Ashen Dragon

"With your support, I no longer have to worry about the Orc invasion!"

The Dwarf King called for his guards to bring up several barrels of their strongest ale and handed them over to the allies, then raised his cup and drained it in one gulp.

"For Justice!"

The Elves did not like the fiery ale of the Dwarves and preferred refreshing and elegant fruit wines, but out of respect for the Dwarf King, they reluctantly held up their cups.

Rhea, the Half-elf Paladin, did not say much, walked forward, and unceremoniously lifted her cup.

Even the Gold Dragon received a barrel filled to the brim, which it delicately grabbed with its claws and carefully lifted.

"For Justice!"

The wooden cups were raised high and clinked together; the beverages splashed as cheers from the Dwarves and Elves echoed through the sky.

Thus, the Dwarves, Elves, and Gold Dragon formed an alliance. United in defense of justice and order, they stood together against the invasion of the Orcs from the North.

However, no one would have guessed that within this "Holy Alliance," there lurked a Red Dragon, draped in the guise of a Gold Dragon, known to the people of Fianso as the Tyrant Anzeta.

However, with war looming, after a drink of strong ale, Ed called over Bjorn and discussed strategies with the reinforcements from Serinia.

...

Meanwhile, in the beast-skin tents in the northern part of Aivendel, chieftains from various Orc tribes were engaged in fierce arguments.

Clan members covered in tattoos of Worgs, Vultures, Lions, and other fierce animals glared at each other, spitting angrily, almost coming to blows.

"Cattuso, are you really that afraid of that gold-skinned crawler?

I say we shoot it down and offer its head in a blood sacrifice to Father God. Great Orc warriors shouldn't fear any enemy!"

"You're talking nonsense! That's a damn Gold Dragon! Sending ordinary clan warriors against it is simply sending them to their deaths."

"Hmph! Cowards should be pierced through the chest by Blood Spear. True believers of Guosh are not timid like you! It seems that the Orcs of the Cold Crow Clan are all cowards!"

True bravery is proven with the enemy's blood, not with a lot of talking! Come on, I challenge you to a sacred duel. Let's settle this on the battlefield!

Let's see if your Spear pierces my chest first, or if my scimitar cuts off your head first."

The two burly Orcs suddenly stood up, their eyes boiling with rage and unmistakably filled with murderous intent.

Before Batu Skullcrush united the Wuge Prairie, hundreds of tribes waged wars against each other, some of which resulted in deep-seated blood feuds, barely maintaining peace, with the Cold Crow and Black Wolf tribes being such examples.

Fifty years ago, the Cold Crow Tribe attacked the Black Wolf Tribe's settlement, killing their chieftain and enslaving hundreds. Twenty years later, the Black Wolf Tribe ambushed the Cold Crow's hunting party, turning all their skulls into bowls.

Such acts of mutual slaughter and aggression were common occurrences among the Orc tribes of the Wuge Prairie.

The sworn enemy clans of the Red Teeth Tribe had been exterminated by Batu, all their adult males killed and children and women enslaved, deemed unworthy even for inclusion.

The "Great Beastman Kingdom" established by Batu nowadays is not so much a nation as a vast tribal collective built upon the belief in the divine Father God Guosh.

"Snap!"

With a crisp sound, the table inside the tent was smashed apart, shattered on the ground.

"Enough!"

Batu Skullcrush, sitting at the highest place, his face an ashen blue, fury burning in his only remaining eye, his throat filled with boundless anger.

"I gathered you here in compliance with the divine will of the great Father God, not to see you bickering endlessly!"

Suddenly, the previously noisy tent fell silent; the beastman chieftains who were shouting at each other a moment ago now fell quiet.

Batu, his demeanor fierce, scanned the room, and seeing the Orc chieftains finally calmed down, he picked up his blood-stained battleaxe from the ground.

Cattuso, Quet, leave that golden-skinned crawler to me. I will deal with him personally!"

The one-eyed chieftain's eyes surged with blood, and his ugly, rough green-yellow face twisted into a hideous smile, his tongue licking the sharp fangs at the edge of his mouth.

