The person who managed to voice the question on the minds of everyone except the one it was directed at was none other than Alyon. He wanted to learn the secret behind the orc, whose life he had been worried about just a moment ago, turning into the Grim Reaper in seconds.
"Dad, the people who will receive the ancestors' blessing are no longer determined through combat like we did when we were in that small tribe, but according to their rank among those who can grasp the techniques taught within the Orc Military Academy.
When number ten managed to learn the technique pioneered by my sister and originating from the Third Sheikh of the Holy Blood Sect, a major shortcoming caught the eye. Even though he could reach a satisfying level in terms of speed, he had to compromise on strength to achieve this.
Still, we allowed him to try to receive the ancestors' blessing, and it soon became apparent that we weren't wrong in our decision. Number ten returned with the axe in his hand and had a chance to cover his biggest shortcoming. His axe has the feature of trapping the kinetic energy generated with every strike inside it, and most importantly, when the time comes, it can turn this into potential and provide number ten with the power increase he lacks."
When Bookworm's words ended, everyone understood what he meant; the weapon gathered energy as it swung, and when needed, added these energies to its user's power. This was the reason why number ten was pruning the soldiers like grass, whom he could only scratch or inflict minor wounds on before.
"An inspiring idea; Michelangelo, starting today, we are beginning to work on this idea!"
When Master Leonardo heard the operational logic of the axe, which was a blessing from the ancestors, a spark ignited in his mind. Ideas, like foxes chasing each other's tails, scattered left and right, occupying his entire mind.
"I couldn't fully understand what my master said back then, but now I can decode the meaning lying beneath her words!"
Bookworm formed a sentence that would muddy the clearing perceptions again, but immediately continued speaking to make the necessary explanation.
"Blood God Nafız had said: If a person truly dedicates themselves to their work, there is no such thing as working hours for them. If they are a writer, they think as a writer not only at their desk, but also while sleeping, while washing, and even while making love.
Just like you are doing right now, while watching a battle or listening to the speech of an orc whom everyone sees as a barbarian, they think and act like a scientist!"
The conversation on top of the wall had become as heated as the battle going on at its bottom, but it was nothing compared to what the rightmost part of the frontline soldiers separated from the support forces experienced. Unlike the other units, they weren't met by three people; only numbers eight and nine of the Nameless Ten stood against them, but judging by their final situation, they were still the most unfortunate ones.
They were being slaughtered by number nine, who was hiding behind the orc relentlessly swinging the handle of his axe gripped tightly with both hands, and sending the energy attacks breaking off from his double axes onto the enemy. The shield of the heavy armored soldier, who was the touchstone of the V-shaped formation and was supposed to provide resistance by standing at the tip, was shattered to pieces, just like the body of the one carrying it.
The leather armor of number eight, the creator of this situation, was also pierced in many places, and the liquids flowing out from inside some of the holes were painting the armor red. He was definitely wounded, but despite this, he didn't look like he had lost anything of his speed, strength, or savagery.
"He entered Battle Frenzy!"
This time it fell to Hammerstriker to make an explanation, because he was the one who knew number eight the most closely.
"Since you started, keep going, brother-in-law. After all, you are considered the mentor of those who apply this technique among the students of the Orc Military Academy."
When Bookworm spoke in a way that supported the man who took the initiative without waiting for him, Hammerstriker, who had kept it short out of fear of making a tactless remark, relaxed and started speaking.
"Because I have dueled with him a few times, I know very well the power of number eight and what he can do. Even though the ability they use is similar in many ways to my lineage power, Warrior's Wrath, we could call it a slightly milder version of it.
Number eight gets stronger as he takes blows, but for this to happen, the blood carrying his life force needs to leave his veins and drench his body. Just like the leader of the Nameless Ten, if he wanted to use this ability, he had to eat away from his lifespan until he received the ancestors' blessing.
If he had a lineage power like mine, he should have preferred heavy metal alloy armors instead of the leather armor on him, but unfortunately, I am currently the only person in the world who possesses Warrior's Wrath. Number eight has to wear that armor because he needs the privilege it provides in order not to die.
The leather armor absorbs anything containing energy coming at it and gives it back to its user as combat power. If an archer wore the armor, their arrows could pierce right through a mountain; if someone who was a mage could possess it, they could wreak havoc with elemental attacks, but our ancestors deemed it fitting for this item to be used by Number Eight, by an orc who learned to enter battle frenzy."
If Hammerstriker had explained these things somewhere else, there might have been those who wouldn't believe his words, but for those who witnessed Number Eight's destructive power with their own eyes, there was no room for doubt. Those on top of the wall had gotten to know the orcs possessing different abilities and equipment from one another thanks to the struggle at the bottom of the wall, but the ability of one warrior within the Nameless Ten hadn't yet been revealed.
Number Nine, advancing by hiding behind his friend who was committing a massacre in a Battle Frenzy, wasn't aware that all eyes were on him while swinging his small axes, each at most a handspan long.
"The axes in Number Nine's hands remind me of the weapons created by the engineers of the Machine Empire, but I guess these are also a blessing from your ancestors!"
Master Leonardo was doing something he rarely did while trying to define the axes, from which an energy attack in the shape of the weapon broke off and headed toward the enemy with every swing.
"Actually, the first thing you said is almost correct, Master Leonardo, but those who produced the weapons aren't the engineers of the Machine Empire, but the inventors of the Orc Military Academy."
If it had been a normal person who made a mistake, they might have become arrogant or even angry considering the weight of their name, but Master Leonardo had become a prisoner of curiosity upon what he heard.
"I knew it, I was sure those orcs would do great things in the future!"
"How could they not succeed? Especially after having the chance to take lessons from a genius like you, it was impossible!"
Even though the Orc Military Academy was initially established to train qualified officers for the army that would be rebuilt from scratch, it had turned into a fully equipped educational institution as time passed. The structure, which improved itself day by day in engineering, medicine, the art of war, and political sciences, was a science center that accepted students from outside the continent and where experts in their fields also gave lessons.
"If these weapons are orc-made, where do they find the energy to make all these attacks?"
Michelangelo knew that human-made weapons could carry out energy attacks within a certain capacity, but he couldn't understand how the axes, products of orcs, could carry out attacks for a long time.
"My young friend, the miracle isn't in the weapon, but in the wristbands, and they are blessings coming from the ancestors of the orc warrior!"
As Bookworm finished his words, the transparent energy attack coming out of the main actor of the conversation's axe embedded itself into the shoulder of the last enemy. The soldier, whose spear fell to the ground, wanted to turn his back and run away, but the axe of number eight, who was in a battle frenzy, would tear a huge chunk of flesh off his waist a moment later.
When they cast a glance around, there were only ten people left standing in the battlefield they had isolated with the new generation war mechs, and all of them had green skin.