Chapter 678: The Final Mission
The skies over the Ugo Prairie were usually clear and serene, but now, dark shadows streaked across the horizon.
——It was the Ember Empire's aerial corps, a special unit made up of wyverns clad in "Skyfire" armor.
From the comms came Singo's teasing voice: "Mantou, you'd better be careful this time. Don't go getting yourself roasted again."
The other wyvern riders burst out laughing.
"Hey Mantou, how much XP did you lose that time you died? Was it over ten thousand?"
"Got it."
Mantou's face darkened, and he snapped back irritably.
"What the hell are you laughing at? If I hadn't stayed behind and sacrificed myself, who knows how many of you would've been butchered by that musclehead orc."
"Okay, okay, you're our hard-working hero, sacrificed in a crash no less—let's just call you 'Hero Labor.'" Another round of laughter erupted from the comms.
"You sons of—"
Face flushed, Mantou gave up arguing and turned his attention back to the mission briefing.
This time, their mission was simple: destroy the green-skinned orcs' spawning grounds and wipe out this terrifyingly reproductive species.
The Empire's court mages had already used magic to gather plenty of intel. These orcs originated from the Bindler River—more precisely, its source: the Inav Valley.
That valley was dense with green mushrooms, and every single day, thousands of new orcs were born there. As the black-green river flowed, so too did the orc spores spread across the Ugo Prairie.
Looking at the intel, Mantou muttered, "I thought I came to Erezaghe to be a world-saving hero. Turns out I'm just here to fly a wyvern and bomb valleys."
Singo said, "That kind of goody-two-shoes adventurer you're talking about? They haven't even hit level ten yet. You should be glad you've got the power you do."
Mantou laughed awkwardly, "Yeah, guess you're right."
Suddenly, Curtis's voice crackled through the comms: "Everyone, you're nearing the target zone. I'm detecting a powerful orc field. Activate your stealth shield systems immediately."
"Copy."
Mantou pressed a button, and a torrent of light particles burst from his Skyfire armor, forming countless interconnected hexagonal shields.
Hidden behind the shields, the wyvern vanished midair, blending seamlessly into the skies. The heavens became clear and pristine once more.
For this mission, the Empire had spared no expense. Every piece of Skyfire armor was embedded with a shed scale from the Ember Emperor, containing legendary-grade power.
Soon, Mantou saw Inav Mountain in the distance—a towering, perilous peak named after the orc god of war. The valley was unfathomably deep and exuded a sinister aura.
"This should be the mission site." Mantou swallowed nervously at the sight of the pale green mist. "This place gives me the creeps."
Even with the protective system, the moment he entered the airspace, his whole body trembled—and his wyvern staggered slightly.
"Emergency brake system malfunctioning!"
"Gravity system malfunctioning!"
"Warning! Encountered magical turbulence! Magic defense system failing!"
Red warnings flooded Mantou's display screen. Panic set in as sweat beaded on his forehead.
"What the hell is going on?!"
Luckily, the turbulence hadn't crippled his propulsion. Mantou still managed to steer the wyvern and avoid crashing into the heart of the orcs' lair again.
The comms buzzed with static. Curtis's voice cut in and out: "You... static... have reached the target area... static... complete the mission within three days... crackle."
With a sharp click, all communication with HQ was lost. No telling when—or if—it would be restored.
"This place is seriously cursed!" Mantou finally swore aloud.
The other wyvern riders chimed in: "Yeah, thank the gods for the shielding. Otherwise, we'd all be roast meat like the last time with Mantou."
"Better watch it. This nest probably has some nasty orcs. Wouldn't be surprised if there's another legendary-tier boss."
Mantou protested, "Can we not bring up my past, please? Let's just finish the damn mission or we're all screwed!"
High above, Singo circled, gathering data. Gradually, a detailed map formed on his screen.
He shared it with the rest of the aerial corps and said solemnly, "That valley's the green-skins' breeding ground—and the source of the Bindler River.
Our mission is to blow it to hell."
Deep within Inav Valley—
Pale green orc spores drifted through the air. The waters churned with thick, dirty black-green sludge. Mushrooms grew in the valley's shadows like clusters of fungi.
Soro stood by the Bindler River, gazing into the flowing waters. "Toss them in," he commanded.
"Yes, Great Chief."
Green-skinned orcs untied blood-soaked sacks from their backs. Inside were mangled orc corpses—some with hopeless eyes, some severed limbs, others split torsos.
Among them were not only the traitorous clan chieftains but also elite warriors from various tribes. Now, all reduced to broken carcasses.
Three days ago, Soro had displayed the severed heads of the chieftains, branding them traitors to the orc race.
Outrage erupted in the Bloodfang Tribe. Pureblood orcs were furious. Loyal warriors from clans like Coldcrow and Frostwolf cursed Soro and rose in defiance.
But Soro's green-skin army had already surrounded the area. The bloodthirsty brutes showed no mercy, slaughtering all who resisted.
That day, the valley ran red with orc blood. The surviving purebloods called it in horror: "The Day of Blood."
