Chapter 118: First Round (2)
Shireuga panted as he tried to catch his breath. The fight was dragging on because Crockta and an unknown gnome riding on a wyvern had appeared out of nowhere.
“Anor! Use your strength! Raise the dead!” exclaimed Tiyo.
“Just maintaining Boro is hard enough!”
“Didn’t you revive a bunch of orcs last time?!”
“I have to get on the ground to do that. It’s scary. I’m running out of strength...”
“Dammit, you are useless!”
“What? Fu...” Anor made muffled sounds as Tiyo put his hand over his mouth to prevent him from cussing.
The sound of chatter above Shireuga’s head got on his nerves, but there was no way to shoot or bring it down. The wyvern swiftly swerved and dodged the attack even when the orcs threw weapons and fired arrows at them.
Luckily, the artifact’s artillery fire gradually subsided. The gnome seemed to have run out of energy as he was no longer able to freely fire his magic bullets.
The orcs were slowly recovering their chance of victory. The Great Warriors were chopping off the heads of dark elf archers one by one and blocking the attacks of the dual sword wielder through coordinated attacks. Even the strongest warrior couldn’t hold up to multiple Great Warriors targeting him.
Crockta, the orc warrior from the continent, was the only problem.
As he observed Crockta’s battle against the chieftain, Shireuga was met with surprise. He realized that Crockta was a flawless warrior with a perfect balance of strength, speed, skills, agility, and battle instinct. Crockta was the kind of warrior he had always aspired to be.
The chieftain simply overpowered his opponents with immense strength and physical abilities. Shireuga was unable to feel any elegance or element of surprise from the chieftain’s fighting style. Although his monstrous strength was astonishing, Crockta’s precision and calm responses displayed a higher level of skill.
The chieftain was dragging on the fight, unable to deal a decisive blow to Crockta. In fact, the chieftain was the one who was struggling to remain standing after sustaining a fatal injury.
Shireuga clenched his fists.
Pushed over the edge, the chieftain was now unleashing his powers. His eyes burned brightly as he became engulfed in a state of madness.
Even Crockta was no match for the chieftain when he went on a rampage.
In the face of death, Crockta improvised and threw his greatsword at the chieftain. Thus, he now stood before the chieftain, empty-handed.
“Ah...” Shireuga groaned. He couldn’t understand why he felt so bad for the orc who was supposed to be his enemy as he watched Crockta getting beaten up.
“Hahahahahahahah! Die! Die, you trash! Traitor of the orcs!” yelled the chieftain.
Instead of swinging his axe, the chieftain mercilessly pummeled Crockta with his bare hands. He wanted to use the most primitive method to make his enemy surrender instead of swiftly killing him off.
Crockta was no longer able to defend himself or fight back due to the accumulated damage and continued taking hits from the chieftain. There was an overwhelming difference in strength between them that no technique was able to overcome. Crockta became as limp as a rag and collapsed to the ground.
“Die!” The chieftain mounted Crockta and continued to swing his fist.
Crockta’s body jerked each time he took a hit. Shireuga couldn’t continue watching and turned away. It was a pitiful sight. Crockta was a great warrior who shouldn’t die here like this. But he would die a gruesome death due to the chieftain’s madness.
As Shireuga was about to turn around, a Great Warrior called out to him.
“Shireuga, the dark elves are running away.”
“What do you mean?” asked Shireuga.
“The citizens have opened the gates on the other side and are escaping Juolaideh while the battle is dragging on.”
“That is...” Shireuga was about to reply without giving it much thought but paused.
The Great Warrior facing him had a conflicted look in his eyes. Great Warriors didn’t fight civilians. They just wanted to win battles. Their enemies were soldiers, warriors, and those who knew how to fight, not innocent civilians. But everything had changed after Calmahart became the chieftain.
They had to choose whether to kill civilians or make them into slaves. The chieftain wanted to rule over the north by instilling fear in everyone.
Shireuga had massacred civilians at Ameranyan. He had forgotten about his guilt and slaughtered dark elves under the chieftain’s command. But once the exhilaration of battle wore off, he began to question himself and the things he had done.
But even that doubt was gradually wearing off. Shireuga began to suspect that he was becoming crazy like the chieftain.
“We have to stop them,” said Shireuga.
On the battlefield, his priority was to follow the chieftain’s order.
“We have to quickly settle matters here and capture the civilians. The chieftain needs slaves.”
“But...”
The Great Warrior pointed at the battlefield where the gnome riding the wyvern was still firing magic bullets, dark elves were still shooting arrows on top of buildings, and the dark elf with the dual swords was resisting with all of his might.
Most importantly, Crockta had gotten back up and was facing Calmahart. With a swollen, bloodied face, he was standing up again. He had regained possession of his weapon while rolling across the ground and was dragging it along. He staggered as he struggled to hold onto his greatsword.
“So persistent.” Calmahart raised his double-headed axe again. He was about to finish off Crockta when Shireuga approached Calmahart.
“Chieftain,” said Shireuga. The chieftain looked at him.
Shireuga couldn’t help but flinch. Calmahart’s murderous eyes were now directed at him. He looked like he would swing his axe at Shireuga any minute.
Shireuga gulped and continued, “The civilians are escaping.”
“So?”
“If the fight drags on...” Shireuga suddenly heard laughter in the background while reporting to the chieftain.
“...!” It was Crockta.
With a messed up face and the greatsword resting on his shoulder, Crockta was laughing as he watched them.
