The setting sun stained the battlefield dark red.
The air reeked of blood and gunpowder, pungent enough to make one retch.
Usok hovered in midair, surveying the corpses strewn across the ground.
Demons and Half-Orcs lay piled into small hills.
He drew a deep breath, suppressed the surging battle lust in his chest, and spoke in a deep voice.
"Clear the battlefield! Collect the weapons! Count our casualties!"
His voice rolled outward, and all the Half-Orc warriors sprang into action.
Talos landed beside him and patted his shoulder.
"Our Old Wolf King Tribe certainly showed its might in this battle."
Usok said nothing, merely looking into the distance.
There, Nar was approaching with the leaders of the major tribes.
The dozen or so towering figures walked with somewhat heavy steps.
They wore smiles, but their smiles were rather stiff.
When they reached them, a Minotaur leader spoke first.
"Lord Usok, Lord Talos, what a splendid victory!"
"Indeed! The Old Wolf King Tribe truly deserves to be called the strongest tribe of our Half-Orc Clan!"
"You sent those demons fleeing in terror! What a satisfying sight!"
Praise came from all sides.
Usok remained expressionless, while Talos merely watched them coldly.
The atmosphere grew somewhat awkward.
A Bearman leader gave two dry coughs and scratched his head.
"Well... my lords, although we watched at first, we did join the battle in time afterward."
"Did you? To show how important you were?"
Usok abruptly cut in.
The Bearman leader flushed and opened his mouth, but dared not argue.
He knew that the Old Wolf King Tribe had single-handedly slaughtered over three hundred thousand demons in this battle, earning the greatest credit.
Without that staggering display of slaughter, their Allied Army would never have intervened.
Now that the battle was won, the Old Wolf