Meanwhile, at a hidden port somewhere on the Carl II.
Toothy is leading the last few thousand remnants of the Hokage Clan on a difficult journey.
Sasuke, riding his champion Squig " Chidori," brought up the rear of the procession.
Toothy led the ninja boys to set up traps on both sides of the passage to prevent pursuers from entering.
Toothy glanced back; in the distant core area, flames soared into the sky, and explosions echoed incessantly.
He could feel that the heavy Waaagh! Field that had enveloped Carl II for more than a year was beginning to disappear.
Toothy sighed softly and gripped the colorful headband that Seven-Smasha had given him.
He managed to take on Seven-Smasha.
In less than three months, he overturned the entire Carl II.
He killed the Sith and Chandler, and became the master of the space station.
He, however, could only lead his remaining troops and flee in a sorry state.
"Boss, are we really leaving?" Sasuke Squig to Toothy's side, somewhat unwilling.
"We still have thousands of brothers, we can fight them to the death!"
"Compete? What can we compete with?" Toothy shook his head and said with a wry smile.
"We can't even defeat that bug, let alone have so many shrimp soldiers. Staying here now means certain death."
He looked up at the end of the dark passage, his eyes becoming incredibly determined:
"Let's go back to Dorito, back to Ragnar's side."
"There are more kids there, more resources. We develop there, we grow stronger there."
"We will come back someday."
One day, I will stand in front of him, Seven-Smasha, and fight him fair and square.
I want him to know that I, Toothy, am no longer that little Gretchin who only picks up trash!
Of course, he wouldn't let anyone know these thoughts.
"Speed up!" Toothy shouted, "We're going back to Dorito!"
The remnants of the Hokage Clan silently followed behind Toothy, disappearing into the boundless darkness.
Millions of kilometers away, in the Dorito Agri World.
Warm sunlight shines on the boundless green fields, where flocks of Squig leisurely eat mushrooms.
A few Ork Boyz were wrestling and playing by the river, the air filled with the aroma of mushrooms and stew.
The Ragnar was standing in front of a huge iron pot with a diameter of 100 meters, holding a large ladle almost as tall as himself, cooking a pot of stew that could feed tens of thousands of people.
The pot was stewing Squig meat, giant mushrooms, and various wild vegetables whose names I didn't know.
Bubbling and releasing an enticing aroma.
As Ragnar stirred the pot, he hummed an off-key tune, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth and into the pot.
No matter how bitter life may be, it can still be joyful.
As I walked through the sea of people, I hummed a little love song.
Just as he was singing joyfully, a dazzling green light suddenly flashed across the sky.
Ragnar raised his head and looked at the sky in confusion.
The green light grew closer and brighter, rapidly descending in his direction.
"Sizzle~~~!"
The green light fell into the iron pot, splattering the viscous liquid that had not yet solidified into a paste.
The powerful shockwave blew the surrounding Ork Boyz away, but Ragnar remained completely still.
A familiar aura of Psychic Power washed over me.
Ragnar frowned, and the smile on his face disappeared.
Sith?
Wasn't he the warlord of Carl II? How did he turn into a green light and crash here?
Could it be...?
Before Ragnar could think about it further, the stew in the pot suddenly underwent a strange change.
The originally sticky stew began to move on its own.
The chunks of meat and mushrooms tumbled and combined in the pot, gradually forming several crooked, large characters.
Beware of the Hokage Clan
Ragnar stared at the words in the pot, somewhat bewildered.
He scratched his bald head, a puzzled look on his face.
" The Hokage Clan? What is that? What kind of tiny clan is that?"
"That Sith brat actually made him travel all this way to remind me before he died?"
Ragnar used a large spoon to scoop up a large spoonful of the jelly, put it in his mouth and tasted it.
"Hmm, it tastes good, but it's a little bland."
He smacked his lips, then used a large spoon to mash the words in the pot into a pulp.
"I don't care about the Hokage Clan or the Mizukage Clan, if they dare to mess with me, I'll stew them all into a broth!"
After saying that, he continued humming a little tune while stirring the stew in the pot.
However, a subtle hint of seriousness flashed deep in his eyes.
Sith never jokes.
This Hokage Clan is definitely not simple.
He silently memorized the name, then shouted it to a large man in the distance:
"Go! Find out for me what exactly this Hokage Clan is!"
With the deaths of two Orks capable of serving as the Carl II.
The expeditionary fleet has achieved its first victory; now all that remains is to deal with the remaining Orks.
The Expeditionary Force's cleanup operation went very smoothly.
Having lost their common leader and collective will, the Orks completely fell apart.
Without the support of the Waaagh Field, their once-proud Waaagh! technology regressed to the primitive era in a very short time.
It's as if those wondrous " Waaagh! " creations never existed.
In an abandoned armory in Area A, a group of Evil Sunz youngsters were anxiously pacing around a huge " Big Shoota ".
This super cannon, which once possessed the power to blast through the side of Imperium frigate with a single shot, was now nothing more than a pile of scrap metal.
No matter how much they kicked, smashed, or yelled at the cannon barrel, it remained cold and unresponsive.
A burly man with a bad temper angrily swung his machete and slammed it into the cannon, breaking the machete in two.
"Damn it! Why isn't my Big Shoota working?!" the big guy roared angrily, kicking a nearby ammo box away.
The ammunition box crashed to the ground and cracked, the shells inside rolling out, only to turn into a pile of useless scrap the moment they hit the air.
At the port on the mid-level platform, a newly completed Orks warship is preparing to set sail to attack another Orks gang.
But the moment the engine started, the entire warship suddenly began to shake violently.
All the pipes burst simultaneously, spraying steam and oil everywhere.
The engine, which had been roaring loudly, began to groan under the strain, and then stalled completely.
It transformed into a giant iron coffin floating on the track.
The hundreds of the Deathskulls Clan boys on the ship were trapped in space, their cries for help going unanswered.
Even the most ordinary machetes in the hands of the Ork Boyz began to rust and break.
Those machetes that were once incredibly sharp, capable of easily cutting through the armor of shrimp, now dull even when striking wood.
The once obedient war beasts, Squig, began to become agitated and began tearing at each other, killing many of their masters.
"Oh no! Our camp has collapsed!"
A terrified scream rang out.
Not far away, an Orks fortress built of scrap iron and cement, which was originally indestructible, collapsed without being attacked.
Countless Orks were buried under the ruins, letting out desperate screams.
Panic, like the most terrifying virus, spread throughout Carl II.
The Orks were horrified to discover that everything they depended on for survival was collapsing in an instant.
They were no longer those invincible, unstoppable Ork Boyz, but just a bunch of barbarians dressed in tattered tin and wielding rusty machetes.
Worse still, the clan system completely disintegrated.
Without Warboss's suppression, the Orks ' "underlying code" began to exert its power.
The already conflict-ridden clans instantly split into countless small gangs of dozens or hundreds of people.