Chapter 85: Danger for Angering the Chieftain

Explosions were happening all around, fierce and violent.

The powerful shockwaves went unnoticed by the orc warlock, who never would have thought that the arrogant human before him would stoop so low as to stab him in the back.

Little did he know that it was the doing of a rogue system spirit.

So, when he felt the sharp blade narrowly miss his left shoulder plate and stab deep into his heart, his expression was one of disbelief.

"You..." He wanted to curse, but the system spirit was afraid he wouldn't die, so it relentlessly stirred the sword in his heart, practically turning it into minced meat.

All this went unnoticed amidst the cover of explosions.

The nearby orcs, who had initially been eagerly watching their own warlock unleash his power, soon realized that something was amiss.

The menacing Shadow Arrows lost their aim halfway and shot into the mountains, painting a large area a deep, dark black. But the mysterious human's fireballs bombarded Bal'sagoth relentlessly.

After about one-third of the fireballs had been launched, Bal'sagoth's protection began to fade.

After two-thirds, the magic on Bal'sagoth's body had completely dissipated, but the high-purity magic flowing within his body continued to resist the low-purity magic of the Fireball spell.

In the eyes of the orc warriors, this was a completely different matter - this human was so cruel! He could have easily defeated Bal'sagoth with one powerful Fireball, but he insisted on showing off by launching over a hundred of them, one after the other.

This was clearly a massacre!

As the final fireball hit Bal'sagoth, the bitter and charred orc warlock finally breathed his last.

To cover up the mischief, the system spirit cleverly snatched Bal'sagoth's staff with Mage Hand just before the flames consumed him completely.

Duke regained his composure and was the first to notice his system spirit bring over the staff as if it were a precious prize. Duke was momentarily stunned, then burst into a wild laughter, "Hahaha!"

His arrogant laughter once again sent the orcs into a frenzy.

They didn't understand the art of magic warfare, but they knew their foe had just pulled off a brilliant snatch-and-grab tactic.

Just now it was that damn human in the black cloak who shattered the dreams of those big shots they were about to hunt. Unconsciously, those brave orc warriors... are afraid!

"Hahaha! Who else? Who else!?" Duke seemed to be affected by the [arrogance] aura, swinging the skull staff of the orc warlock with extreme arrogance.

Seeing the countless orc warriors hesitate below, Duke laughed wildly, raised his black cloak with one hand, turned around and disappeared into the fortress.

One minute passed.

Five minutes passed.

Ten minutes passed.

Not a single chieftain dared to step forward, or even a single orc, to test if Duke had left.

Suddenly, a huge and ferocious figure rushed out from the rear of the orc army, like a bird startled by a wild beast, and the orcs scattered in shock.

"What are you doing? My order is for you to attack! Attack! Attack again! Eliminate all human warriors you see! What are you dawdling for here? Have you killed all the humans? Where are the human chieftains' heads?"

It was the Horde's supposed Warchief - Blackhand the Destroyer!

"No, we... um..." In the stuttering explanation of the small chieftain, Blackhand finally understood what had happened just now.

"What?! You bunch of wastes who have tarnished the glory of the Horde!" Without giving any room for the small chieftain to argue, the huge warhammer traced a terrifying arc in the air, and the indescribable power slammed onto the small chieftain's head.

This relatively brave orc chieftain was smashed into minced meat from the waist up.

Swinging the bloody warhammer, Blackhand pointed angrily towards the mountaintop: "The great Horde doesn't need cowardly orcs - chase them!"

Driven by the anger of the Warchief, the stagnant green tide began to surge again. The orcs almost destroyed all the human buildings they could see. When they reached the back of the mountain through the passageway of the mountaintop fortress, they saw the tail of the human army.

They were entering the forest at a not-so-fast pace.

From where the forest begins, that is the territory of the Elwynn Forest.

"Chase!"

Behind them was the Warchief, and the orcs found themselves with no way out. They were also ashamed of their earlier cowardice, and roared in anger, brandishing their axes and hammers as they poured down the mountain.

The commotion among the orcs naturally caught the attention of Lothar, who was in the rear guard. He had a serious look and recognized the gravity of the situation.

"Truly a formidable foe," Lothar spoke up. "Not only is he immensely powerful, he also knows how to manage green-skinned savages' inside and out."

Before Lothar could continue, a cavalry unit charged towards him. Lothar recognized the noble riders as Duke Bolvar Fordragon's personal guard, led by the Duke himself.

"By the light of the Sun, Lothar, you're alive!" Bolvar exclaimed, not bothering to conceal his joy. He dismounted and gave Lothar a tight embrace, their armors clashing in a satisfying sound.

"I thought I was going to die," Lothar admitted, moved by Bolvar's daring rescue. As the commander of the retreating army and a high-ranking noble, Bolvar could have easily chosen to abandon Lothar or send reinforcements. Instead, he came himself, bringing all of his personal cavalry.

Looking around at the devastated griffin riders, Bolvar's eyes became moist. "You've all done well," he addressed them before turning to the horde of orcs pouring down from the mountain. "You guys retreat first. I'll counter-charge them while they're descending the mountain and before they enter the forest."

Charging uphill on horseback was not a good idea.

Under normal circumstances, it would have been the only option to cover the retreat of the griffin riders.

That was when Lothar spoke up, pointing at a black figure descending serenely before the green horde. "Looks like there's no need for that. The gentleman has arrived."

Bolvar noticed the expression of relief on Lothar's face.

"Which gentleman?"

Lothar sighed. "He calls himself "Hundred-Handed Death God Hua Jia" in the mage's transmissions. He's the mentor of Duke Marcus."

"He's a very powerful high-level mage," Lothar added.