Heh, if it were the "Wings of Silver" from Melwood who caught Bahamut's attention, I might have been slightly wary.

Batu caressed the sharp axe blade, letting tiny beads of blood seep from his palm: "As if a mere Gold Dragon that came out of nowhere...

could possibly stop the advance of the Orc conquest? What a joke!"

In fact, the annihilation of the Vanguard Forces was indeed part of Batu's plan, only the speed of their defeat was faster than he anticipated.

Even the heroic sacrifice of Monk was within his expectations; in Batu's view, Monk ought to give his all for the Father God and the Clan.

Moreover, as his younger brother, Monk was ambitious and unflinching, having once personally gouged out his own left eye without uttering a word.

His death, for Batu Skullcrush who had just secured his position as Chieftain, was not necessarily a bad thing.

After all, the High Mountain Kingdom had existed for thousands of years with profound heritage. The Vanguard Forces were merely to probe the enemy's strength and drain the Dwarf traps and facilities. The real offensive was yet to come.

By then, he would personally lead a great army to conquer Aivendel, to become the greatest hero of the Orc race in nearly a thousand years, favored by the Father God.

Just at this moment, Old Shaman slowly stepped forward: "Lord Batu, there is... not so good news for us Orcs."

Batu arched his brow: "What news?"

Old Shaman took out from his bosom a sacrificial Magic Artifact made of a skull, polished extremely shiny, and held it up with trembling hands.

On the smooth surface of the skull, a blurry image gradually emerged:

First appeared the riddled Aivendel City, followed by sharp-eared Elves, and many Pegasus, and unicorns.

The expression on the Orc chieftain's face turned ugly: "This is..."

Old Shaman sighed, his voice low and hoarse, like a gentle breeze over barren grass.

"My lord, as you see, the Serinia Elves have still sent reinforcements, including one... powerful Legendary One, known as the Half-elf Twilight Blade."

Batu gritted his teeth, his expression furious: "Damn it, did not the Elder Council of Elves tear up the treaty long ago? How could the Elves' reinforcements appear here!"

Old Shaman shook his head, his tone low: "Sorry, Lord Batu, I am not sure.

But one thing is certain — we must conquer Aivendel within seven days, it's a death command from Father God.

Otherwise, when the blood mist disperses and the reinforcements from Heavenly Mountain arrive, even Father God will not be able to stop the gods of Modin Saman from descending their power, then we will..."

"Nasu, I understand."

Batu spoke slowly, his single eye slightly squinting, his expression growing increasingly fierce.

"I will not fail the expectations of Father God, I will lead the Orcs to conquer Aivendel within seven days—at all costs."

In the sky, the Orcs' tamed Giant Eagles and Vultures circled like dense black spots, emitting hoarse, noisy calls.

"Praise Father God Guosh..."

"He struck the earth with a spear and opened up caves, withered clearings, and wastelands for his people to inhabit..."

"We will use the enemies' skulls as bracelets, their blood as wine, their skins as clothes, and offer it all to you..."

The Orc Shamans raised their Bone Staffs, sending out prolonged shouts, chanting ancient sacrificial verses.

In the valley, the Orcs built altars with the remains of Dwarves, made various sacrificial Magic Artifacts from their bones, and guzzled the blood of their foes.

Suddenly, the sky darkened with blood-red mist emerging from statues made of Dwarf skulls, filling the valley.

Next, the blood mist spread rapidly northward, every creature that smelled it, whether Worgs, Scorpion Lions, Owl Bears, or Hyenas, became more frenzied.

These maddened beasts surged together towards the south, becoming tools of war for the Orcs.

Even the Orcs, engulfed in it, had clouded eyes. They swung their weapons, shouting the slogan "Blood Sacrifice to Father God."

Finally, from the distant haze, a huge one-eyed rune emerged, with blood light flashing like a real eye looking towards Aivendel, exuding endless greed.

On the ground, frenzied Orcs shouted the name of Father God, driving ferocious beasts, flooding towards Aivendel like a rampant tide.