Chapter 675: Rout and Destruction
"Swoosh—"
The piercing shriek echoed across the sky as rows of armored wyverns tore through the heavens, trailing white streaks behind them, their sharp metal wing-plates slicing the air.
To the many enemies of the Ember Empire—this was the sound of death!
"Damn it, those big birds are back again!"
"That damned bird!"
"Last time they came over, I was nearly blasted to bits! Lucky I survived that one."
"Get down! Last time I hit the dirt and dodged those explosive eggs!" a orc shouted.
To these ignorant green-skinned orcs, the bombs dropped by the air corps were just "explosive eggs" laid by the big birds. But they were keenly aware—those things could kill, as proven by the charred corpses strewn across the ground.
Shells rained down like a storm, detonating simultaneously upon impact, spraying countless shards and sticky gasoline mixtures, forming line after line of blazing walls on the ground.
The Empire's napalm bombs were specifically designed against these green-skinned orcs, unleashing terrifying infernos that spread continuously, incinerating the semi-plant-like orcs to ashes.
By this stage of the war, the orcs were no longer the brainless fools who charged forward without thought. Though still brutish, they had become more cautious, even inventing ways to dig pits in the ground to hide from the blasts.
They weren't afraid of dying, but they feared dying before they could fight. They feared dying for no reason. In their old beliefs, dying on the battlefield was an honor.
But now, after enduring the Empire's relentless bombardments, their mindset had changed drastically.
"Let's get out of here!"
"Run!"
"If we hide in these pits, they can't bomb us!"
Surrounded by fire, the green-skinned orcs bickered and shoved, trying every trick to escape the wyverns and the fiery blasts. A rare sign of panic began to spread.
"Boom!"
A shell exploded in midair, its fiery tongue engulfing dozens of orcs, the flames spreading quickly, trapping even more in a blazing prison, leaving them to howl and scream in agony.
"It's so hot!"
"Bigmouth, help me! Put out the fire on my back!"
"Get away! Don't come near me!"
"Damn it! Now I'm on fire too because of you!"
Two burning orcs grappled in the flames, rolling around until they became two charred lumps, dying in battle—just the way they liked it.
Seeing this, more orcs stopped struggling and chose to brawl with their comrades, picking fights for the dumbest reasons—just to go out with a bang.
"Blackback, why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because I damn well want to!"
"You're asking for it!"
"Hahaha! Before you burn up, I'm gonna kill you first!"
"Same to you!"
The flames spread like crimson scythes, reaping life after life across the scorched land.
Thick smoke billowed over the charred battlefield, with countless dark shapes writhing, howling, and stumbling toward death.
And then, from the smoke, enormous steel beasts burst forth, rampaging across the battlefield, crushing the few surviving orcs under their tracks.
Even the tank treads were soaked in glowing green blood.
"Boom—"
The steel beast roared, flame erupting from its thick cannon, and in the aftermath, a cluster of orcs was blown into bloody chunks.
"Kill those Imperial bastards!"
"They're finally here! These are the Empire's warriors?"
"Waaaagh!"
Finally facing enemies they could reach, some orcs cheered in excitement, swinging bone clubs and stone axes as they rushed the steam tanks.
One even leapt onto a tank's rear, pounding on the armor with a bone club, while others threw spears and rocks, trying to harm the steel beast.
"Bang! Bang!"
The dull thuds rang out, but no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't breach the tank's thick armor.
"We can't even scratch it!"
"Damn! These steel-skinned beasts the Empire controls are like giant metal lumps!"
"Watch out, it's going berserk!"
"Boom—"
The steam engine roared to full power, spewing white smoke, its hull painted with blood-red eyes by a draconic goblin pilot.
The tank charged forward like a true rampaging beast, flattening hundreds of orcs into meat paste.
The force field activated, flinging the orc clinging to its side into the air, where it was shredded by machine gun fire.
Over a hundred tanks followed behind the flames, forming a thick wall like giant meat grinders, mowing down orcs escaping the firestorm.
Yet many orcs dug desperately into the ground, hiding in burrows sealed tight to escape the spreading flames.
Green-skinned orcs were born from the earth, able to draw air and nutrients from the soil, with insane vitality—they could survive months underground, even eating dirt.
"Good thing I hid early. The rest are probably dead..."
"Yeah, we're smarter. We deserve to live, steal more stuff, kill more people."
Hearing the crackle of burning flesh, the wails, the sounds of orcs brawling above, and feeling the ground shake and rocks fall, the hiding orcs felt fortunate, if a bit regretful.
They hadn't even killed an Imperial or looted the legendary wealth of Avendeldan. Dying here would be a waste.
