Chapter 213: Enemy Forces Arriving in Thirty Seconds

"Impossible!"

The arena supervisors, who dealt with ferocious monsters day in and day out, along with the guards responsible for overseeing the slaves, were all stunned. The humanoid monster before them defied human imagination.

Though the mysterious merchant had repeatedly warned them, the guards had still shackled the orcs according to the standard for trolls. In their eyes, even two trolls couldn't break free.

They were wrong.

The strength of the orcs already surpassed that of the trolls, let alone these frenzied orcs who had ingested the blood of demons.

With a roar that shook the entire arena, a hundred frenzied orcs broke free from their cages and charged toward the light.

Powerful, burly men in human terms, they made the guards look like mere children. Whips intended to punish slaves only served to enrage the orcs further.

Massive fists collided with the scarred, vicious faces of the guards, as the orcs' overwhelming power easily shattered everything in their path.

Cheekbones collapsed, followed by temples and jawbones, and finally, the entire skull. The human cervical spine had no chance to offer support or cushioning before the immense force crushed their heads.

Yellow, white, red—the viscera of various colors splattered the arena walls, which had been stained black by the blood of countless slaves, now dyed with the hues of the tormentors.

"Ahhhh!" The once-dominant, seemingly omnipotent, cruel guards and slave masters now wailed like women.

More guards rushed to the scene, armed with the best equipment they could find.

But it was of no use.

The frenzied orcs unleashed a torrent of carnage with just a single punch or swing of their arms. By the time the orcs regained their composure, there were no living humans left in the arena basement.

A mysterious voice seemed to guide them, and they felt the relentless, furious spirit of their great chieftain, Blackhand, roaring within.

"Arm yourselves, brothers!" the leading Blackhand guard shouted, rallying the orcs.

They quickly gathered all the heavy weapons they could find, broke open the arena's main gate, and saw the light...

"Victory or death!"

Driven by the glory of the Horde, the demonic fury within their blood, and in a land full of humans, they charged toward the grandest, most ornate building in sight.

The city guard was alerted, and as they hurried to the scene, they beheld a group of green-skinned, monstrous beings.

"Do not fear! These are orcs! Form a line, surround them..." The squad leader's shout was cut short as a massive iron pillar, thicker than a human leg, swept across.

The leading Blackhand guard taught the human soldiers who had never faced orcs before a brutal lesson—power!

The line of round shields, arranged neatly, proved no match for the heavy iron pillar, which easily shattered them. The sound of metal clashing and the guards' screams and moans of pain deeply unsettled those behind.

Fear gripped their hearts with ease.

For a moment, even their hearts forgot to beat.

Each widened pupil reflected the three-meter-tall, terrifying figure. It didn't resemble a living creature; it was more like an ancient demon!

"Ahhhh!" cried the first row of city guards whose arms had been shattered. The second row was almost paralyzed with fear.

Their brief moment of hesitation on the battlefield cost them their lives.

The orc guard's muscles swelled, nearly bursting as his colossal strength halted the iron pillar's full-force swing just half a meter away, then swung it back again.

Those who had fallen to the ground were spared, but eight city guards from the second row, frozen in place, were struck in their waists, their bodies severed in half. The scene was gruesome, their rationality easily shattered.

"Ahhhh! I don't want to die!" The city guards, who had only been able to bully thugs and thieves on normal days, lost their will to fight. They scattered, abandoning their swords and shields, and tried to flee the dreadful battlefield in utter disarray.

Emerging from the arena led them straight to the main avenue of Lordaeron, known as the Gladiators' Street.

This main street, where weapons were primarily sold, was a favorite among the nobles and wealthy. Commoners were not allowed to enter. As an extension of the arena's industry chain, the street was filled with not only high-quality weapons and armor far surpassing standard equipment but also a variety of exotic gear and trinkets.

A gladiator armed with a shoddy sword and a junk shield, no matter how skilled, wouldn't receive many cheers.

Noble patrons, who owned gladiators, would invest in lavish armor and accessories for their favored fighters. After all, it was a matter of their prestige.

As a result, the leading Blackhand guard found a massive hexagonal rhinoceros skull. This enormous skull had been hardened through immersion in molten iron, and with the six gigantic horns protruding forward, it was a terrifying piece of gear for both offense and defense.

The only problem was that it was too heavy. Even troll slaves couldn't wield it.

But now, it fell into the hands of the Blackhand guard.

With it, the Blackhand guard easily caught up to a carriage adorned with a luxurious noble crest. The sharp, sturdy horns slammed into it, and half a second later, the entire carriage was shattered, its passengers reduced to bloodied debris.

Blood and viscera painted the entire Gladiator's Street red.

As the orcs reached the end of the long street, a huge square with a fountain and a colossal building with pristine white walls came into view.

"!" The Blackhand guard let out another earth-shaking roar.

Without a moment's hesitation, these one hundred orcs launched an assault on the most heavily guarded and well-defended location in Lordaeron, the royal palace.

"Clang, clang, clang!"

As the royal palace of Lordaeron couldn't even pull up the drawbridge in time, and the palace's main gate was breached, not only were the higher-ups of Lordaeron alarmed, but even a priest who was preaching in a temple within the palace was startled.

"Enemies in the Lordaeron royal palace?" A burly male priest suddenly stood up upon hearing the battle cries not far away. "Master Fao, I will go and take a look."

Watching his disciple easily lift a heavy war hammer, the Archbishop sighed. This disciple was good in every aspect—his devotion to the Light and his faith in the divine were unparalleled. But the priest profession always seemed somewhat unsuitable for him.

"Go ahead!"