From then on, Soro held absolute control over the Bloodfang Tribe. Any orc thinking of independence—or rebellion—had only to remember the fate of their kin.
"Heave-ho!"
"Dump 'em all in!"
"Hahaha, those old geezers!"
Green-skinned orcs worked cheerfully, hurling the corpses into their mother river—Bindler.
They felt no guilt about slaughtering their so-called "kin." On the contrary, they enjoyed it.
They'd long despised those arrogant old purebloods.
Soro folded his arms, eyes gleaming at the black-green flow: "With these high-tier orc corpses nourishing it, we'll breed even stronger orcs.
Five years—no, three years. Under Father God's favor, I'll raise an unstoppable legendary orc army.
Then I'll seize Avenderdan, wipe out the Imperials, and march straight into the Ember Empire."
He licked his lips, eyes bloody, hands trembling.
What a glorious future.
All the humiliation and rage would be washed away in blood. The orcs would become a mobile calamity, spreading eternal terror to every weak, deceitful race.
Beside him, Mork, cloaked in black robes, let out a chilling laugh: "Great Chief, these corpses are top quality—especially the Frostwolf chieftain. His body might breed a legendary orc."
"Legendary?"
Soro was delighted at first, then frowned in concern: "Mork, if one really is born, will it obey me?"
As Batu's temporary successor, Soro feared nothing more than losing his position to betrayal.
That's why he had ruthlessly executed the chieftains and their followers—cutting off future threats.
Mork chuckled hoarsely. "Of course, Great Chief. You're blessed by Father God. These newborns are beneath you. They were born to serve you."
Hearing that, Soro grinned wide, arms crossed: "Naturally. I'm the one who'll restore the orcish glory of old."
Suddenly, Mork turned and pointed at the valley's shadows: "Look there. That one came from the Rock Lizard chieftain's spore."
"Riiip!"
Moist soil bulged upward. A slimy hand burst out, followed by a massive green body.
Soon, a nearly three-meter-tall orc emerged from the ground. Its eyes scanned the surroundings with greed, ready to devour everything in sight.
"Waaagh!"
It howled toward the sky. Instantly, thousands of green-skins around it began to scream and howl in response, shaking the soul.
Mork pointed at the newborn and laughed: "See, my lord? Newborns used to be weak.
But now, orcs bred from chieftain corpses are bigger, stronger than even purebloods. They evolve through war and plunder—and all that strength is yours to command.
In a few years, orcs will be the most feared race in the whole Fianso continent—no, in the entire multiverse. Dwarves, elves, humans, even dragons will kneel before you."
"Excellent. Excellent..." Soro whispered, face twisted with zeal, obsession, and anticipation.
Just then, Mork stiffened, frowning sharply.
"This is..."
He closed his eyes, tension mounting.
Soro quickly asked, "What is it?!"
Mork was now Soro's right-hand man, indispensable for his control over the Bloodfang Tribe and the creation of loyal green-skins.
Mork opened his eyes, voice grim and raspy: "Great Chief, someone has entered Inav Valley."
"What?!"
Soro's eyes burned with fury. He snarled, "Damn it... Is it the Imperials?
Find that intruder! Wipe them out completely!!" His voice rose into a roar.
No wonder he lost his temper. Inav Valley was the green-skin's origin—his hope for orcish rebirth.
If they lost it, the orcs would be doomed to eternal obscurity in this barren land—and Soro's dream of glory would die with it.
Face twisted in rage, he shouted, "Even if we flatten the entire mountain, find those intruders! Exterminate them all!!"
"Yes, Great Chief."
Mork nodded and raised his vine staff.
Instantly, through the spores and mycelium in the air, hundreds of thousands of orcs heard the command. They now knew of the bold "intruder" inside Inav Valley.
"You heard that? The Great Chief's orders!"
"Heh, wonder how outsiders taste?"
"Haven't killed anything living in days. I'm gonna find them this time!"
Madness took over the green-skins. They scoured every corner of the valley, overturning rocks, desperate to tear the intruders apart.
To them, outsiders weren't threats. They were prey—an excuse to kill.
But what they never expected was this:
The "intruders" weren't hiding in the valley—they were circling far above.
"Still no sign of the outsiders?"
"None so far..."
"How can that be?" Soro sat on his throne of bones, face dark, barely containing his rage.
His army of hundreds of thousands had searched all day, every inch of the valley, yet found nothing—not even a trace.
"Mork, could you be wrong?"
Mork shook his head firmly: "No, Great Chief. There's definitely an intruder. The spore network only shakes when invaded."
Soro slammed the table, yelling: "There are hundreds of thousands of orcs here! If they can't find them, what—did the intruders grow wings and fly—"
He froze mid-sentence, face contorting: "The sky! They're in the sky! The Imperials ride wyverns!"
Mork's expression darkened too: "Impossible. Why hasn't anyone seen them..."
"Whoosh—"
A piercing screech echoed across the sky.
"No, no—"
Soro burst out of his tent and saw a metal sphere plummeting from the heavens—right toward the source of the Bindler River: Inav Valley.