Chapter 558: Upheaval
Actually, at the very start of the battle, Leon had already sent the Dragonblood Orc out, weapon in hand. Now standing at the peak of Ninth Level Swordmaster, the Dragonblood Orc was nearly unstoppable—plowing through the battlefield with reckless abandon, intoxicated by the thrill of slaughter. It was precisely this wild exhilaration that made him charge around like a headless fly, until he finally crashed straight into the encirclement of the Blazeforge Orcs.
Looking around, there wasn't a single trace of a human left—only swarms of orc cavalry surging toward him, wave after wave, numbering easily in the thousands.
For a moment, the Dragonblood Orc broke out in a cold sweat. Even with his simple mind, he understood the danger—surrounded by thousands of orc cavalry, completely cut off. Though his strength kept them at bay for now, how long could he keep killing? Maybe, by the time he was utterly exhausted, he'd still be nowhere near done...
What now...?
Break through the encirclement?
But the problem was, even though his combat prowess was terrifying—no weaker than some of the renowned Sword Saints—he was trapped in this sea of orc cavalry, and every step forward felt like wading through mud...
Unless his strength suddenly soared, enough to sweep away all the orc cavalry in one go...
But right now, Lord Merlin wasn't here. At this moment, he couldn't help but miss the feeling of those amplification spells raining down on him...
Wait a minute...
Just as Hubert was swinging Slaughter, something suddenly occurred to him. After sending a group of orc cavalry flying, he freed up a hand and fumbled in his pocket, quickly finding a vial of Grandmaster's Elixir. He hurriedly uncorked it and downed the potion in a messy gulp.
Immediately, Hubert felt a dramatic change. For a split second, his body became light as a feather, and the warhammer Slaughter—normally weighing thousands of pounds—felt much lighter. Most astonishing of all, swathes of runes erupted from his body, glowing fiercely and radiating raw power.
Truth be told, this transformation wasn't unfamiliar to him...
"Roar..."
With a low growl, Hubert swung Slaughter again, like a windmill—no matter how many orc cavalry charged at him, they were all sent flying. In just over ten seconds, he broke through dozens of meters.
He knew perfectly well that the Grandmaster's Elixir would only last three minutes. Once it wore off, he'd be left weak and vulnerable. That's why, driven by a healthy fear of death, Hubert was desperate to break out at any cost.
But it wasn't long before Hubert met a formidable opponent—a Blazeforge Orc, towering over two meters tall, covered in flickering runes, wielding a blood-soaked axe, and riding an Ashen Direwolf several times larger than the norm...
In an instant, Hubert's fight with the Blazeforge Orc hit a stalemate. Ninety seconds ticked by, and he still hadn't managed to defeat his foe.
"Damn it, this is just ridiculous... Of all the bastards out there, you just had to get in Lord Hubert's way..."
Hubert grew anxious, cursing nonstop. He hadn't been keeping strict track of time, but he knew the elixir's effects were nearly up—less than a minute left. When that happened, he'd be lucky to have a tenth of his usual strength. Even someone as simple-minded as Hubert understood what that meant.
Unfortunately, the Blazeforge Orc he was fighting was just too strong...
Right now, Hubert might only be at the peak of Ninth Level Swordmaster, but after fusing a drop of Golden Three-Headed Dragon's Blood, he gained monstrous strength and spellcasting ability in his bloodline. With Slaughter, a pinnacle soul weapon, his power could go toe-to-toe with even second- or third-level Sword Saints.
And after downing that terrifyingly potent Grandmaster's Elixir, his strength was multiplied several times over.
But even so, he still couldn't defeat the Blazeforge Orc in front of him quickly...
Which meant this Blazeforge Orc was at least as strong as a fourth-level Sword Saint—maybe even approaching high-rank Sword Saint.
What now, what now...
As the seconds ticked by, Hubert grew frantic. His monstrous strength let him keep the Blazeforge Orc suppressed, but escaping was impossible—the opponent's Ashen Direwolf was just too fast. Hubert barely managed a few steps before the wolf closed the gap...
But panic solved nothing...
The only solution was to defeat the Blazeforge Orc completely.
But how?
If only Lord Merlin were here...
Wait...
Suddenly, Hubert remembered something. He tried to recall all those battle techniques Lord Merlin had mentioned—footwork, attack force, strike angles. As a Dragonblood Orc, he'd never cared about any of that, always relying on brute strength and ignoring skill.