“Do you want to get past me?” asked Crockta in a tired voice. He was struggling to hold up his greatsword.
“Do you want to get past me?” he asked again. He straightened his back and slung his greatsword over his shoulder.
He was a wretched sight. His face was beaten, crushed, and swollen, and his tattooed body was completely covered in blood and wounds. There was not a patch of bare skin visible on his body.
But he smiled again. “Come,” he beckoned.
Shireuga felt a chill down his spine.
‘What do you think is the quality of a true warrior, Shireuga?’
His father, Shiktulla, the greatest warrior of the Iron Axe Tribe, used to always ask him that question.
Shireuga had cited things like strength, skills, stamina, and intuition. He wanted to become a big and strong warrior, so he ate a lot of meat and focused on building his muscles.
Shiktullah had just smiled at Shireuga’s response.
His father told him he would come to understand one day and never gave him a direct answer.
Today, Shireuga met a man who had all the qualities of a true warrior he listed during his youth.
But what made that man a true warrior weren’t the things he had assumed.
It was that smile. That smile that resembled his father’s.
“Understood. There’s no need to drag this out any longer. I will kill him immediately,” said Calmahart.
This battle was coming to an end. The dark elves had reached their limit, and the gnome’s artillery fire pouring down from the sky was gradually decreasing.
The only thing remaining was that orc.
Calmahart and all the Great Warriors who followed him looked at Crockta, but Crockta held his head up high.
He took a step forward and raised his greatsword. It was a fight between one soldier and an army.
“I’m envious,” muttered Shireuga.
He was envious of Crockta and ashamed of himself.
He had been at death’s door many times in his path to becoming a warrior. He had fought and killed according to the chieftain’s orders, harboring the belief that with each swing of his axe and the spilling of blood, he would ascend to the ranks of a renowned warrior, leaving a lasting mark not only in the north but across the entire continent.
But now, he knew that he would never be able to achieve such a state. The Great Warriors of the chiefdom he knew and respected were those who fought against armies alone, not those who fought against a single opponent as an army. They were warriors who clashed swords with other soldiers, not those who swung their swords at civilians to make them into slaves.
“Father...” muttered Shireuga.
As the chieftain roared, the Great Warriors charged at Crockta.
The outcome was obvious. Crockta could barely stand.
He had been struggling against the chieftain. It was obvious what the orc’s fate would be if the Great Warriors, all highly trained in combat, charged at once.
Crockta was no longer visible because he was surrounded by the chieftain and his Great Warriors.
Suddenly, a thunderous battle cry shook the earth.
A wave of aura surged forward from Crockta’s greatsword and slashed the stomachs of the Great Warriors and flung them back.
Only the chieftain remained standing. Shireuga could clearly see the fire burning in Crockta’s eyes. Although he looked like a total wreck, Crockta’s eyes were burning with determination.
Shireuga felt as if the fiery determination emanating from Crockta’s spirit could scorch his eyes with its intensity. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Where did such strength come from?
“What are you doing, Shireuga?!” shouted a Great Warrior as he slapped Shireuga’s back.
Shireuga came to his senses and tentatively raised his axe.
Shireuga had the chieftain and the chiefdom’s warriors on his side. They were powerful soldiers who could conquer any place in the north, and that orc was alone.
But that single orc appeared much more imposing than them. The orc from the continent bore something far more substantial than what they carried.
Crockta let out a battle cry.
“Bul’taaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar!”
Crockta’s greatsword moved effortlessly despite its formidable size and destroyed everything around him. Like fireworks exploding in the sky, it sent sparks flying as it clashed with axes and swords.
The greatsword was so fast that when Shireuga thought it was on the left side, it appeared on the right, and then it was suddenly at the top. It was a display of swordsmanship on a different level. Even the chieftain was surprised and began backing away.
Shireuga gritted his teeth and took a step forward when he locked eyes with Crockta.
“...!” Crockta’s greatsword came flying at him, and right then, Shireuga thought he saw an axe instead of a greatsword.
In Shireuga’s eyes, a phantom of an axe overlapped with the greatsword soaring toward him.
He then saw a one-eyed warrior with a frightening aura above Crockta.
Shireuga narrowly blocked the attack, but the greatsword came flying toward his head again.
And now, it looked like a hammer instead of a greatsword.
“...!” A frightening face he didn’t recognize overlapped with Crockta’s.
The orc’s hammer descended upon him with the force of a crumbling mountain, as if seeking to crush him beneath its weight, but a Great Warrior came to Shireuga’s aid and deflected the greatsword.
Shireuga felt a chill down his spine.
He looked at Crockta and saw numerous orcs he had never seen before looming over Crockta. They all had tattoos across their bodies like Crockta and bore the scars of battle.
Each and every one of them was a formidable monster that could overpower dozens of Great Warriors.
All of their eyes mirrored the intensity of Crockta’s fiery gaze.
It was a bizarre illusion.
Crockta was clearly alone, but he looked like a vast army.
“Those who kill innocent civilians and make others into slaves aren’t orcs!” shouted Crockta.
As he moved forward, the Great Warriors took a step back.
Only the chieftain went forward and swung his double-headed axe against Crockta’s.
Sparks flew at their collision.
“Where are...!” Crockta's thunderous roar eclipsed all other sounds in the world, dominating their eardrums as it resonated through the very earth.
Crockta leaped up and swung his greatsword at Calmahart’s throat.
“...warriors who know honor in the north?!”
Shireuga dropped his weapon.
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