Orcish Strife

Along the Bindler River, tents of all sizes are set up, which have now become a temporary stronghold for the Red Blood Tribe.

After that battle, the former orc vanguard Soro Blood Drinker replaced Batu as the temporary chieftain of the tribe, but this position was not so easy to hold.

At this moment, the camp was brightly lit, and the crowd was filled with rage. The orcs had ferocious expressions, and spittle flew from their mouths. "Soro, you coward!"

The orc general raised his spear and roared, "Our Father God said that cowards should be pierced through the chest by a spear. You are not worthy to be our chieftain!"

"The Dwarf killed our chieftain! Faced with such a blood feud, you actually tell us to rest and recuperate?"

Someone pointed a spear at Soro's head, who sat atop the bone throne. "Soro, what happened to your promised revenge? For months, we orcs have been hiding, hunted like rabbits on the plains by Dwarf patrols!"

The burly orc said in a deep voice, "Remember, Soro, you became chieftain only because of good luck. If things continue like this, we won't mind replacing you with someone else."

"Smack!"

Soro rose from the bone throne and slammed his fist on the table in front of him, shattering it.

He looked around at the faces of the orcs, pointed south, and said angrily, "Batu is dead, the old shaman is dead, what do we have to take revenge on the High Mountain Kingdom with? You defeated soldiers and generals?"

"You self-proclaimed warriors, if you're so capable, go and stop that golden-skinned crawler yourselves! He's already destroyed twelve of our outposts this month!"

Instantly, the camp fell silent. The orcs were speechless, and even the air seemed to freeze.

The orcs' experience during this period can only be described as "tragic". Due to the shortage of food supplies, the huge orc army was broken up and nomadized in various places. The orcs returned to their original loose state.

Elf and Dwarf patrols from the High Mountain Kingdom roam the vast Ugo Prairie, relentlessly hunting down lone orcs.

The Golden Dragon was the Dwarf ' dawn, but to the orcs it was a death god who reaped lives and a demon who brought purgatory; they even called it "the Punisher" in terror.

The Golden Dragon often soared through the sky, flapping its wings and spewing out scorching and surging dragon flames, mercilessly burning down the orcs' strongholds, leaving behind only a charred ruin littered with corpses and billowing smoke.

"I admit that I am not as good as heroes like Batu and Kock who are favored by the Father God, but do you bunch of good-for-nothings think you can ride on my head? Our failure is clearly the fault of you mediocre people! Batu gave his all, while you stood by and did nothing!"

"Anyone who wants the position of chieftain of the Red Blood Tribe, come and challenge me! I fear no one's challenge!"

Soro's angry voice echoed in the tent, while the orc generals who had been so aggressive just moments before were now silent.

Because Soro was right, Batu Shatterskull's power was undeniable, and they couldn't even interfere with Batu's battle.

After all the "Eye of Gruumsh" within their tribe were sacrificed, Soro Blood Drinker, was indeed the best among them.

The orc general who had been the first to object stepped forward, trying to ease tensions, and said in a low voice, "Soro, perhaps..."

But at that moment, a sudden change occurred. A piercing whistle rang out, and a sharp arrow pierced through the woolen felt outside the tent, striking Soro in the chest.

"Whoosh—"

All the orcs could tell—it was the sound of an arrow slicing through the air.

"Enemy attack!" Soro exclaimed, turning to the side with lightning speed and narrowly avoiding the attack.

"Snap!"

The arrow pierced deep into the Bone Throne. At the same time, elite orc Fighter outside the tents rushed out at the sound of the attack, searching for its source.

"Damn it, how could this be?" Soro clutched his chest, panting as he looked at the incoming arrow, which was embedded in his hard skull with considerable force, and deadly venom was flowing out.

This attack was insidious and ruthless, with a clear objective: to take his life— Soro Blood Drinker's life!

The fletching of the arrow also caught his attention. Soro narrowed his eyes, staring intently at the brown feathers, his voice hoarse. "The feathers of High Mountain Vulture."

Only orcs would raise such brutal and ugly birds to create such arrows.

