Chương 286: 286：Severing the Lifeline

However, in front of Soren, a straight-line charge was nothing more than volunteering to be a target. His [Eagle Eye Perception] processed the hall's ambient lighting, the indoor drafts, and even the microscopic muscle contractions of the charging Orcs, feeding him an absolute, hyper-calculated firing solution. THWIP! THWIP! THWIP! The shuddering thrum of the bowstring became the harbinger of death, echoing relentlessly within the enclosed space. Soren's hands blurred into untraceable afterimages.

One heavy arrow after another was unleashed, accompanied by the shrieking howl of wind mana. Every single shot was flawlessly, terrifyingly precise! The Orc officer leading the vanguard had his unprotected throat violently perforated by an arrow, sending a geyser of hot blood spraying into the air. The second Orc had barely raised his heavy axe before an arrow punched clean through his thick wrist. A microsecond later, a follow-up shot sank directly through his eye socket and deep into his brain.

Relying on the staggering armor-piercing kinetic force of the [Windwhisper Bow], Soren stood rooted to his spot like an immovable turret. With cold, mechanical efficiency, he systematically executed the most heavily armored, high-threat Orc officers one by one. Meanwhile, the enemies attempting to flank him, or those trying to use the heavy oak tables for cover, were met with Lyra's gracefully lethal barrage.

"Don't even think about taking a single step toward my Lord!" Lyra's lithe body twisted with impossible agility in mid-air, both arms whipping forward. Swish! Swish! Swish! Dozens of shrieking silver flashes sealed off every possible angle of advance within the cavernous hall. Her [Throwing Knife Master] talent was on full, terrifying display. The blades flawlessly bypassed the Orcs' thick breastplates, surgically targeting the highly vulnerable lower joints. Squelch! Squelch!

A rapid succession of sickening thuds echoed as cold steel cleanly severed flesh and thick tendons. Three Orcs who had just rounded a long table felt a sudden, icy sting at their ankles right before their Achilles tendons were entirely severed. Their colossal, three-hundred-pound frames instantly lost all support. Howling in agony, they violently crashed into the grease-and-blood-slicked floor. Before they could even struggle to rise, Soren's follow-up shots flawlessly claimed their lives.

Simultaneously, at the main entrance and side doors of the hall.

"Run! Break out and call the garrison!" The human slave capos and traitorous nobles—who normally thrived on bullying the weak—were now completely paralyzed by terror. In a frantic, panicked stampede, they surged toward the heavy doors, desperate to escape this blood-soaked slaughterhouse.

"The only sanctuary for traitors is the grave." Alaric and his personal guard stood like iron fortresses, firmly sealing the exits.

"Fire!" Alaric leveled his repeating hand crossbow with his left hand and squeezed the trigger. Ten refined-steel bolts tore through the air in the blink of an eye. The five or six wealthy merchants leading the frantic charge were instantly turned into pincushions, screaming as they collapsed into pools of their own blood.

Immediately following the volley, faced with the desperate slave capos who had drawn their weapons in a frantic bid for survival, the two Imperial Knights displayed breathtaking combat discipline. Stowing their crossbows, they gripped their knight's longswords with both hands and advanced with heavy, methodical strides. Amidst the flashing steel, there were no flashy, unnecessary movements—only brutal, hyper-efficient cleaves and lethal thrusts.

The corpses of the human traitors were efficiently hacked to the ground, their blood cascading in thick rivulets down the hall's stone steps. The entire battle lasted less than five minutes. Without deploying a single wide-area magic spell, these four apex combatants relied purely on overwhelming martial prowess and flawless tactical coordination to establish absolute control over the hall.

When Soren emptied the absolute last arrow from his quiver—pinning the final Orc logistical officer, who was attempting to use a heavy bench as a shield, firmly to the floorboards—the hall plunged back into silence. The only sounds remaining were the erratic popping of charcoal in the braziers and the morbid, rhythmic drip, drip of fresh blood. The once raucous, decadently opulent banquet hall had been transformed into an apocalyptic slaughterhouse, littered with severed limbs and grotesquely mangled corpses.

The high-and-mighty Orc officers, the wealthy human traitors who sold out their kin for glory—not a single one survived. They all lay dead in the muck. Soren slowly lowered the [Windwhisper Bow]. His eyes swept over the chaotic, bloody carnage, finally resting on the headless, brain-splattered corpse of Overlord Nak.

"It's done." Soren turned his head, looking at Alaric, who was currently drenched in blood yet radiating an aura of intense, battle-fueled exhilaration.

"The enemy's core ruling echelon and logistical command staff in Abysswater Keep have been entirely purged." Soren tilted his chin up, delivering his majestic, chilling declaration: "The logistical lifeline of Warchief Blackstone's thirty-thousand-strong army is officially severed as of tonight!" Right at that moment, a barrage of heavy, violent impacts erupted against the thick, copper-bound carved doors of the hall. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road.