Now, remembering those tips seemed surprisingly helpful for his current predicament...
So, in the next exchange, Hubert paid special attention to technique. The Blazeforge Orc struggled more and more, until finally, with a guttural roar, Hubert slammed Slaughter into the orc's chest. A surge of monstrous force sent the Blazeforge Orc coughing blood, flying dozens of meters, and crashing to the ground, unmoving.
"Pathetic. Is there anyone in this world who can stop Lord Hubert?" Feeling the fear in the eyes of the surrounding Blazeforge Orcs, Hubert hefted Slaughter and charged through, sending countless orcs flying. Finally, just as the elixir's effects faded, Hubert broke through...
"Huff... Huff..." As the potion wore off, Hubert gasped for breath, nearly collapsing from exhaustion.
With the cavalry leader slain by Hubert, the thousands-strong Blazeforge Orc cavalry soon fell apart without command. At the center of the coalition, nearly a hundred Marksmen unleashed volley after volley at the wyverns overhead. The air filled with wails, and the hundreds of Blazeforge Orcs hurling spears from the wyverns were wiped out shortly after their cavalry was destroyed.
The coalition swept forward like an unstoppable tide, surrounding the orcs. The only headache left was the endless fire elementals...
About two hours later, the coalition finally cleared out all the elementals. The Blazeforge Orc Shamans were slain as well. As the fighting ended, the coalition began to clean up the battlefield...
In the makeshift conference room at the center of camp...
The atmosphere was tense. Four people sat inside: Weiss and Suville from the Black Tower, Carl Watson of the Watson Family, and finally, Lin Yun.
"Does anyone else think the Fireblade Tribe's forces were surprisingly weak?" Weiss frowned, fingers tapping his crossed hands on the table as he scanned the room. "Archmage Merlin, what do you think?"
"I got the same impression..." Lin Yun nodded thoughtfully, agreeing with Weiss but saying little else.
It was clear the force they'd faced earlier was the Fireblade Tribe's main garrison at the Horn of Plenty. Still, their combat strength was unexpectedly mediocre—mostly ordinary Blazeforge Orcs, hardly elite by the tribe's standards.
More importantly...
During the chaos, Lin Yun used his Mana Harness to scan the battlefield, discovering that the enemy's high-ranking fighters were pitifully few. There were less than ten Title Archmages among the Blazeforge Orcs, and the strongest was a Blazeforge Orc Shaman, about Sixth Rank Title Archmage level...
It was all very strange...
For nearly a thousand years, with the Horn of Plenty in their hands, the Fireblade Tribe had barely faced any human threats and maintained formidable strength. Their numbers of powerful warriors far exceeded those of the Forgefire Clan. Yet the garrison at the Horn of Plenty was so weak.
What was going on here...?
Originally, the intelligence reported that the number of troops stationed at the Horn of Plenty had dropped to only a third of what it used to be, which was shocking enough. At the time, Leon had speculated that something must have gone wrong within the Fireblade Tribe; otherwise, they would never have abruptly withdrawn their forces from the Horn of Plenty. After all, losing the Horn of Plenty would pose a grave threat to the Fireblade Tribe.
For nearly a thousand years, the Fireblade Tribe has always placed great importance on defending the Horn of Plenty, with almost half of their elite troops stationed there year-round. Historically, both the Black Tower and the Cloudspire Tower launched assaults on the Horn of Plenty, but all ended in failure...
Now, it seems the number of troops garrisoned at the Horn of Plenty is indeed only a third of what it was. But Leon was certain these were not the elite warriors of old, but rather a makeshift force cobbled together hastily.
This led Leon to suspect that the Fireblade Tribe was facing more than just a simple internal upheaval—perhaps they were confronted with some kind of crisis...
Of course, for the three major factions, this was undeniably a good thing...
"Enough. The Fireblade Tribe's garrison has been completely wiped out. What's the point of discussing this any further?" Suvir said grimly, pulling a detailed map from his pocket and spreading it out on the table with a hint of impatience. "Stop wasting time on irrelevant matters—this meeting is about negotiating the next division of spoils..."
This meeting about dividing the spoils was absolutely necessary. During initial negotiations, the three major factions had already drafted specific terms for the distribution of interests, such as the allocation of land among the powers...