Creating a Legend

"My Lord! For the sake of your victory, for the sake of a total victory over the Greenskins, I am willing to cast aside all my past honors!"

The gravelly voice rang out with conviction. Haran's response left those in the command room astonished and filled with deep admiration.

Haran Ogilvy was a man who placed immense value on honor; he had harbored a long-standing grudge against Xilan over the gain and loss of it.

He was the sharpest presence on the battlefield. Beheading generals, seizing banners, breaching lines, leading the charge, and facing the enemy's blades head-on—the praise and honors he had earned were countless.

His reputation echoed throughout Nul. His enemies were deeply impressed by him; for their Champion Swordsman to fall at Haran's hands was not a disgrace, but an honor.

Even among the Ork, there were tales of his prowess.

At this very moment, Doom's plan required fame, and it required Haran to sacrifice everything he had earned in the past for the sake of victory.

"Very well!" He reached out an arm to pull the Champion Swordsman up, patting his shoulder with an affirming gaze.

Doom himself did not place much value on honor, but Haran's sacrifice was nonetheless admirable.

Sacrifice is not an obligation; when someone sacrifices for the greater good, they deserve to be remembered by those who benefit.

"Let's go, Erica. I will need your help shortly."

Doom took Haran and called for the dazed Ranger, walking out of the command room toward the Ork gathering point.

In the blueprint of the plan, Erica was an indispensable link, equally vital.

As for command duties, within the scanning range of the War Fortress, there would be no issues with communication.

Stationed on the front lines, Doom could still convey precise orders in real-time through the sensor attached behind his ear.

"What is it you intend to do?" A humble expression graced Erica's beautiful face. Having witnessed the Warlord's artistry and precise intellect, she was deeply humbled and felt uneasy about her own rashness.

Was it possible that even her entry into the command room had been calculated by a man of such reason, foresight, and extraordinary wisdom?

"Do not be afraid!" Doom maintained his majesty, though his voice softened considerably to soothe her panicked heart. "For the sake of victory in this war, I intend to create an Ork legend!"

Doom had consumed the Ork, gaining knowledge of many Ork races and forming several bold hypotheses.

The Ork possessed a form of idealistic energy field, and the more Ork gathered together, reaching a consensus on a single matter, the more manifest that mysterious energy became.

The war machines of those Ork were the best proof.

By human standards, the junk vehicles cobbled together by the Ork shouldn't even move, yet they ran under Ork control; war machines painted with red paint moved even faster and more persistently.

The Forging Academy, which trained technical talent at the underground core furnace of the Guardian Domain, had researched Ork machinery with great confidence, only to reap meager results.

They did, however, discover one unexpected phenomenon.

The Ork could construct weapons of war from any scrap, even imitating the Night Watchers to cobble together junk power armor.

There was only one thing they could not utilize—the Nul Crystal.

In the eyes of the Ork, the crystals were worthless stones.

They would not imitate humans using them, as if, in their perception, the Nul Crystal did not exist at all.

Their unique idealistic field also struggled to drive the crystals; to the Ork, the spears and swords of the guards were not even as good as a rusted, scrap-metal blade.

In Doom's plan, the Ork's idealistic field was highly valuable, and it was perfect for exterminating the Ork themselves.

"Create an Ork legend?" Erica's slender brows furrowed as she whispered Doom's words, carefully pondering their meaning.

Suddenly, her expression changed, her sultry voice suppressing a tremor: "What you are doing is too dangerous!"

"Dangerous?"

"What kind of place do you think this is? Is there anything in a war that isn't dangerous?" Doom's gentle voice suddenly turned sharp. His piercing gaze struck directly into Erica's blue eyes, the innate pressure of a Primarch making cold sweat stream down her back.

"Our soldiers are in danger. To end this war as quickly as possible, I have many methods, but this is the fastest!"

"Or do you have a better way? Lady?"

Doom's tone suddenly brimmed with expectation as he raised a hand to point at his ear: "I am all ears!"

"I do not have your talent." Erica turned her face away, not daring to look directly at Doom.

"Then follow my arrangements! Execute the tactical orders I require."

Doom's gaze swept into the distance, his mind continuing to plan the details as he prepared to complete the final, critical link.

