Picking Peaches

As five Seventh-Order Imperial Clan members fell one after another within just a few breaths, the orc army's once-soaring fighting spirit seemed to have been doused with cold water, instantly cooling.

Those Seventh-Order Imperial Clan members, who usually stood high above everyone else, had just died without even seeing the enemy's shadow. Such a death was far more terrifying than dying in a direct battle.

Every remaining Seventh-Order Imperial Clan member was now in danger, no longer possessing their earlier bravery.

They tightened their defenses and devoted more attention to protecting themselves. Their once-unrestrained attacks became hesitant and cautious, afraid that the next moment, a deadly bullet would shoot out from the Void and pierce their heads.

As the orcs' offensive weakened and their momentum declined, the Stele Demons surged forward from all directions once more like sharks that had scented blood. The black tide rose again, filling the gap that had just been torn open.

The orc warriors were once again trapped in the vast ocean of Stele Demons.

Whoosh!

A Draconic Warrior had just swung his claws and torn apart two Stele Demons. Before he could survey his surroundings, three Stele Demons pouncing from the side bit into his body at once.

Black fangs pierced his scales and tore through his flesh. He let out a pained roar and tried to struggle, but more Stele Demons swarmed over him like ants, completely burying him.

Moments later, only several gnawed, unrecognizable bone fragments and dark-red bloodstains remained in that area.

Awooo!

The Frost Werewolf was surrounded by Stele Demons. He moved as swiftly as the wind, his claws slashing like blades and tearing apart several charging Stele Demons, but there were simply too many of them.

A Seventh-Order Stele Demon silently appeared behind him. Its pitch-black claws pierced his