Chapter 877: Black Iron Orcs
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It was precisely because so much had changed here, and even the names might have shifted, that Leon felt nothing in particular when he first heard of Radiance Fortress.
But thanks to Rivigru, Leon studied the map and cross-referenced the current data on the Blazeforge Realm. Only then did he confirm that this bitter, desolate place—now inhabited only by small animals in remote corners—was indeed the Radiance Fortress of legend, where the light of Blazeforge first shone upon the realm.
Standing still, Leon observed the surrounding terrain and the distant, ancient fortress. Despite all the differences from the records, he was certain: this was the place.
Now, the ones stationed here were the Black Iron Orcs of the Blazeforge Realm.
The main reason Rivigru was so reluctant to attack Radiance Fortress was the Black Iron Orcs. They were, without question, one of the toughest foes in the Blazeforge Realm.
There were very few Black Iron Orcs at Radiance Fortress—or, more accurately, there were very few Black Iron Orcs anywhere. But they were definitely among the strongest orcs in the Blazeforge Realm.
Scarce in number, yet far more terrifying than the usual armies of Blazeforge Orcs.
Radiance Fortress was guarded by just over a hundred Black Iron Orcs, but even the weakest among them was a Sword Saint-level warrior.
If the intel was accurate, there were at least a dozen Black Iron Orc Sword Saints in Radiance Fortress!
They were born warriors, able to adapt to the harshest environments. Legend had it that the blood of Abyssal Demons ran through their veins, granting every Black Iron Orc exceptional talent.
From the moment they learned to walk, they underwent the strictest training of their kind. At five, they would toughen their bodies naked in snow cold enough to freeze water, and as they grew older, their training only became harsher, always in the most unforgiving conditions.
Once grown, every Black Iron Orc who survived such rigorous training became a warrior with a body of steel. The weakest among them would reach Greatsword Master, and those with even a hint of talent could advance to Sword Saint with ease.
So, even though there were only a little over a hundred Black Iron Orcs here, nearly twenty were Sword Saints, and as many as eight or nine were above the fifth rank.
Their Abyssal Demon blood made them fiercely courageous, their fighting power astonishing, and their fearlessness in battle unmatched. After such intense training, their combat ability far surpassed that of ordinary orcs.
These formidable Black Iron Orcs had been stationed in the bitter cold of Radiance Fortress precisely because the royal line of Blazeforge Orcs preferred not to provoke them, so they were exiled here as if cast out.
There was even a vague legend in the Blazeforge Realm that Black Iron Orcs once contended with the current royal orc lineage, but ultimately lost.
Fragmented as these stories were, they all spoke to the strength of the Black Iron Orcs.
When Rivigru drew Radiance Fortress in the lot, he bristled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. The others were half gloating, all because of the Black Iron Orcs.
Rivigru was even willing to offend Heron and Joey if it meant clinging to his accusations against Leon, claiming Leon wanted to sabotage the Gru Family—and not without reason.
Given the Gru Family’s strength, they could still make a difference in a large-scale battle, and their losses would be minimal.
But here at Radiance Fortress, the weakest were Greatsword Masters, and there were over a dozen Sword Saints among the Black Iron Orcs. For the Gru Family to take this place, they’d lose at least half their forces—if they were lucky.
After all, not everyone could be like Leon, walking around with a level 39 Frost Dragon, a fifth-rank Sword Saint Dragonblood Orc, and a level 39 Alchemy Golem.
Even among his fifty subordinates, the weakest was a ninth-level Magus, and there were more than a dozen Title Archmages.
No one would believe such strength if it were told. Neither Cloudspire Tower nor Black Tower, nor even the royal family of Andalusia, brought forces this powerful—at least not in terms of high-level combatants. No one could match Leon.
With Leon himself included, their overall fighting strength was now enough to stand toe-to-toe with Cloudspire Tower and Black Tower’s forces in the Blazeforge Realm.
And that comparison even counted Joey and Heron...
Leon and his group arrived, their teleportation array’s ripples and unabashed magical power quickly alerting the Black Iron Orcs of Radiance Fortress.
The gates of Radiance Fortress swung open, and a pack of Black Iron Orcs, their tusks jutting out, rode massive black wolves taller than a man, charging straight toward Leon and his companions.
Leon didn’t intervene. He simply waved to his fifty subordinates.
