Chapter 677: Rebellion of the Clans
North of the Blackstone Mountains, southern Ugo Prairie, beside the Bindler River.
"It hurts so much."
"Ah!"
"D-Damn Imperials, by Father God Gruumsh above, my leg—"
"Help me, sir, please save me! Don't leave me here!"
By the murmuring river, wounded groaned in pain everywhere, their blood once again staining the waters red.
These orcs had either lost their legs to bombardment, been burned by flames, or had half their bodies charred, barely clinging to life.
Tribal shamans roamed about, treating the lightly wounded, applying herbs and casting spore magic, while those too far gone were simply left to die.
Whenever someone died, the orcs would heartlessly toss the body into the river, making it a part of the Bindler River. Even unconscious, still-breathing orcs were pushed into the waters.
This behavior aligned with the doctrine of Gruumsh—Orcs are eternal warriors. Any sick, weak, crippled, or unfit for battle must be purged.
"Father God above..."
"Are we just going to die here like this?"
Watching corpse after corpse, even some still alive, thrown into the river, the orcs couldn't help but feel a shared sorrow. The atmosphere around them grew heavier and more hopeless.
In a hidden part of the valley, chieftains of many clans—including Black Crow, Frostwolf, and Rock Lizard—gathered for a secret meeting.
"Are we really going to do this? Soro, he..." The Rock Lizard Clan's leader still hesitated, for he had witnessed Soro's strength firsthand.
After receiving that mysterious "blessing," Soro's power rivaled that of the late Great Chief Batu.
"What's there to fear? You think he'd dare commit the ultimate offense and slaughter us all?" The Black Crow chieftain sneered.
The Frostwolf chieftain stepped forward and stated bluntly, "We must leave the Bloodfang Tribe! If this continues, our clans' elites will be drained dry!
Since Lord Batu's death, the Bloodfang Tribe is nothing but an empty shell! Only he could lead us orcs to conquer the world!"
The Frostwolf and Black Crow Clans had held a generations-old blood feud, yet now they stood on the same side.
Soro had nurtured lesser orcs, letting those mad things—unworthy of the name "orc"—plunder the Ugo Prairie's resources, inciting deep resentment among the clan chieftains.
Before the war began, they still had a shred of hope for Soro, enduring for the sake of the orcish race, staying in the Bloodfang Tribe.
But after the war ended in total defeat, with the lesser orcs massacred to the last, these chieftains could endure no more—especially not Soro's oppression!
They would reclaim their clans' autonomy!
They would return to the Ugo Prairie, kill those greedy lesser orcs, and take back their grazing lands and hunting grounds!
"Yes! Soro's mind has been corrupted by the power of the lesser orcs—he's no longer fit to lead us."
"I even suspect... the strange power that created the lesser orcs didn't come from Father God at all, but was gained through Soro sacrificing his kin and dealing with outsiders!"
"That's an insult to Father God! An insult to the great orc race!"
"Before Lord Batu's sacrifice, Soro was just a general in the Bloodfang Tribe. What right does he have to command us clan chieftains?"
"He's unworthy! That bastard drained the prairie's resources to churn out millions of garbage soldiers—and what was the result? We didn't even touch the walls of Avenderdan!"
"Soro's not even an orc anymore! He's the chieftain of the lesser orcs, not ours!"
At once, more than twenty clan leaders erupted in fury, pounding their chests and stomping their feet, furious at the Bloodfang Tribe and Soro. They wanted to rip him to shreds.
Orc society had primitive democracy. Only an orc acknowledged by all clan chieftains could be the orcish overlord—the so-called Great Chief.
Centuries ago, one Great Chief lost public trust and was banished by a joint clan vote. That deposed chief froze to death in the wild.
Now, though they couldn't banish Soro, they could lead their own clans away from the Bloodfang Tribe, leaving this so-called Great Chief as nothing more than a lone commander.
The Frostwolf chieftain, Sakk, raised his weapon and said in a deep voice, "Everyone, let's return and contact our clans. Three days from now, we rise up together at dawn.
Remember—split into a dozen groups, flee in different directions. Don't give him the chance to block us all."
"When that happens, the Bloodfang Tribe—heh—can be left to Soro and his mongrel offspring."
The Earth Beast Clan's chieftain clapped happily, "Yes! Let's do it. I've said all along, those greedy, stupid mutts aren't fit to stand with us!"
"Hahaha! If Soro and Mork love the lesser orcs so much, let them live with those bastards forever!"
The chieftains burst out laughing, hands on hips. They'd had enough of living like rats and enough of Soro's humiliation.
Sakk glanced around, a vicious glint in his eyes: "And remember—nobody leaks this. If anyone dares tattle to Soro... I'll make them wish they were dead."
"Clap, clap, clap!"
Suddenly, applause rang out above them, followed by a familiar voice: "You lot really surprised me."
The tone began as mocking, then shifted to seething fury: "You—traitors to the orc race!"
Hearing the voice, Sakk's face went pale. He slowly looked up, lips trembling as he uttered the name: "So... Soro? You're here?"
"What?!"
"Damn! When did he get here?!"
"L-Look up! He's been here all along!" one chieftain said, on the verge of tears.
The orcs looked up to see Soro towering atop the cliff, glaring down at them with a twisted face, veins bulging, eyes full of murderous rage. His massive body, over six meters tall, was like a mountain.
