors vibrating through the earth. It was a tidal wave of sound—the chaotic thud of marching boots interwoven with the heavy, guttural panting of beasts. Rumble... Rumble... Rumble... Moments later, the dense, rainy miasma was violently torn apart.

The five-hundred-strong battalion of Black Iron Orcs, having poured out of Bloodhorn Fortress in full force, plunged headlong into the ambush zone in a dense, pitch-black formation. Leading the vanguard were over a hundred massive assault boars, their tusks jutting aggressively outward. Draped in crude iron plating, the ferocious beasts snorted impatiently, their hooves churning the swamp and sending mud flying in all directions. Behind the war boars marched the Black Iron infantry, heavily armed to the teeth.

Having sprinted for miles under the frantic urging of their Battalion Commander, their columns had stretched out. The forced march had caused their usually disciplined formation to loosen and fray. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Watching these Orcs—completely oblivious to the lethal crisis looming just inches away—Leona bit her lower lip hard in the darkness, her sheer terror and awe fully exposed. This kid's calculations...

they're so precise it makes my blood run cold, she cried out in her mind. The enemy's psychology, their troop deployment timings, and even their panicked, disjointed marching formation—it was all unfolding exactly as Soren had prophesied half an hour ago, without a single micro-deviation! In that moment, she glanced at Cedric beside her. Both of them shared a look of absolute, blind reverence for Soren.

"Halt! Cease all forward movement!" Karlok, the Orc Battalion Commander positioned in the center, violently hauled back on the reins of his aggressive Direwolf and let out a deafening roar. The five hundred Black Iron Orcs ground to a halt, the clatter of colliding shields and axes echoing chaotically. Karlok's gaze pierced the rain. When he finally registered the bloody, apocalyptic scene ahead, his face twisted in sheer horror. The ground was carpeted with the mangled corpses of high-ranking Orcs.

The charred remains of Kodo Beasts were still hissing and emitting foul, black smoke in the rain. A hundred [Black Steel Orc Elites]—the absolute finest of the Blood Province—lay haphazardly in pools of their own blood. Severed limbs hung from the surrounding branches in a gruesome display.

"Dammit... Dammit! Those wretched, filthy humans!" Karlok's eye twitched violently, cold sweat instantly soaking his leather under-armor. With a single glance, he spotted the luxurious fur coat belonging exclusively to the Governor-General's nephew amidst the pile of corpses. Its owner's throat and chest had long since been pulverized into a bloody, unrecognizable mess. It's over. His head was going to roll for this. However, after that brief surge of terror, his battle-hardened instincts kicked in.

Karlok violently drew the heavy battleaxe at his waist, his vigilant gaze sweeping the steep slopes surrounding the ravine.

"Shields up! Guard against arrows! The human ambushers might still be nearby!" he roared. Clang! Five hundred Orc elites instantly hoisted their heavy iron tower shields, forming an airtight perimeter defense. This display of tactical literacy made Cedric, watching from above, shudder inwardly. If Greywater Village were to launch a volley right now, the effectiveness of their crossbows would be catastrophically diminished. But the seconds ticked by.

Aside from the howling wind and the restless snorting of the war boars, there was no sign of movement in the ravine. Not a single hidden arrow flew out. Karlok's dark, scrutinizing gaze rapidly swept the battlefield. He acutely noticed that the corpses of the Black Steel guards had been stripped completely bare. Their high-quality weapons and pristine armor plates were entirely gone. The luxurious supplies that should have been loaded onto the Kodo Beast saddles were nothing but ransacked wreckage.

"Hmph... Human mutts. Taking advantage and immediately fleeing." Karlok's tightly coiled muscles violently relaxed. He waved his hand, his face radiating the utter contempt of a superior predator.

"Stand down. Those impoverished human bandits have already looted the supplies and scurried back to their rat-holes through the swamp.

"In this wretched place, they'd never possess the gall to face a five-hundred-strong main army head-on." Following the Commander's order, a collective wave of relaxed curses rippled through the Orc ranks. The soldiers lowered the heavy tower shields that were aching their shoulders, some even unbuckling their collars to let in the air. That highly strung sense of vigilance evaporated entirely, thoroughly neutralized by the illusion of a looted battlefield. So this was Soren's long-term vision...

Leona gripped her sword hilt so tightly her knuckles turned white, her breathing ragged. Soren had stripped the corpses bare specifically to force the reinforcements to drop their guard and feel safe!

"You lot!" Karlok raised his hand, pointing at several towering Black Iron Orcs, barking irritably.

"Get over there immediately! Collect the bodies of Young Master Mogg and the Province Oracle! Even if they're dead, we have to bring their remains back to Bloodfang Fortress to answer to the Warchief!

"If they're missing so much as an arm, I'll chop your heads off myself! Be gentle with them!"

"Yes, Commander!" The designated Black Iron Orcs sheathed their weapons. Walking with long, heavy strides through the mud, they marched straight toward the corpse of the Governor-General's nephew.