428: Explosive, Classic, Sweet, Winning, Tense, Run

The Deadhead Orcs looked like a bunch of Barbarians, but the fact that they had advanced into a medium-sized society meant that their former civilization had at least been on the scale of a star cluster.

They were leagues beyond certain two civilizations in the Galaxy Eye Meat Grinder.

However, ever since civilization had become a noun, it no longer served as an adjective. Even though these white-furred, red-eyed Deadhead Orcs displayed qualities far surpassing the regular army of the Narrative Civilization, it could not change their savage, bloodthirsty nature.

Young, sturdy orc infantrymen, built like entire buildings, could mercilessly tear apart monsters covered in Void Crystal simply by forming ranks.

They had no long-range units. Even when holding crude firearms larger than city gates, these orcs could not think of any strategy involving ranged fire suppression. Instead, they charged forward, shoved their barrels into the mouths of Void Behemoths, let out a roar of "WrrrrA!", and blasted their brains into pulp.

Some elderly orcs, hunched and frail, had transitioned into roles similar to Spellcasters.

—More precisely, battle-mage tanks.

These old orcs wore heavy leather armor and wielded flails in one hand, most of them assembled from hammerheads with three different attributes. Every strike sent flames and miasma spreading together, radiating blinding flashes outward.

In their other hands, they held ritual implements made from unknown skulls. Lightning burst from their eyes, and as their low chants rose like khoomei singing, waves of primal savagery emerged solemnly across the land.

Crack, crack...

As the primal force swept through, muscles knotted across the white-furred orcs' bodies and veins bulged. Their already massive frames instantly swelled another size.

"WrrrrA!"

The inspired orcs completely went berserk. Their attacks became even fiercer as they slaughtered every approaching monster with frenzied cruelty. And dying beneath their