But they never imagined the air corps would soon launch a strike against them too.
"Boom!"
The ground trembled with a thunderous blast.
At first, the orcs thought it was just another regular shell and paid it no mind.
But they didn't realize that death was creeping closer.
Suddenly, it happened!
A dazzling fire streaked across the sky, followed by deafening explosions. Bombs dropped precisely near the tunnels.
Upon detonation, each bomb created a massive fireball that surged into the tunnels like a furious beast.
The heat made the air inside unbearable. Orcs's skin began to roast, fur and clothes ignited instantly.
"We hid already! How are they still burning us!"
"So hot! There's nowhere to hide!"
They screamed in agony, rolling to extinguish the flames—but it was useless.
A powerful shockwave followed the blast.
Like a giant invisible hand, it smashed into tunnel walls and shelters. Orcs were flung into the air, then slammed down hard.
Their bodies shattered, organs and bones rupturing from the force.
The burning shockwave surged through the tunnels like a tide, incinerating everything.
And the devastation wasn't over.
As the blasts continued, the tunnels were sucked dry of air—even the dirt's oxygen vanished.
Orcs began gasping for air, their throats rasping as they fought death.
"No—"
"Let me out..."
But with each breath, their voices grew weaker.
Darkness and silence smothered the tunnels. Only faint groans remained.
Soon, even those faded away.
The orcs had no idea—Imperial engineers had spent months preparing these bombs for every scenario, including this exact one.
......
From the skies, the ground was a hellscape, blanketed in smoke. Occasionally, plumes would part, revealing scorched land.
Mantou looked down at the fire-covered battlefield strewn with orcs corpses and sighed, "This power's fuckin' terrifying."
Singo nodded over the radio, "Yeah, that's three million orcs. We wiped out most of them in just days—easier than slaughtering chickens."
"My XP maxed out. I can pump several full-level skills now. This mission paid off big."
Even he hadn't expected such massive gains—let alone Mantou, who'd never seen such carnage.
Staring at the blazing inferno, Mantou grinned, "Spectacular. Like the Tokyo bombings in that old movie. LeMay's BBQ."
"Heh, that American really stuck to his roots. Too bad we don't have 'Little Boy' or 'Fat Man'—kinda unsatisfying."
Singo said flatly, "With the Arcane Reconstructionist's mental state, he might've slipped something like that into our ammo."
Mantou's jaw dropped, "No way! You don't need nukes for orcs, right?"
"Let's hope not."
Singo shook his head, saying nothing more.
Then Curtis's calm, steady voice returned over the radio: "Everyone, prepare for a cluster bombing. Cut off their escape routes and encircle the orcs."
"Yes, sir."
The wyvern riders responded in unison, activated gravity systems, and climbed sharply, trailing flaming tails.
Through his helmet display, Mantou saw countless black dots—green-skinned orcs—fleeing north as fire chased them.
The air corps' mission was to stop them, bombing from north to south, turning their escape route into an inferno and trapping them.
"Classic pincer tactic—trapping them like dumplings."
"Sneaky bastards. I love it," Mantou laughed.
Then he rose with the others to ten thousand meters, drawing arcs in the sky, circling to begin their run.
Watching the black dots grow closer on his screen, Mantou grinned and placed his hand on the bomb release switch.
Curtis's voice came through again: "All units, prepare to drop—"
"Three, two—"
"One—"
"Drop!"
Mantou hit the button with a click, and dozens of wyvern riders did the same.
Hundreds of napalm bombs rained down from the wyverns, filling the sky—a terrifying spectacle.
The bombs screeched through the air, hurting ears and shaking hearts.
"Run!"
"Keep heading north!"
"Damn it, I'm not dying as cannon fodder for those old bastards! I'm gonna loot properly!"
The orcs pushed and shoved, trying to escape the firestorm behind them, fleeing north—toward their homeland, the Ugo Grasslands.
But then, those at the front heard a familiar sound—the shriek of death.
"Grush above..."
"No... I don't believe it."
They looked up in horror. The monster birds had returned—already bombing the north.
Like ghosts from legend, they always appeared ahead of them, bringing fire and death.
A orc pointed, legs trembling, shouting, "Monster birds! They're up north too!"
"Move!"
"Out of my way!"
But the orcs behind, unaware, kept pushing, trampling those who stopped. Like a flood, they surged north.
But then came the explosions—the north was no longer open plains, but a firestorm.
Now, the green-skinned orcs had nowhere left to run.
No matter the direction—east, west, north, south; sky or ground—the Empire's wrath would chase them until not a single green-skinned orc remained standing.