"Kill! Kill! Kill! Keep chasing them down! Don't stop!"
"Even if you're so tired you can barely breathe, you are not allowed to stop! Even if you're going to die of exhaustion, die on the road of pursuit!"
"With our blades and swords, carve out ten thousand generations of peace for our descendants!"
The human soldiers roared, urging one another on as they dragged their exhausted bodies after the equally weary orcs ahead of them.
They were already exhausted, but the orcs ahead were even more so—after all, the humans still had priests marching with the army, who could occasionally use divine arts to dispel fatigue and restore everyone's strength. The orcs, though they still had priests as well, had almost no gods left who could grant them divine arts.
The outcome of this pursuit had long since been decided.
At last, the orc soldiers were completely spent and could run no farther. They did not even have the strength to turn around and resist. They simply lay sprawled on the ground, allowing the utterly exhausted human soldiers to catch up and kill them one by one with spears, blades, and swords. When cold steel pierced their bodies, there were no miserable screams—only lives slipping away amid sighs of despair.
In fact, many orcs had already been worked to death by the time they fell. The so-called finishing blows merely added meaningless wounds to corpses that were already dead.
The same scene played out everywhere. The utterly routed orc army was like loose sand, no longer capable of organizing any respectable resistance. The Empire's bravest forces, the heroes who could still fight to the death even in desperate straits, had already drenched the battlefield in blood alongside their old emperor. Those fleeing now were nothing more than defeated remnants who