Chương 348: 348：A Feast of Equals

As the weapons and armor were being hauled in, at Soren's absolute command, Greywater Village entered a state of comprehensive recovery. The soldiers who had ground three thousand elite centaurs to dust on the defensive line, and executed the extreme flanking maneuvers during the night raid, finally shed their massive burdens. First and second-line troops stripped off their [Dark Silver Armor], caked in ice and mud, and stacked the plates perfectly on the weapon racks.

Despite enduring such hellish, high-intensity combat, not a single complaint echoed in the barracks. Quartermaster Kyle, accompanied by several swift-moving women from the logistics team, handed bowls of [Intermediate Life Recovery Potion] to every exhausted warrior.

"Drink up, boys! Get some damn sleep!" Kyle's booming voice echoed through the halls. The soldiers ravenously chugged the potions and collapsed onto communal bunks lined with thick hay and insulated cotton quilts. Within ten breaths, a chorus of thunderous snoring filled the air. No one snuck out to party. No one wandered the camp. They strictly adhered to the mandatory post-battle recovery protocol, displaying the elite discipline of a truly mature, hardened army.

Above ground, however, the fourth-line logistics personnel and Goblin engineers threw themselves into a frantic frenzy of emergency repairs.

"Move it! While the acidic mud is still frozen solid, get those barricades trampled by the Minotaurs re-buried!" Intelligence Captain Meyer, acting as a temporary overseer, stood atop a watchtower, barking rapid-fire orders. The Hobgoblin Factory Director, Luger, was completely shirtless, his massive muscles bulging. He personally led over two hundred goblins—who were naturally immune to the acidic toxins—into the chain of deep pits still littered with mangled limbs from yesterday's slaughter.

They expertly yanked out the snapped, poisoned wooden stakes and forcefully pounded in freshly sharpened ones. Deep within the village, the women, children, and elderly weren't idle either. The rasp of handsaws and the sharp clangs of hammers driving nails merged into a vibrant, pulsing wave of sound. The stilted wooden cabins crushed or burned during the battle were being rebuilt at blistering speeds. The scent of fresh oak filled the air as thick, moisture-resistant thatch was layered onto new roofs.

Everything was being rapidly restored with perfect, methodical efficiency. As night fell once more, to celebrate this miraculous zero-casualty triumph, Soren ordered a village-wide feast. In the central clearing of Greywater Village, over a dozen massive bonfires roared to life, casting a warm, orange glow across the ecstatic faces of every villager. Tonight, the air was thick with an intoxicating, mouth-watering aroma.

The logistics battalion had hauled out every single crate of premium food looted directly from Warchief Blackstone's Royal Pavilion.

"Gods above... I haven't seen marbling this beautiful in my entire life..." A vagrant soldier who had recently joined the recruit camp stared at a sizzling cut of [Snowflake Beef] in his hands, his fingers trembling violently. Roasted over the open coals, the stunning webs of fat melted perfectly, dripping grease onto the fire and kicking up tantalizing sparks and an outrageously rich, meaty aroma. This was a delicacy meant exclusively for the supreme rulers of the Orcs!

Even the self-proclaimed high-and-mighty Dukes and Counts in the Holy Halycon Empire or the Silvermoon Kingdom would struggle to secure meat preserved by such high-tier magic. Yet now, this aristocratic luxury was being distributed evenly into the hands of every ordinary soldier, farmer, and even the 205 Centaur youths!

"A toast! To Lord Soren! To Greywater Village!" Wolf Cavalry Commander Buck hoisted a massive wooden tankard. It was filled to the brim with [Emerald Fruit Wine], also looted from the Royal Pavilion. Brewed by Elven masters, the wine possessed a mesmerizing jade hue. It was sweet on the tongue, but as it slid down the throat, it ignited a lasting, comforting heat that not only banished the winter chill but gently healed the soldiers' hidden internal injuries.

"FOR THE LORD!" Three thousand soldiers and civilians roared in unison, their voices echoing far into the freezing night. Karl and the other Centaur youths took cautious, tentative sips of the fruit wine, their eyes fluttering shut in sheer bliss at the exquisite taste. A moment later, several heavily armored human infantrymen sauntered over, laughing boisterously. They slung their arms around Karl's thick equine neck and practically shoved a massive chunk of perfectly golden-roasted beef into his hands.

