Chương 226: 226：One Arrow, One Kill

158： Those Who Remain Hundreds of emaciated human laborers stood frozen in absolute, paralyzed terror. Their eyes were completely hollow, numb, and overflowing with a primal dread of the unknown. In the meat-grinder that was the Misty Swamp—a place where human life was cheaper than rotting grass—they had witnessed far too much slaughter. They simply did not know if the towering man standing before them was a savior descending to end their endless suffering...

or a new, more terrifying tormentor dragging them into an even deeper layer of hell. Dead silence filled the cavern. The only sound was the hollow plip, plop of groundwater dripping into stagnant puddles. Slowly, an elderly man—his left leg ulcerated and worn down to the bone from heavy iron chains—crawled forward on his knees from the center of the crowd. His cracked lips violently trembled as he asked in a weak, pleading, and terrified whisper:"L-Lord... are you saying...

we don't have to be beasts in this black hole anymore? We're... free?" The word "free" seemed to possess a magic capable of violently shattering their suffocating despair. Behind the old man, hundreds of numb laborers snapped their heads up in unison, their eyes erupting with a profound, disbelieving thirst.

"Yes, old man. You are free." Soren took a long stride out of the shadows, stepping fully into the flickering torchlight. His piercing gaze swept over the hundreds of faces, all caked thick with black soot and mud.

"I am the Lord of Greywater Village, Soren."

"It is my ironclad rule: any human countrymen I rescue from the clutches of the orcs hold the absolute right to decide their own fate." Soren's voice was clear, steady, and carried enough power to ensure every single person in the cavern heard every syllable:"I am offering you two paths."

"First. Those who are willing to follow me can directly integrate into my territory, Greywater Village."

"There, you will never be slaves again. My territory has wooden cabins to shield you from the freezing wind and toxic rain. We have piping-hot, hearty food, and we have premium, high-density armor to protect your lives."

"But the absolute prerequisite is this: you must grip a spear tightly in your hands, and you must fight to the death against the very orcs who enslaved you." Soren paused. Seeing the majority of the crowd involuntarily flinch and shiver at the mere mention of the word 'war', his tone softened. He pointed a finger back toward the mine's entrance.

"Second. If you do not wish to stay and fight, I will absolutely not force you."

"In the storehouses outside, there are literal mountains of dried meat and coarse wheat cakes hoarded by the orc garrison."

"Those who do not wish to march into war can go directly to the storehouse. Collect enough dry rations to last you half a month, and you are free to walk out of this godforsaken swamp on your own terms." Those words utterly detonated the dead silence of the despairing crowd!

"H-Home... I can live? I can actually go home?!" A gaunt man in his thirties suddenly buried his face in his filthy hands and began to wail. His agonizing, repressed sobs echoed off the cold stone walls:"Sarah... my little Sarah... I thought I was never going to see you again..." Raw, unadulterated emotion is highly contagious. The vast majority of these human slaves were innocent commoners, violently abducted by orc raiding parties from the border towns of the Silvermoon Kingdom and the Holy Halycon Empire.

Throughout countless days and nights of inhuman torture, the singular, fragile thread keeping them alive in this sunless abyss was the desperate longing for the wives, children, and parents they had left behind.

"My Lord! Thank you! Thank you for your boundless grace!"

"Praise the Gods for your mercy! My elderly mother is still waiting for me at a farm outside Silvermoon City!" In an instant, hundreds of laborers dropped to their knees, collapsing into the mud in massive, weeping waves. They pressed their foreheads firmly against the damp earth, using the most utterly humble, prostrating gesture possible to express their staggering gratitude.

This man hadn't just saved their lives from the orcs' whips—he was actually offering them the precious travel rations required to survive the journey home! In this chaotic, blood-soaked world, to willingly part with priceless military rations just to let useless refugees walk away... that level of absolute, noble magnanimity was practically unheard of! Soren stood quietly in place, completely respecting their choices. He raised a hand, gesturing for Gary and the other commanders to step forward.

"Gary. Escort them to the storehouses. Distribute enough dried meat and wheat cakes to sustain every single person for twenty days. Then, assign a scout to point them toward a safe extraction route that bypasses the orc patrols."

"Yes, my Lord!" Gary immediately directed his veteran soldiers to begin guiding the frantic, desperate crowd of laborers out of the pits. The massive, bustling procession began to file out. As every single person received their heavy, life-saving bundle of food, they couldn't help but turn back toward the depths of the mine, offering one final, profound bow in Soren's direction. An hour later, the massive procession of returning refugees had completely vanished into the edges of the misty night.

The mining pit fell deadly silent once more. The only sound left at the bottom of the excavation site was the heavy, iron-willed breathing of those who had chosen to stay. Soren stood atop a towering pile of raw black iron ore, looking down. After a quick headcount, exactly one hundred and fifty-six people remained. Unlike the commoners who had wept tears of joy at the prospect of returning home, the eyes of these remaining men held absolutely no nostalgia for the past.

Their eyes were hollow voids, burning with nothing but a profound, suffocating hatred. Standing at the absolute forefront of this group was a bald man. His upper body was completely bare, revealing flesh crisscrossed with horrifying, overlapping whip scars. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. He looked up at Soren and voiced the exact reason they had stayed behind:"My Lord. We aren't staying because we're not afraid of dying."