Beside him stood two hulking green-skinned orcs, nearly five meters tall, clad in heavy armor made of assorted parts, steel claws on their hands, grinning wickedly.
These towering orcs cast giant shadows down into the valley, engulfing several chieftains.
"Ch-Chief Soro."
"You misunderstand."
"Yeah, maybe you misheard? Us, traitors? No way!"
Clatter and clang—every chieftain dropped their weapon. They exchanged panicked looks, faces full of shock and dread.
From the moment Soro appeared, his crushing aura shattered their defiance. The once-enraged chieftains couldn't even stand up.
Only the Frostwolf chieftain, Sakk, still stood his ground.
Though pale as death, he clenched his spear with shaking hands and forced himself upright, demanding, "S-Soro... what gives you the right to be Great Chief?
You—you drained the Ugo Prairie dry, birthed millions of lesser orcs, and still got crushed by the Ember Empire! You're not worthy—"
"Swoosh—"
First came the sonic boom of air splitting, then the sickening "thwack" of flesh and bone being pierced.
Sakk had struck a nerve. Enraged, Soro hurled his spear straight at him.
Blood gushed. The spear skewered the orc from head to rump, embedding deep into the stone behind.
The famed warrior Sakk, Frostwolf chieftain, was pinned to the wall by a casual throw!
Sakk died with his eyes wide open, staring at Soro in disbelief. Even at death's door, he couldn't believe Soro would really kill him.
The valley fell silent. After a long while—
"Sakk... is dead."
"He's dead."
"Pinned to the rock."
That was the Frostwolf chieftain Sakk! His riders numbered in the thousands. Even Batu treated him with respect.
But now, Soro had killed him? As easily as slaughtering a chicken?
Panic surged through the valley. A millennia-old rule was being shattered.
"Great Chief, I'm innocent! They tricked me!"
"I never meant to rebel! It—it was Sakk! That dead bastard! I've always fought for the orc race!"
"Great Chief, spare me! The Coldcrow Clan pledges total loyalty to you!"
The valley was filled with cries and begging. Before Sakk's bloody corpse, the once-proud chieftains groveled like begging mutts.
The Rock Lizard chieftain buried himself in the dirt, weeping and kowtowing so hard his forehead bled.
Soro looked down at them with contempt and disgust.
The more they begged, the more he despised them. He wanted them all dead.
In a cold voice, he said, "Sakk asked what made me Great Chief. I believe the answer is clear now."
Soro flexed his massive fist, grinning wickedly: "This! I alone can kill you all. Isn't that enough?"
"Yes. It's enough."
"More than enough."
The chieftains nodded frantically, faces full of humility and flattery, desperate to live.
After all, Sakk's corpse was still warm, blood still flowing.
But Soro ignored them and continued: "Father God Gruumsh once said: If you wish for death, then show weakness—because the weak are unfit to live."
"Boom!"
Soro leapt from the cliff, making the earth quake. Dust rose, and the chieftains froze in fear.
He grabbed the spear lodged in Sakk's skull, and with a tug, pulled it free.
Warm blood and brain matter sprayed like a fountain, splashing over Soro's face and body—but he didn't flinch. He just stared at the chieftains.
Blood smeared across his face like a totem, giving him a ghastly, sacred aura.
"You had the strength to rebel but chose to beg when caught. Do you think you deserve to live?"
"What?"
"You mean to kill us all?"
"Soro, you've gone too far! Kill us, and the Bloodfang Tribe will collapse!"
"Sakk is dead. We can still live in peace! Don't push us!"
The orcs' faces twisted in despair, fear, and fury.
One even shouted, "Soro! If the clans unite, even you—a god's chosen—won't survive!"
But Soro simply walked out of the valley without looking back, and gave an order in a low voice: "Wipe out these traitors."
"Yes, Great Chief."
"I love this kinda work!"
Under the terrified stares of the chieftains, the two hulking green orcs laughed wildly and jumped down.
"Wh-What are you doing?!"
"Mutts! You dare bite your master?! I command you, in the name of pureblood orcs, to get out!"
"Stay back!"
The chieftains roared in protest, trying to drive them off with bluster.
But the green-skinned orcs weren't fazed. Grinning savagely, they swung their steel claws. Flashes of white, fountains of blood, severed limbs flew.
In moments, the valley turned into a slaughterhouse. Blood drenched the rocks, corpses littered the ground, and the two orcs, now soaked in blood, knelt behind Soro.
"Great Chief, we've killed the lot."
"So satisfying."
These two green orcs were Soro's new commanders—Garon and Monde—both bloodthirsty maniacs.
Soro nodded casually, as if the massacre meant nothing. "Cut off their heads. Hang them outside the tents. Let's see how the other warriors react.
If anyone shows signs of rebellion, kill them all. They're just relics of a bygone age."
Hearing they could kill more, the orc leaders eagerly accepted.
Soro turned to the pile of corpses and calmly added, "Also, dump their bodies into the Mother River.
They were cowardly weaklings, but still stronger than average orcs. Their remains should make good fertilizer—for better, stronger orcs."
"Yes, Great Chief."
The two commanders responded in unison and happily went to gather the remains for the next bloodbath.
Meanwhile, Soro lifted his head and looked south again, eyes filled with hatred: "Just wait, Ember Empire. That day is coming soon..."