Although the situation of the troops they commanded on this battlefield was pleasing, the state Alyon had fallen into—someone who had been by his side since the moment he was born in this new world—filled Nafız with a sorrow tinged with rage.
Making deductions from what he saw, he realized that Siyahayı was no longer a threat and that any orc warrior could kill him at any moment. The greatest proof supporting this idea was his own army's warriors within the walls, who had felt Khan's Judgment most intimately and were currently slaughtering their enemies with methods beyond imagination.
What was happening was not a battle; many of the warriors attacking alongside Alyon didn't even have weapons in their hands. They were tearing the enemy apart with their bare hands, and where that wasn't enough, they didn't hesitate to use their mouths.
The ground was littered with orc bodies that were not yet dead but had all their limbs torn off. The blood they shed had caused small and large puddles to form. Who could judge these orcs for their actions, who were perhaps carrying out the greatest savagery ever witnessed on the Orc Steppes?
Fighting for their race was as natural an activity as breathing or eating, but the situation changed completely after what they witnessed today. Their chief, whom they followed and for whom they risked death to come to the battlefield, had been tortured until he was on the verge of taking his last breath. As if that weren't enough, his daughter and their commander, Yarmagül, had been condemned to the greatest humiliation an orc could suffer, and her son was made to witness these moments of shame.
This family was tough; when necessary, they wouldn't hesitate to take a life to enforce the rules, but they had never ceased to be fair to them. They had never tormented anyone living under their tribe due to personal whims. Now, as the emotions they had suppressed in the face of the cruelty inflicted upon them came to light, they were handling their business with their most primal instincts.
Seeing that things were going well on the front he came from and here, Nafız picked up speed and advanced toward where the Black Lily Clan, which had arrived on the battlefield with the giant crow, was fighting. In a short time, he reached the Second Army and his first destination was the area the Elite Ten members had turned into a slaughterhouse. The emotions Khan felt in his heart seemed to have permeated the entire battlefield.
Even warriors who were intended to be the future of the orc race, not only with their techniques but also with their advanced reasoning abilities, were infuriated. From number one to ten, all of them were using their deadliest techniques without restraint, while their merciless gazes caused anyone they fell upon to freeze. The color of the jet-black armor they wore had turned blood red; together with their kinsmen beside them, they were more than enough to win the struggle on the front.
"What courage is this? Do you think you can kill me, an inner circle elder of the Black Lily Clan!"
A cry rising from a corner of the Second Army's battlefield interrupted Nafız's thoughts. Along with his attention, he was forced to turn his direction there. He first saw two figures attacking each other relentlessly; as he got closer, he recognized the man, who had been wearing a plain robe covering his face when he first arrived, by the aura he emitted.
Facing the old man as an opponent was an orc relentlessly swinging a broad greatsword. The person whose attacks left black shadows in their wake was Çekiçdöven, who had activated his Lineage Power.
Unfortunately, although a considerable amount of time had passed since Khan's Judgment, he had not been able to defeat the old man with coal-black hair, but it didn't go unnoticed that he was cornering his enemy moment by moment with the ambition this gave him.
The old man had dropped his two short swords. Even though he couldn't compete with the giant weapon that was Nafız's gift, he had drawn his machete and was trying to resist. This effort was futile; the veins in his temples had swelled from the anger caused by his situation, but no matter what he did, he couldn't shake off the orc working like a machine.
"Bammmm!"
Çekiçdöven landed a hard blow, sending the opponent he was dueling dozens of steps backward. The old man, who gave a small opening as a result of the constant pressure, almost paid for it with his life.
"Even if I have to shatter my soul, I will not die here at the hands of a filthy orc!"
As soon as the old man with coal-black hair finished his words, he furiously plunged a dagger he drew from the sheath hanging at his waist toward his heart. This action of the old man caused Çekiçdöven to fall into horror. Had he chosen to take his own life rather than die at the hands of an orc?
It was normal for Çekiçdöven, seeing a Black Lily elder for the first time, to think this way, but Nafız grimaced because he knew what was actually happening. Just as the blood essences of ancestors were given to chosen individuals in his master's sect, this dagger was that for the old man's clan. Before two breaths had passed, the old man withdrew the weapon he had plunged into his heart, and there was neither blood nor the pale gray body of the dagger to be seen.
Strange events would not be limited to this. The coal-black hair, the most distinctive feature of the Black Lily Clan elder, was rapidly turning white, a process that lasted until it took on a light gray color.
Nafız had guessed from the way they arrived that this man held a good position within his organization, but he hadn't expected him to be of high enough rank to possess a dagger made with the soul of his clan's ancestors.
What happened took place in less than ten breaths. Çekiçdöven would continue to attack recklessly. No matter how surprised he was, it was impossible for even a shadow of fear to form in his heart while under the influence of the Lineage Power. The Blood God realized he needed to intervene and was about to rush forward, quickly drawing his two coal-black daggers from the reward dungeon.
"Not while I'm here!"
Suddenly, a familiar voice rang in his ear. It was Sangre speaking, whom he had noticed out of the corner of his eye in bad shape when he arrived. Immediately after, his student passed in front of him; he still hadn't fully recovered, but thanks to Khan's Judgment, most of his wounds seemed to have healed. He did not accept being defeated by an enemy who had put him in this state. Now, his goal was to show his true power without pressure on him.
The two orcs were approaching the transformed old man at full speed. Thinking that intervening now would break their pride, Nafız stepped aside. Çekiçdöven dove in headfirst from the front, clearly running with all his might without slowing down. His friend was right behind him; with three steps to go, Sangre slowed down to suddenly dart to the left.
The old man stood motionless where he had plunged the dagger into his chest. He was waiting for his enemies with his head bowed. The greatsword and the six knives were about to descend upon him; perhaps there wasn't even time for a single breath.
At that moment, the old man lifted his head, accompanied by a terrible wind bursting outward from his body. While this wind repelled both Çekiçdöven and Sangre steps backward, it caused scratches to form on their weapons.
"What tremendous wind element domination!"
Nafız muttered to himself as he watched what was happening. It was becoming certain that the enemy had succeeded in the gamble he played. The elder of the Black Lily Clan had forcibly merged a fragment of one of his powerful ancestors' souls with his own. The risk he took was enormous; in case of failure, his soul would shatter and he would be no different from a vegetable, but evidently, that hadn't happened, and the old man had gained the right to use tremendous power, even if for a short time.
"Come, two of you, three of you, a thousand or even hundreds of thousands of you! I will make you taste the power of the Black Lily Sect!"
The old man became arrogant with the power he obtained. He even showed the audacity to define his organization, which was still just a clan, as a sect. The Hell Realm drew the boundaries of these matters with sharp lines; if it were heard that a simple clan elder used this term, his end would certainly be death.
"Now you've crossed the line! Even if the founding ancestor of your crappy clan came, he couldn't take you from my hands now!"
Nafız had not yet accessed the techniques and power coming from his master, but he possessed all of his memories. In the face of the old man's words, he became as angry as a Hell Realm administrator.
"Master, please allow me!"