Soro's heart skipped a beat—perhaps this assassination attempt didn't come from the High Mountain Kingdom, but from within the Orcish Legion! The Orc raised his spear, rushed out of the tent, and turned to look in the direction the arrow had come from. As a former hunting captain, he immediately noticed the movement in the pile of dry grass a hundred meters away.

The messy footprints, the churned-up dirt, and the scattered eagle Soro made Solo certain that this was no ordinary disturbance; rather, it indicated that an enemy was hiding among them!

But he didn't alert the enemy; he simply held his breath, tensed all his muscles, gripped the sharp spear in his hand, and then suddenly threw it.

"Whoosh—"

The spear pierced through the air, striking the clump of withered grass with lightning speed. Blood splattered, the grass shook violently, and a mournful cry rang out.

Soro mounted his dire Worg and roared, "The enemy is right there! Capture him alive! We can't let him get away!"

The Dire Wolf Cavalry charged forward wave after wave, forming small teams of three or four men, coordinating with each other, and came rushing in from different directions to completely surround the haystack.

Soro approached and finally saw the true face of the man who attacked him—a thin orc dressed in a tattered brown robe.

At this moment, the orc was pinned to the ground by a spear, blood gushing from his wound, while the orc cavalrymen beside him watched him intently.

The orc cavalryman beside him raised his spear, grinning maliciously, and said, "Lord Soro, this damned fellow actually tried to assassinate you! Shall we torture him?"

Soro raised his hand to stop him. "Wait, I have something to ask him."

The orc on the ground, barely alive, raised his head, staring at Soro with hatred, and gave a mocking smile, "Kill me, you bastard of the Red Blood Tribe, you cowardly liar."

Soro looked down at him, frowning slightly. "Why did you do this? We orcs, who obey the will of our Father God, should be one."

Lord Batu said that regardless of which clan we come from, we should unite against the common people, kill the Dwarf and Elf, and reclaim the land that is rightfully ours.

"Enough!"

The orc roared in fury, his eyes bloodshot, spitting blood-stained saliva. "I've had enough of your Red Blood Tribe's hypocritical posturing!"

You keep talking about uniting against external enemies, yet at this time you've occupied the territory of our Cold Crow Clan, seizing the land my ancestors fought for over a century, leaving us homeless!"

Soro couldn't help but defend himself, saying, "This is only a temporary encampment. The orcish army will eventually return, and we will avenge Lord Batu, destroy the High Mountain Kingdom, and occupy Avendell Dan."

The orc assassin's expression grew even more ferocious, his mockery completely undisguised. "Soro, stop trying to fool us with the lies your Red Blood Tribe has fabricated!"

"Without Batu, how can the orcs break through Avendell Dan? With you alone?"

For a moment, Soro was speechless. He had to admit that he did have a selfish motive in wanting the Red Blood Tribe to occupy the best grasslands, and that his actions were not as glorious as he claimed.

"It was you overconfident fools from the Red Fang Tribe who deceived our chieftain, turning us into stray dogs, until we were completely wiped out!" The orc roared with his last ounce of strength, throwing a poison-coated dagger at Soro.

"You dare!"

"You despicable bastard!"

The orc soldiers standing guard rushed forward, wielding their spears and scimitars, and shredded the assassin from the Raven Tribe into pieces.

Soro stared silently at the pile of mangled flesh, which was barely recognizable as human.

A short while later, the long howl of Worg echoed from afar. A scout from the west brought news. "Lord Soro, the Cold Crow Clan was attacked by a large force of Dwarf several days ago, and..."

"I see."

Soro turned his head and looked at the Black Rock Mountains not far away, the place where the Shield Dwarves lived, and the high wall that the orcs had been unable to cross for thousands of years.

It was these rolling mountains that kept the orcs from fighting each other for resources on this barren and desolate land.

Batu, you are a hero of the orcs, but what should I do now? Should I let the history of orcs killing each other continue to repeat itself? Soro sighed deeply, a rare helplessness appearing on his ugly, scarred face.

Orcs, synonymous with ruggedness and savagery, rarely think things through, but at this moment, Soro felt a profound sense of powerlessness.

He didn't notice that the orc corpse floating in the Bindler River trembled slightly, and a dense, seemingly all-consuming black color suddenly appeared in the water.