"Calm down! At the end of the day, I will allow you to bathe in the blood of our enemies!"
In an environment where grumblings started and even a few people attempted to attack by breaking the order, Nafız had to ensure discipline before it was too late. Therefore, she promised what her kin wanted most. Appealing to their primitive instincts, she offered a sacrifice to their nature desiring brutality.
While watching the soldiers getting out of the vehicle and descending, one of them attracted the Blood God's attention. He was a gray-haired man who decorated his camouflage, obvious at first glance to have superior features, with a gray cloak.
While he and his warriors were locked onto those descending from war machines, the gaze of the cloaked man with a square face and a large aquiline nose turned to the high walls remaining on their right side.
"These have no use anymore! Let's get them out of the way at least!"
Reaching his hand into one of the many pockets belonging to the vest on him, he took out a palm-sized tool and didn't hesitate even for a moment while pressing the button vibrating emitting red lights. Subsequently, as the ground started to shake, the walls surrounding the Main Orc Tribe were slowly descending underground.
The walls slowly disappearing were a much larger version of the portable fortress in Nafız's transportation ring. This was the decision of the cloaked man while the war turned into a chest-to-chest struggle.
Everyone's attention turned to this point. Therefore, it attracted attention that while some of the walls lowered, a part of them remained standing as if nothing happened.
It seemed the structure with two major damages on it wasn't working as healthily as when it was established. Finally, due to one-third of it resisting in rebellion, the giant walls were left in the middle like a sieve with wide gaps.
"When the job is done, we will have to add this to the bill too!"
The expression of the man looking as if sad about the condition of his property changed dramatically after the words he said, and he turned his gazes sharpened like a hawk to the orcs looking at him with astonishment. Nafız was scanning the man's movements from among the shields; she couldn't underestimate this person opening a new front in the ongoing war by coming with about ten thousand soldiers beside him.
"Thud! Thud! Thud!"
The footsteps of orc warriors advancing towards the midst of war machines from inside the ruined walls were like newly started rain. Although he didn't make a request like the person in the gray cloak, Siyahayı's commanders had also sent their warriors to support this newly arrived ally.
The day starting by witnessing the war of a siege and a defense army was just finding its middle, but it would start hosting a struggle likely to continue on three separate fronts.
The game was set, players were watching each other carefully when the war cry of one of the sides of the single struggle continuing on the huge battlefield, shaking the earth and sky, caused some of the standing walls to collapse.
"You will die! I will kill you all one by one with my own hands!"
Fury overflowing from his soul was reflecting in Siyahayı's eyes. The pain of his son dying with every blow was scratching his heart once more. The Orc Lord practically activated an energy tank he kept in reserve.
For the last few blows, he was increasing his dominance over his opponent. This situation raised morale on the Main Orc Tribe front. A strange pressure was starting to form on the warriors of the First Army.
"Treacherous creature! Today will be the last day you breathe on earth!"
Alyon, falling into a passive position in the struggle, after speaking foaming at the mouth, loaded full throttle onto the bloodline power inside the blood flowing in his veins. While he and his soldiers relaxed with this development, two orcs would engage each other as if exchanging blows for the first time.
"Ha ha ha! So old Siyahayı is fighting seriously!"
"His meticulously hidden trinket is broken. They didn't say for nothing that a speck gets in the protected eye!"
While hundreds of subordinates standing behind him evaluated the situation among themselves, the man in the gray robe calmly waited for the orc warriors coming for support to position themselves beside them. Then, evidently deciding the time had come, he raised the index finger of his right hand, which he took out from his wide sleeve, towards the direction of the second army.
His men knew very well this was the attack signal. Without even a breath passing, they rushed from where they were. While remaining on the attack together with orc warriors coming to their side, different weapons started to appear in the hands of all of them without exception. There was an ominous air on these equipments whose surroundings shone with different colors.
They reached the enemy's first line of defense in a short time. They continued running onto the orcs with giant shields waiting for them as if they didn't exist. Where this self-confidence came from would be clear a few breaths later; their weapons allowing them to cut steel shields like cheese were the badge of their confidence.
Each color had a different effect; while red ones left a sharp burning smell behind after making a cut, green ones opened deep rifts with whistle-like sounds. It was the magic of the Hell Realm. They used weapons to release the energy they grew inside them. A good weapon was at least as important as high cultivation.
The braves of the second army had no chance in this situation. They were now sheep going to the butcher with their legs tied. In the face of their enemies' helpless state, the warriors of the Black Lily Clan seemed to be journeying towards the peaks of pleasure. At least a dozen orcs died every time they swung their weapons.
Cheerful laughter accompanied their smiling faces. Since they left their clans to participate in a war, they were involuntarily worrying, but now seeing these were futile anxieties, they were shedding blood to relieve themselves.
In the face of the fate of orc warriors dying at their hands, it was seen that they turned the business into a competition with the looks they threw at each other. They had engaged in a fight of who would kill how many. The most ambitious among them was the warrior with a black mask leading the attack with his scimitar he swung madly. Shouting loudly after his every blow, he was keeping the pedigree of those dying at his hands. The crazy warrior was about to shout again after his last strike; the moment he saw a yellow light before opening his mouth, he paused. A voice from the ranks of the second army accompanied this movement.
"One!"
"Two!"
"Three!"
The same voice had counted one by one before finally shouting twenty. At the end of this event where each number corresponded to a severed head, everyone's eyes were on the two gold-colored Chakrams returning to their owner's hands.
Number five of the Elite Ten stood tall like a volcano ready to explode inside his armor, which was jet-black, dark enough to practically absorb all kinds of light falling on it, the most distinctive feature of his team. A few breaths later, nine more people came to his side. One of the strongest formations inside the second army was deciding to take the stage.
"You just focus on human warriors! You can leave the rest to me and the braves of the second army!"
The speaker was none other than number one, the owner of the summit; after making a few seals with his hands, he stuck a small totem into the ground. After touching the soil, the totem with strange patterns on it started growing rapidly, and a very short time passed before it extended to the skies with an attitude looking down on everything standing under it, surpassing the height of the walls resisting to stay standing.
"Slaughter! Five Thousand Captives!"
In the time passed since their last war until today, the Elite Ten hadn't sat idly. Under the guidance of the experience they lived, they had trained madly. This was the reason why number one, who could summon only a thousand wild creature spirits before, multiplied his power by five today. Against the orc herd flocking onto them, he was calling the captives dying at his hands for help.
"How can this be? With what courage can a barbaric orc filth use spirit art!"
The man in the gray robe, drawing a calm and mysterious profile since coming to the battlefield, shouted involuntarily. He couldn't stand seeing an orc, whom he saw as the lowest conscious being, use the art which was his clan's area of expertise.
"Archers, kill that impudent one!"