In an instant, the elemental energy swirling in the air—already agitated by their presence—erupted into chaos.
Ten of them cast defensive spells, conjuring flaming shields that formed a wall in front of everyone. The rest raised their Dragonscale Staffs, chanting rapid, complex incantations.
Immediately, streaks of fire condensed in midair. Crimson fire dragons twisted together, forming a fiery tornado that howled as it surged forward.
The Black Iron Orcs bared their teeth, their protruding tusks gleaming coldly. Each drew a broadsword nearly two meters long.
Blades flashed, dazzling arcs sliced through the air, and the leading fire dragons were hacked apart, bursting into showers of fiery fragments.
The fragments of flame fell onto the Black Iron Orcs like shattered leaves, and not one of them even bothered to dodge or defend.
The fragments of flame landed, unable to leave even a trace on their skin.
Their skin was dark, marked with shadowy demonic sigils—signs of their Abyssal Demon bloodline. This gave them extraordinary resistance to magic and immense physical strength.
Orcs were naturally strong, but in the Black Iron Orcs, this trait was pushed to its limit. Their pure warrior’s talent made them living engines of destruction.
With sheer physical strength alone, they could tear spells apart—a feat almost impossible for any human.
The first wave of fire dragons was shredded by the Black Iron Orcs in an instant. In their minds—and deep in their blood—they believed that only by swinging their weapons and tearing enemies to pieces could they achieve the best result. Their fearlessness in battle boosted their power, and even their presence could sap the fighting spirit of their foes.
Blades danced among these living beasts, slicing flames into sparks that vanished in a flash. The Black Iron Orcs, riding their giant wolves, looked every bit like demons wreathed in fire.
Faced with this, Leon stood with his arms folded, unmoving. Even the Alchemy Golem and Reina didn’t budge. Only Hubert, hefting his new greatsword, charged forward with gleeful abandon.
Anderfa’s three faces were full of boredom. As he glanced at Radiance Fortress, he seemed to recall something, chuckling to himself.
Hubert swung his massive greatsword, howling as he charged, completely ignoring the burning flames in the air. When he plunged into the fire, the flames seemed to part before him, as if oppressed by some overwhelming force, opening a path for him to pass.
But Leon knew it was simply because Hubert’s body was so powerful that his sheer presence exerted a tangible pressure.
Such strength meant that low-level spells couldn’t even touch him. Anything below fifth rank was useless against Hubert. Not to mention stray elemental flames—even ordinary magma would be nothing more than a hot bath.
Unless Hubert was hit directly by a combined spell attack from all fifty of Leon’s subordinates, the temperature here was no threat to him at all.
Hubert was the fastest, and when he was still twenty meters away, he stomped hard on the ground. With a thunderous boom, cracks spiderwebbed across the earth, leaving two deep footprints where his feet had landed.
Then Hubert leapt, greatsword in hand, plunging straight into the midst of the Black Iron Orcs.
While Hubert was still airborne, one of the Black Iron Orc Sword Saints leapt from his giant wolf, grinning savagely. His broadsword, over two meters long, swung upward in a brutal arc, aiming to cleave Hubert in two.
"Damn bastard, let me bathe in your blood."
With a roar, the broadsword, wrapped in a chilling gleam, tore through the air, appearing before Hubert faster than the eye could follow.
Hubert’s eyes flicked, a sly grin on his face as he swung his greatsword down in a seemingly hasty motion.
The Black Iron Orc Sword Saint sneered, meeting the blow head-on, while below, Anderfa cackled and turned away, unable to watch.
What a fool—a third-rank Sword Saint daring to challenge Hubert in raw strength? Hubert’s brute force was probably more terrifying than a Behemoth’s now...
Sure enough, when the broadsword clashed with Hubert’s greatsword, white shockwaves exploded outward. The Orc’s weapon was instantly knocked flying.
The overwhelming force didn’t just send the broadsword flying—it was so crushing, the Orc Sword Saint didn’t even have time to let go.
The broadsword shot away so fast that his hands seemed to burst apart, blood spraying everywhere. It was as if his fingers had been ripped to shreds, more than half of them pulverized by the impact.
And it wasn’t over yet. Hubert’s greatsword, unstoppable, crashed into the Orc Sword Saint’s body as terror and despair filled his eyes.
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