In the warmth of this grand feast, all racial barriers completely dissolved. Everyone knew this tier of [Snowflake Beef] and [Emerald Fruit Wine] was strictly limited. The looted stockpile was only enough for the entire village to gorge themselves this one time. But the meaning behind this single meal would be eternally seared into their souls. If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

It made every person in Greywater Village viscerally realize that under Lord Soren, they were no longer lowly, expendable peasants. They were dignified human warriors, absolutely worthy of the finest luxuries this world had to offer! Meanwhile, as the cheers echoed outside, an entirely different scene was unfolding deep within the heavily guarded underground magical laboratory of Greywater Village. A wide, long stone table was completely blanketed with densely packed blueprints and parchment scrolls.

Chief Silver Mage Victor and the runic scholar from the Holy Halycon Empire's Royal Magic Academy, Horace, had their heads bent close together, their faces flushed with manic excitement. Carefully arranged before them were two piles: one consisting of the high-purity, multi-element Mana Crystals looted from Warchief Blackstone, and the other made up of the palm-sized, blood-painted solid-wood totems.

"What a catastrophic waste! The Orcs' spellcasting methodology is absolute blasphemy to mana!" Activating his [Eye of Truth] talent, Horace stared intensely at the wooden totems, completely tearing into them.

"Look at these runic circuits! Absolute chaos! They just rely on primal, ancestral instinct to violently brute-force mana into the wood. That's the only reason they can trigger the [Weight Reduction] and [Stamina Surge] buffs! Their mana utilization rate is barely twenty percent!"

"But their raw concept just handed us a massive breakthrough, didn't it?" Victor used a pair of silver tweezers to pick up a crimson Mana Crystal, his handsome face lit up with thrill.

"Sir Horace, the purity and energy density of these crystals Lord Soren brought back far exceed our wildest expectations."

"With this massive power source, the speed at which we reverse-engineer the [Meteor Swarm] forbidden spell scrolls will skyrocket!"

"And if we can decipher the underlying logic behind how these totems manipulate gravity and stimulate flesh..."

"... then we can reformat the arrays!" Horace practically ripped the words from Victor's mouth, his beard trembling with pure hype.

"Using the rigorous runic sciences of humanity, we can permanently enchant those effects directly onto the [Dark Silver Armor] forged by Factory Director Luger!"

"Think about it, Victor! Once we succeed, our frontline heavy infantry will no longer be shackled by the sheer weight of their plate! They will possess indestructible defense and the mobility of light infantry! With the [Stamina Surge] buff, they could fight continuously for three days and three nights without ever feeling fatigue!" The two mages locked eyes, a profound sense of awe shaking them to their cores. They acutely realized that Soren wasn't just winning battles on the front lines.

Every single piece of loot he brought back was violently dragging Greywater Village's magical and military-industrial tech forward, bridging centuries of developmental gaps in a matter of days! Deep into the night, Soren stood entirely alone at the apex of the command post, the biting night wind violently snapping his pitch-black cloak. His gaze bypassed the brightly lit, celebrating Greywater Village, peering straight into the endless, suffocating darkness of the northern Misty Swamp.

"An army of ten thousand Minotaurs routed. Their supreme commander, Warchief Blackstone, dead by my arrow. The Royal Pavilion seized..." Soren murmured, his eyes sharp.

"The profound ripple effect of this campaign has already far transcended the battlefield itself." He knew the Orc Alliance's primitive, violence-worshipping political ecosystem perfectly. With Warchief Blackstone dead, the military forces of the Blood Province would instantly plunge into a massive power vacuum.

The Governor of the Blood Province, the Priests of the Spire of Shadows, and the chieftains of the various clans would inevitably erupt into brutal, bloody infighting to install their own puppet as the new chieftain of the Blackstone tribe. Furthermore, that Ironblood Grand Warlord who had luckily escaped? To cover up his own pathetic cowardice of fleeing without a fight, he would absolutely exaggerate Greywater Village's military strength to the absolute heavens when reporting to Orc high command.

"That is more than enough." Soren's lips curled into a cold, calculated smile.

"Until the Blackstone Warband finishes butchering each other to elect a new supreme commander, and until they figure out exactly how many lethal trump cards I'm still hiding, they absolutely won't dare to march a single soldier toward Greywater Village!" He hadn't just resolved the apocalyptic crisis of a thirty-thousand-strong army bearing down on them; he had violently carved out at least half a year—perhaps even longer—of precious, uninterrupted peace for Greywater Village to develop.

"With this buffer time, my academies and military schools will relentlessly churn out modern officers who can read, understand mathematics, and grasp topography."

"With this buffer time, the geothermal black-steel furnaces will pump out enough weapons and armor to outfit every single soldier to the teeth."