Chương 66: 66：Death from Above

It was the smooth skull of an elderly human. Inlaid into the bone was a band of enchanted gold foil—the signature circlet of a Grand Magus! Strands of poorly cleaned, dried flesh still clung to the bone. It was the severed head of his mentor, macabrely fashioned into a trophy!

"You scurrying gutter rat!" Karl hoisted the skull high, his grating laughter echoing toward the sky.

"The genius mage of the Silvermoon Kingdom? Look at this! That old fool who kept preaching about redeeming the world—you should have heard him! He squealed worse than a dying bitch at the end!" Karl carelessly slung the skull back onto his warg saddle like a piece of trash. He drew a heavy, serrated cleaver and leveled it at the stone formation.

"Today, the brass issued a kill order! We're exterminating every last piece of trash disrupting our supply lines. Pulling you up by the roots!" Karl sneered.

"Victor! Not only am I going to slaughter the miserable bugs cowering behind you, but I'm taking your skull back too. It'll make a fine chamber pot!" Humiliation and unbridled fury detonated within Victor's chest.

"Karl!" Victor unleashed a bloodcurdling roar. Yet, he didn't charge forward. He couldn't. His mana was utterly depleted; he didn't even have the magical reserves left to conjure a simple fireball. He looked down. Standing beside him were a dozen refugee brothers-in-arms. They clutched nothing but wooden clubs and rusted woodchoppers. They were trembling in absolute terror, yet they still stood firmly in front of him, acting as a human shield. A suffocating wave of powerlessness washed over him.

Was this how it ended? Not only failing to avenge his mentor, but being forced to watch helplessly once more as these refugees—people who had placed their utmost trust in him—were butchered by the orcs? Trembling, Victor drove his completely ruined magic staff into the dirt. Reaching back, he drew a heavily rusted iron shortsword from his waist. He ignored the taunts raining down on him.

The man who was once hailed as the future star of the Silvermoon Kingdom turned his back to the enemy and bowed deeply to the twelve refugees. When he stood tall once more, every last shred of hope for survival had vanished from his eyes. All that remained was an iron resolve to die fighting.

"Brothers. For the past six months, I've been nothing but a burden to you all." Victor adjusted his grip on the rusted blade.

"I can't cast another spell, but I still have this sword. I'll lead the charge. If I can drag even one greenskin down to hell with me, it's a victory!" The crushing weight of absolute despair settled over the small band of humans as they braced for their final, suicidal charge. Karl's maniacal laughter erupted once more. The orc army, their spears packed as densely as a forest, began their march to close the final seventy meters. ……

High above the floor of the sunbaked gulch, a faint miasma drifted across the withered ferns clinging to the cliff edge. Soren lay prone behind a jagged outcropping, as motionless as a statue seamlessly blended into the dark-brown rock. His Warlord System skill, [Talent Appraisal], was currently locked onto the human male wielding the broken staff far below. [Name]: Victor [Class]: Silver-tier Mage [Talents]: [Double Mana]: Innately possesses a mana capacity double that of an ordinary person.

[Omni-Element Mastery]: Possesses supreme comprehension for all schools of magic. Spellcasting preparation time is significantly reduced. A high-tier mage driven to the brink of despair, his heart overflowing with humiliation and a thirst for vengeance... Soren calculated coldly in his mind. For a ruler, offering favors to a talent of this caliber when times were good was meaningless.

The only way to forge unbreakable loyalty—the kind where a man would lay down his life for you—was to be his salvation in his darkest hour. To be the savior who grabbed his wrist a split second before he plummeted into the abyss. Furthermore, what Greywater Village lacked the most right now was magical firepower capable of countering high-tier Orc Shamans.

He shifted his gaze from Victor, meticulously scanning the two hundred arrogant, advancing Black Iron Orcs, before settling on Karl, the commanding officer howling with laughter atop his warg. Since you've blundered into my hunting grounds, not a single one of you greenskins is leaving here alive today. Deep within the gulch below, the jaws of death were closing. Victor gripped his brittle, rusted sword tighter. Behind him, the dozen emaciated refugees let out ragged breaths, resigning themselves to the end.

Karl brutally swept his serrated cleaver downward, issuing the final order of execution.

"Infantry Phalanx! Advance! Chop them into mincemeat!" Clack, clack, clack. Two hundred Black Iron Orcs marched in lockstep over the hardened dirt. A hundred forged steel spears were leveled in unison, their tips flashing with a deadly chill. They were less than twenty paces away from Victor's group. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Now!

