Orcs of the Blackrock Clan

Rex stared coldly at the orcs pressing ever closer. The heavy reek of blood clinging to them marked them as hardened battlefield veterans.

A few dozen might not seem like many, but when every one of them was an elite warrior of the third rank, they became a terrifying force. For that, Rex had to thank the orcs for not attacking immediately and instead sending the kobolds in as cannon fodder. Most of the Knights of the Round Table he had brought to Dalaran had merged with Infantry Spirits. Though Infantry Spirits were only third rank, they could quickly bring their hosts to the third rank and grant them mastery of all their combat techniques.

This was the foundation of Rex's training. Infantry Spirits were what gave him the confidence to raise an elite force renowned throughout the world.

Although the soldiers before him had not fully absorbed their Infantry Spirits and reached the third rank, they had been merged with them for some time, and their strength had largely stabilized at the second rank. At first, they had been unable to bring out the Infantry Spirits' power, but the battle against the kobolds had successfully awakened the spirits within them. Their awkward combat techniques began to grow practiced, and their hesitation, uncertainty, and fear vanished. The difference between them and those who had not taken in Infantry Spirits was plain to see, making Rex shake his head repeatedly.

Rex believed that after this bloody battle, those who had merged with Infantry Spirits would be true veterans. When it came to forging seasoned soldiers, the baptism of war was often faster than training.

Staring at the vicious orc before him, Rex felt his initial unease vanish completely. Infantry Spirits truly were worth ten gold coins apiece. That money had been well spent. A force of raw recruits would have been on the verge of collapse under the kobolds' assault, and the orcs' charge would certainly have broken them. They would never have retained the strength to fight back as they did now. Looking at the wounded recruits, whose faces still bore traces of terror, and comparing them with the resolute expressions of those who had merged with Infantry Spirits, he saw just how enormous the difference was.

Soldier against soldier, commander against commander—it was a simple pattern. Neither commander had deliberately arranged it that way. Rather, both were so powerful that when they fought lesser enemies, almost every swing of their weapons claimed a life. Faced with such unstoppable force, the commanders naturally clashed to reduce their subordinates' losses, locking each other in fierce combat. Rex and this vicious orc were no exception.

Ninth Rank. This vicious orc was actually a formidable Ninth Rank enemy. The bandits they had encountered this time were powerful. Not only did they have a mage, but their leader possessed Ninth Rank strength. Unlike Rex, who had only just entered the Ninth Rank, this orc was firmly established within it. After exchanging just a few blows, Rex was suppressed and forced onto the defensive. The gap between someone newly advanced to the Ninth Rank and someone firmly established there was not all that great. With the surging holy light within him, Rex was no weaker than this vicious orc.

Yet Rex was being driven back, able only to defend and unable to retaliate. As he swung his two-handed greatsword, he struggled to keep up.

The vicious orc's combat experience was simply too extensive. Even with equal strength, the fighting power they could actually bring to bear was entirely different. Rex could exchange a hundred blows with Cecil, who stood at the Ninth Rank Peak, without losing. Against this vicious orc, however, he could not last even fifty, let alone a hundred. That did not mean the orc was stronger than Cecil. Had Cecil been here, he could have defeated the vicious orc with ease.

There was only one explanation: the difference between ordinary sparring and a fight to the death was immense. When sparring with Rex, Cecil had not used even sixty percent of his true strength. As someone selected to join the Royal Guard, Cecil had naturally fought many battles to distinguish himself. Many of his techniques were killing moves, unsuitable for sparring.

The battle reached a stalemate. The orcs were elite, but the Knights of the Round Table who had begun merging with Infantry Spirits were no pushovers either. They had inherited practiced combat techniques and extensive battle experience. Their strength alone was one rank lower, but with the defensive position formed by the caravan's wagons and their advantage in numbers, they held off the orcs' attack. The ogre in the distance had his misgivings and dared not cast wide-area fire magic. Unable to use the spells he excelled at most, the Ogre Mage inflicted only limited damage. At this point, the key to victory had become the battle between Rex and the vicious orc.

If the vicious orc defeated Rex, victory would naturally be his. Against a sea of hundreds of thousands of people, a Ninth Rank expert could do little and would simply be swallowed up. But in a battle involving only a few hundred, a Ninth Rank fighter was like a god, invincible and unstoppable. Without Rex to hold him back, the vicious orc could easily tear apart the Knights of the Round Table's defenses and slaughter everyone present. The reverse was also true if Rex won.

Rex swept his two-handed greatsword into the vicious orc's weapon. Clang! Metal rang against metal. Rex swayed, and the orc rocked as well. Their strength was much the same, leaving neither with any significant advantage. They were evenly matched. But the vicious orc's wealth of combat experience gave him a precise understanding of the recoil from their clashing weapons. The instant he swayed, he had already tilted his body to bleed off the remaining force. A moment later, he swung his weapon at Rex, tracing a graceful arc through the air.

The vicious orc's movements flowed seamlessly, his attacks raging like a relentless storm. Rex, by contrast, could only keep defending, hurriedly swinging his two-handed greatsword up to intercept the orc's weapon.

A palm-length cut opened on Rex's arm, blood streaming from it in a wretched sight. His strength was clearly no less than his opponent's, yet his lack of combat experience left him constantly suppressed. Rex was furious, but he had no good way to resolve the situation. He was no Saint who could explode with power once his anger reached a certain point, shout, "Burn, my cosmos!" and defeat his enemy in a single move.

A cold glint flashed in his eyes. Rex gritted his teeth. He had no choice but to use this last method. Looking at the vicious orc before him, Rex suddenly said, "You orcs of the Blackrock Clan are actually planning to storm the internment camps in the southern Kingdom of Lordaeron and incite an orc uprising!"

Seeing the flash of astonishment on his opponent's face, Rex naturally refused to let the opportunity slip away. He took a large step back, and a book appeared in his hand. Then he tore it apart, turning it into scattered motes of light that vanished.

(End of chapter)