The massive War Fortress moved along with the battlefield, stopping in a low-lying area far from the Ork gathering point to avoid detection and becoming a target.

Doom climbed a small hill alone. He did not need any long-range equipment; his extraordinary vision took in the scene over ten kilometers away.

The Ork were being lured by the anti-gravity motorcycles driven by the Rangers, gradually converging.

Those savage creatures roared, pushing and fighting one another. Their twisted features were hideous and ugly, their grotesque mouths opening and closing to reveal rows of rotting, jagged fangs.

As Doom had expected, he felt it clearly.

With a large number of Ork gathered together, they would fight among themselves, and under the influence of the idealistic field, the one who won the most worship would become their boss.

Doom smiled slightly. Now, he was going to interrupt this process and artificially manipulate the birth of a boss.

As the Ork gathered, the Night Watchers also converged from all directions.

At the Warlord's signal, a thousand-strong unit of Night Watchers launched an attack from the rear flank, instantly drawing the attention of the Ork.

They grinned, letting out joyful roars as they charged forward in a swarm.

The Night Watchers held their great shields, advancing in a defensive formation while continuously thrusting spears and striking with swords at the surging Orks.

Splattering blood only further incited the Orks' frenzy; their eyes turned blood-red as they shrieked in excitement, brandishing their weapons to slam against the Night Watchers' line.

"Rangers, enter the field."

Multiple Rangers riding anti-gravity motorcycles entered the fray, activating their protective fields and cutting blades, charging back and forth along the paths cleared by the Warlord to shred the Orks' formation.

"Long-range fire support!"

Shells and plasma landed precisely on their designated targets; Doom did not seek wide-area destruction, but rather used precise control to create enough chaos to disorient the Orks.

"Erica, have your subordinates begin sniping!"

Under the command of the stealth master, all were clad in stealth-shrouding suits. They lurked in hidden positions, using long-range sniper rifles to hunt down high-value targets.

Following Doom's orders, large individuals within the visibly chaotic Ork mob were struck in the head one after another, falling to the ground in resentment.

Doom observed the battlefield with satisfaction; everything was proceeding exactly according to his plan, step by step.

"It is time for you to enter, Haran!"

"I am Haran Ogilvy!" The loudspeaker array mounted on the motorcycle carried the Champion Swordsman's defiant roar across the entire battlefield: "Greenskin cowards! Send out your boss to face me!"

A white figure wielding two light-blades leaped from the motorcycle, crashing into the very center of the Ork mob; his deafening roar drowned out even the sounds of battle.

The attention of every Ork was drawn to him. Under Doom's orchestration, the Night Watchers' offensive gradually slowed, eventually retreating to the edges of the battlefield.

The stage was set; it was time for the protagonist to begin his performance!

Who was the boss among the Orks? There was no boss at the moment, but every ambitious Ork boy wanted to be one.

Haran Ogilvy!

The Ork boys had heard his name—a powerful human "big un" who had killed many formidable Ork boys.

"Kill him! Kill him! The boy who kills him is the boss!"

A roar came from somewhere unknown, and it quickly spread among the Orks—kill Haran Ogilvy, and you are the boss!

"Well done, Erica!"

Doom praised the stealth master; she had used her shrouding suit to sneak into the Ork mob and shout those words.

For a professionally trained assassin and infiltrator, mimicking the voice and tone of an Ork was not difficult.

"Continue waiting; your mission is not yet complete."

In the center of the stage, under the gaze of all, the duel began as several Orks, larger than the average boy, issued challenges to Haran.

They spontaneously formed a circle; heads bobbed within the green tide as the Greenskins stretched their necks, waiting for the birth of a boss.

Orks had no rules in any other aspect, yet they were surprisingly disciplined when it came to fighting.

The Champion Swordsman lived up to his reputation; a tall boy charged into the dueling circle, but could not last a single round before Haran severed his head.

Another Ork charged in, and another corpse was added to the ground.

For ten full minutes, the dueling circle expanded wider and wider; Haran fought with increasing vigor, his longswords dancing until the Greenskins gradually fell silent.

"Is there no one left? Is this all the Greenskins are capable of?"

The Orks' psychic field backfired at this moment; tens of thousands of Greenskins felt Haran was invincible, and they gradually lost the courage to challenge him.

Just then, a cowardly voice rang out: "I challenge you!"