The Rise of the Blood Blade
Every front was collapsing.
More and more orc warbands and Dragon City armored forces were being wiped out wholesale.
Countless outposts, fortresses, and towns were drowned beneath Magic Storms that shook the mountains and seas.
Many powerful figures fell one after another.
Yet some quick-witted powerhouses began seeking a way out.
Some secretly gathered resources, planning to abandon Turanze's tens of millions of ratfolk and Dragon City's tens of millions of ordinary citizens, build great ships, set sail, and flee into the unpredictable depths of the ocean.
Others dyed their hair yellow and their eyes green, trying to turn themselves from black-haired, black-eyed people into Blonde Hair Blue Eyes, then bowed their once-proud heads to the Holy Light Temple.
Of course, changes in appearance alone were not enough to prove their loyalty.
To receive the Holy Light's "purification" and "forgiveness," they also had to offer sufficiently lavish sacrifices.
Such as the blood and lives of their former compatriots.
Against this backdrop, Turanze and Dragon City, both teetering on the brink of destruction, presented a doomsday scene of universal panic.
The strong were like monkeys in a tree about to collapse, leaping and scrambling about in their death throes.
The weak were like snakes, insects, rats, and ants nesting in that tree, helpless and waiting to die.
Those warriors who had fought wholeheartedly for civilization had all died on the front lines.
The surviving powerhouses had long ceased thinking about "how to defeat the Holy Light Temple." They racked their brains and stopped at nothing, considering only how to survive and preserve themselves, their enterprises, and their Lineage.
The Blood Alliance had never been some honorable organization fighting for all humanity.
From the day it was born, it had been controlled by only a tiny