The bald man offered a bleak, tragic smile, revealing teeth that had been half-smashed out of his mouth.

"Our homes were burned to the ground by those green-skinned beasts years ago. My woman was nailed to a tree. My three children were tossed into the air and smashed to death against a grinding stone."

"My entire village... every single soul... is dead." The bald man violently hammered his own scarred chest, his voice cracking with raw, unadulterated grief:"We are the homeless! We are the men with nowhere left to go! If we leave this swamp, we'll just starve to death in a ditch somewhere because we have absolutely nothing left to live for!"

"But my Lord! Since your territory dares to butcher orcs... we will follow you! Whether you need us to push carts, haul rocks, or run onto the battlefield just to rip out a greenskin's throat with our bare teeth!"

"The lives of these hundred and fifty men belong entirely to you!" One hundred and fifty-six men who had lost absolutely everything let out a low, unified roar of pure, grieving fury. An army fueled by absolute despair is invincible. Burn the boats, break the cauldrons. Although these men were currently incredibly weak and emaciated, this singular, psychotic obsession with blood vengeance meant that the exact second Soren filled their bellies and strapped armor to their chests...

they would instantly transform into the most fanatical, death-defying suicide squad in his entire army!

"Good! Since you are entrusting your lives to me, Greywater Village will never mistreat you!" Soren's voice boomed with absolute authority:"In my capacity as the Lord of Greywater Village, I formally integrate you into my ranks as the [Logistics and Labor Company]! From this day forward, no matter who lives or who dies, we stand together in this swamp until the bitter end!"

"BY YOUR COMMAND!" the one hundred and fifty-six newly integrated laborers roared in unison. Immediately, Soren didn't hesitate for a single second before issuing their very first operational directive. Since they were now under his banner, there was no room for useless mouths. The war machine had to spin up instantly. Resting on the wooden tracks just ahead of them were four massive, heavily reinforced flatbed wagons, specifically designed for ultra-heavy transport.

And yoked to the front of those wagons were four gargantuan creatures, their bodies the size of small hills: [Kodos]. These massive, herbivorous beasts of burden possessed a docile temperament but boasted completely unfathomable physical strength. Currently, they were shifting uneasily, letting out heavy snorts as they chewed on coarse fodder in their iron troughs.

"I am giving you exactly thirty minutes." Soren swept his hand in a wide, commanding arc.

"Load every single chunk of high-purity Black Iron Ore sitting at the bottom of this pit onto those four Kodo wagons!"

"We are dragging these four beasts, and every last ounce of this ore, straight back to Greywater Village!"

"YES, MY LORD!" Empowered by a newfound sense of belonging and the absolute promise of food, the laborers were instantly injected with a limitless, tireless drive. They grabbed wheelbarrows, swung bamboo baskets, and erupted with a terrifyingly high-efficiency loading operation, rapidly emptying the pit of its precious cargo. Meanwhile. Just outside the main pit, inside the large stone building. This had been the operational headquarters of the slain Orc Overseer Captain.

Compared to the rotting mud and vile stench outside, the interior of this stone house was practically a luxury suite. Stacks of premium magic-bear pelts carpeted the floor, and the residual heat from the charcoal in the fireplace kept the room comfortably warm. Soren dismissed his guards, stepping alone into the dimly lit room. He immediately slipped into the meticulous, clinical intelligence-gathering habits ingrained in him from his past life as a Special Forces operator.

His razor-sharp gaze rapidly swept over the heavy spiked maces and empty ale barrels lining the walls, eventually locking onto a crude oak desk wrapped in cheap iron plating. The surface was chaotic, littered with gnawed bones and knocked-over chalices. But pinned just beneath a massive beast bone, the corner of a parchment scroll peaked out. Soren stepped forward quickly, brushing the bones away to yank the bloodstained parchment free. The exact instant he unrolled it... Soren sucked in a sharp breath.

His heart violently skipped two beats! This was a meticulously hand-drawn [Misty Swamp Mineral Distribution Map]! And it wasn't some crude orcish scrawl. It was drafted using specialized, luminescent mineral pigments—the undeniable hallmark of high-tier Goblin Prospectors forcefully conscripted by the Orcish Alliance! This was a strategic-tier masterpiece!

Not only did it pinpoint the exact locations of all major known ore veins, but it also mapped out the highly complex topographic contour lines of the entire southern expanse of the Misty Swamp! An unbelievable haul! This is the true, absolute jackpot of tonight's raid! Soren traced his fingers over the intricate lines of the parchment. To think these brute-force orcs had actually managed to enslave enough goblin surveyors to map something this heaven-defying!

If this single piece of parchment ever leaked into the Holy Halycon Empire, countless Grand Dukes would instantly launch kingdom-toppling wars just to claim it! Forcibly suppressing the wild ecstasy threatening to burst from his chest, Soren found the volcanic crater that marked Greywater Village. Using that as his anchor, he slowly traced his finger backward, cross-referencing the surrounding terrain. Suddenly, his finger froze dead in its tracks.