"Kill," Soren muttered a single word from atop the cliff. He rose abruptly. The Windwhisper Bow materialized in his grasp. He nocked an arrow and drew the bowstring back until it formed a perfect full moon. Three cyan, wind-elemental runes enchanted along the bow's chassis flared to life one after another. TWANG! The violent snap of the rebounding bowstring sounded like tearing silk. A steel-tipped arrow broke the sound barrier, transforming into a streak of cyan light that plunged straight toward the valley floor!

Thwack! A burly Orc Decurion didn't even have time to raise his head before his black-iron helmet was pierced as if it were made of paper. The arrow blasted through his right brow bone, blew out the back of his skull, and viciously pinned itself into the breastplate of the orc standing directly behind him! The Decurion's battle cry was cut short. His massive frame toppled backward like a rotten log, slamming heavily into the dirt. The sudden strike cast a split-second of dead silence over the roaring orc formation.

The manic laughter on Karl's face froze instantly. Before a single orc could even look up to locate the sniper, the sky suddenly darkened. At the top of the cliffs. Sixty-four elite soldiers, fully clad in heavy black-iron armor, had stood up in perfect unison the moment Soren loosed his first arrow. Sixty-four thick, vein-bulging arms reached over their shoulders. Draw javelins. Lean back. Deep breath. Plant feet. Twist hips. THROW! Whoosh!

Riding the momentum of a several-dozen-meter drop, sixty-four ash-grey heavy javelins formed a dense shadow of death. They rained down like a relentless torrent upon the completely exposed central formation of the orc army!

"Shields up! Protect your heads!" Karl screamed, his eyes wide with horror, his voice cracking from the panic. It was too late. The Black Iron Orcs had focused all their attention on the dozen refugees. Every shield was locked in a forward-facing stance. Who would expect an aerial bombardment while chasing down a handful of stragglers? BANG! BANG! BANG! SQUELCH! The sickening sounds of shattering metal and tearing flesh erupted simultaneously across the canyon.

Accelerated by gravity, the heavy javelins displayed terrifying penetrative power. One orc was struck directly through the collarbone; the javelin tip tore entirely through his lungs, securely nailing his body to the hard-packed dirt of the gulch. Another orc swung his great-axe in a desperate attempt to parry, but the falling javelin instantly shattered his wrist upon impact. Without losing an ounce of momentum, the weapon drove downward, pulverizing his femur. But it wasn't over!

The very moment the first volley landed, a second wave of sixty-four javelins cleared the cliff's edge! And then came a third volley! In the span of just five breaths, a staggering one hundred and ninety-two heavy javelins mercilessly plowed through the orc formation, executing an indiscriminate carpet bombing! Dark green orc blood flowed freely across the ground. The once-disciplined 'V' formation had its entire center pulverized into a bloody crater.

In a single exchange, fifty or sixty elite Black Iron Orcs had been slaughtered by the javelin rain before they even caught a glimpse of their attackers. Agonizing wails echoed through the gulch. Victor and the refugees stood completely dumbfounded. The vicious orcs that were about to chop them to pieces only a second ago were now being harvested like wheat by a skyward barrage of spears—less than ten paces away from where they stood.

"Gary!" Soren barked coldly from halfway up the ridge.

"Already on it, My Lord!" Gary, the Captain of the Scouts, wiped a smear of muddy water from his face. He had been lying in wait within a blind spot along the cliff walls. Thanks to his [Trap Intuition] talent, he didn't even need to rely on the complex, meticulously built traps he hadn't had time to construct during their stealth approach. His keen eyes had noticed that the soil along the sides of the gulch was extremely loose.

Several massive, weathered boulders were hanging on by a thread, held in place only by a few thick, dead vines. Gary viciously brought his blade down, severing the primary, taut vine! RUMBLE! The very earth began to tremble violently. Stripped of their final anchor, the two colossal boulders—each weighing several tons—tumbled furiously down the steep cliff face.

"Move! Avalanche!" The surviving orc soldiers scattered in sheer terror. Their already chaotic formation was completely obliterated by the two descending juggernauts. CRASH! The boulders slammed into the bottom of the gulch, instantly grinding seven or eight slow-moving orc spearmen into literal meat paste. Gripped by panic, the lower-ranking orc officers began to bellow frantically.

"Hold your ground! Form up!" A Centurion, his face covered in blood, hoisted his long saber, desperately trying to rally his shattered unit.