Chapter 1044: No Undead
Glancing at the orc tribe, everything looked maddeningly ordinary—almost suspiciously so. Not a single soul seemed to notice anything off. The sentries perched atop the watchtowers, eyes sharp and postures rigid in their devotion to duty, yet somehow managed not to see the undead. Either they were the best actors in history, or the dead had mastered the art of being invisible. Frankly, neither option was comforting.
Seeing all this—and remembering the bonfire banquet, where things were only marginally less bizarre—everyone wisely refrained from doing anything heroic or stupid. If there was ever a time to keep your head down and look worried, this was it. And judging by the faces around me, worry had become the tribe’s official facial expression.
When they were being chased earlier, the undead they fought weren't that many, so they never really grasped just how many orc undead there were.
But now, standing atop the ridge, the view was nothing short of apocalyptic. The undead blanketed the grasslands—a suffocating, gray-white carpet stretching to the horizon, swallowing everything in sight. If you squinted, you might convince yourself it was just a foggy morning. But the raw numbers were staggering: hundreds of thousands, maybe more. It was the kind of sight that made even optimists consider a career change.
"Leon, what do we do now? If these undead attack, this tribe won't stand a chance..." The Grand Chieftain’s voice rumbled, clutching his enormous golden sword like it was both a weapon and a security blanket. For a moment, I almost envied his faith in oversized cutlery.
Anderson floated over to Leon's side, his tone full of concern.
Leon frowned, worry flickering in his eyes. When faced with an undead army of this scale, the only real option was to run—preferably faster than the slowest member of the group. If anyone insisted on staying to fight, well, exhaustion would probably finish us off long before the undead got their chance. Sometimes, heroism is just a fancy word for 'dying tired.'
Everyone crowded around the window, eyes glued to the edge of the tribe, waiting for the orcs to do something—anything. The undead patrols drew closer, their movements eerily methodical, until suddenly, as if smacking into an invisible wall, they veered off. It was the sort of supernatural detour that made you question whether reality was just another badly written play.
It was as if the undead couldn't sense the massive orc tribe at all, nor the vibrant life force pulsing within. The undead army just kept on, blissfully ignorant. Maybe they'd taken a vow to avoid anything remotely alive, or maybe this was just another cosmic joke at our expense.
And the orcs? They were equally oblivious, going about their day as if the undead army was just another rumor. The calm was so absolute, it bordered on unsettling—like the world had pressed 'pause' and forgotten to hit 'play' again.
The undead patrolled outside for the entire night. As dawn crept in, the undead army faded away without a sound, with many simply burrowing into the earth and vanishing.
When the undead army vanished, all that remained was a swath of ashen land—the grass of the prairie had been utterly corroded by the thick aura of death the undead left behind.
But then, as the sun rose, something unexpected happened. The blackened earth began to revive—patches of green grass sprouted from the soil. In barely ten minutes, the land was once again blanketed in vibrant green, looking exactly as it had the previous day, as if nothing had ever happened.
With daylight brightening the sky, the orc tribe—silent all night—came back to life. Each orc busied themselves: some herded livestock, others tended crops behind the settlement.
Spotting the Grand Chieftain of the orc tribe again, Dida La couldn't wait—he hurried over, eager to ask his question.
"Grand Chieftain, did you notice the undead army outside our tribe last night?"
The Grand Chieftain let out a booming laugh, his hand—broad as a fan—landing on Dida La's shoulder with a hearty slap.
"Hahaha! My dear friend, you really can't hold your liquor. How can a man not be able to drink? Just look at you—still dreaming after last night's binge!
Undead, undead... You must've been roughed up by them before, huh? But you can relax—there are no undead here. I suggest you go get some more rest..."
The Grand Chieftain strode off, laughing heartily. Dida La frowned, utterly baffled by the whole situation. No matter how he tried to piece it together, he just couldn't make sense of it. But one thing was clear—the Grand Chieftain truly hadn't noticed the undead army at all.
Leon, meanwhile, wore a thoughtful expression, as if something had just clicked in his mind.
On the third day, just as dawn broke, war drums thundered through the tribe—the urgent beat echoing, calling every warrior to gather.
Within minutes, over a thousand orcs had assembled. The tribe's three Sky Rank leaders appeared as well, and every warrior present was at least level thirty.
The Grand Chieftain personally led the orc warriors, charging out of the tribe and toward a nearby gorge. A vast crowd of orcs gathered outside the gorge, waiting for something.