Please report it. The Orc Royal Guards stationed around the stronghold's perimeter, along with massive squads of human slave auxiliaries, had finally been alerted by the screams. They were currently using heavy axes to savagely hack at the locks! The heavy doors groaned and splintered under the relentless assault, showering wood chips onto the floor.

"The doors won't hold much longer! We must exfiltrate immediately!" Alaric's personal guard gripped his longsword tightly, his palms slick with cold sweat as he stared at the buckling wood. Just outside those doors were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of fully armed enemies! However, standing amidst the pools of blood, Soren maintained an unnerving, absolute clinical rationality. The depths of his eyes flared with a faint, abyssal blue light.

[Eagle Eye Perception] had already flawlessly mapped the architectural layout of the hall and the exact troop distribution of the encroaching enemy forces.

"Do not panic. The rank-and-file soldiers outside may possess overwhelming numbers, but right now, they are nothing more than a headless mob." With unhurried, measured movements, Soren wrapped the [Windwhisper Bow] back in its dirty rags and slung it over his shoulder, while simultaneously executing a rapid tactical analysis:"An army's organizational cohesion stems entirely from hierarchical top-down command.

With Nak and every senior Overlord in this room dead, even if those low-ranking grunts break in, the utter lack of clear directives will instantly plunge them into a chaotic, frantic struggle for command and blind panic."

"This total paralysis of their command structure buys us an absolute operational vacuum of at least half an hour!" Soren spun around, taking long strides toward the wall lined with massive wine casks on the right side of the hall.

"Lyra, push aside the third oak cask. Alaric, prepare for extraction!" Lyra didn't hesitate for a microsecond. Her slender arms erupted with terrifying, explosive strength, violently shoving aside the massive cask filled with heavy ale. A hidden, narrow servant's tunnel used for transporting wine was instantly revealed. CRACK! BOOM! The exact moment the four of them slipped into the pitch-black tunnel, the main doors of the hall were finally violently obliterated by Orc battleaxes!

Hundreds of heavy-breathing Green-skin Orcs poured frantically into the hall in massive droves. However, what welcomed them was not a group of panicked, terrified human assassins. It was a floor carpeted with the gruesomely mangled corpses of their commanders, and the headless, brain-splattered remains of Overlord Nak.

"The Overlord is dead! The officers are all dead!"

"Where are the assassins?! Who do we pursue?! Which way did they go?!" Exactly as Soren had flawlessly predicted, the decapitated Orc army instantly plunged into a state of leaderless, paralyzing panic. To shift the blame, rival Orc captains from different squads actually began shoving and roaring violently at one another right there in the bloody hall.

Capitalizing on the complete command paralysis, Soren's squad navigated the servant's tunnel in absolute silence, seamlessly slipping past the inner walls of the Overlord's stronghold. The freezing night wind bit at their cheeks. The sky above the fortress had turned pitch black. In the distance, the blazing fires of the military barracks illuminated the sky, and warning horns were blown erratically and chaotically throughout the city.

"Brilliant execution! Soren, your exfiltration route was absolutely flawless!" While weaving rapidly through the dark, squalid alleys, Alaric lowered his voice, his tone brimming with intense adrenaline and profound admiration.

"Now we push straight for the East Gate! While the garrison is scrambling in chaos, we scale the walls and extract!" The Imperial Knight was already burning with the urge to bring the apocalyptic victory of paralyzing a thirty-thousand-strong army back to the defensive lines.

"Not so fast." Soren, however, abruptly halted at a crossroad, turning his face to look dead toward the western sector of the city.

"There is one more person we need to extract." Alaric froze, a deep frown creasing his brow: "Extract someone? Lord Soren, the Orcs across this entire fortress could trigger a full-scale martial lockdown at any second! Dragging a liability along severely violates every single doctrine of covert exfiltration!"

"He is not a liability. He is a future vanguard general of Greywater Village. Furthermore, I, Soren, never break a promise to a soldier who has pledged me his loyalty." Staring at Soren's unyielding, resolute profile, a profound, earth-shattering shock washed over Alaric. In a life-or-death extraction scenario, this world-renowned commander was actually willing to risk catastrophic exposure for some absolute nobody from the bottom tier of society! So this is the secret...

this is why countless outlaws and desperados pledge their absolute, unreserved loyalty to Greywater Village!

"Fine! If you have the guts to turn back, then my Royal Griffin Knights will walk through hell with you!" Alaric drew his longsword, following Soren's lead without a single microsecond of hesitation. Four dark silhouettes wove rapidly through the chaotic, sprawling alleys. Before long, they arrived perfectly at the entrance of the underground crypts beneath the ruined temple in the western sector.