Though he craved slaughter, he was not merely a warrior; he was also a battlefield commander.
He observed and considered how many enemies had taken part in this raid.
Surely, at least half the forces under that warlord's command.
Their defenders were outnumbered, but victory itself was not the key concern for Bruce. The greater meaning of this battle was to win glory and honor.
Boom!
A tank shell tore through a window and exploded against the ceiling, showering them with rubble and smoke.
Bruce saw bullets streaking from the university entrance—Mountbatten was luring that warlord out, and with no other choice, the Ork could only dance to his rhythm.
Then he heard a magnificent crash and saw the hatch of the foremost armored truck burst open. His superhuman eyesight allowed him to glimpse armored figures packed inside its crowded cabin.
"Charge!"
He gave the order at once. The guns in the hands of the assault squad behind him roared in response, sending deadly bullets into the battlefield.
Bruce took the lead, leaping from the church window, with his personal guard close behind. The remaining warriors descended as well.
As a warrior who had fought Orks for many years, Bruce knew that against organized Orks, he had no time to stroll about leisurely. He had to squeeze every ounce of perfection from his combat skills.
His awareness began to shift, and everything around him suddenly became incomparably clear. Every color was bright and dazzling, every sound loud and chaotic.
As battle erupted amid that perfect chaos, the dance of slaughter guided him into the enemy ranks.
At the same time, heavy machine-gun fire rained down from the rooftops. The armored vehicles and tanks immediately turned, aiming their weapons at the Shadow Blades charging from the church.
The soldiers who had