Praise the Orc

Chapter 208: War of the Gods (6)

The Colosseum.

The divine power of the War God that traps designated opponents within an intangible prison, which does not deactivate until one of them dies.

Inside this formless prison, Crockta and the War God clashed with thunderous explosions following each of their attacks.

The clash of the two was now at the level of arsenal fire. Although the aftermath did not spread outside of the boundary due to the intangible walls created by the activation of the Colosseum, the battle between them still influenced the morale of those watching. The tide of the larger battle shifted depending on who was dominating inside the Colosseum at the moment.

When Crockta took the offensive, the orcs were invigorated and slaughtered the expedition forces.

When the War God pushed back, the expedition force’s morale surged, and they stabbed the orcs to death.

The battle continued in a destructive cycle of the killers and the victims switching places.

"If this goes on, we're headed for annihilation," Hoyt muttered after smashing the skull of a knight who was acting up in front of him.

Miracles, seldom seen in a lifetime, were unfolding before their eyes one after another. It was truly the battlefield of the gods.

Even then, the dead were rising to swing their swords blindly at the expedition forces.

Yet, the number of the expedition force still outnumbered the orcs, and even more gods continued to appear to join their side. Gods that had never been seen before descended to fight alongside the expedition forces with sword and magic. The morale of the orcs gradually declined.

Hoyt smashed the chest of an approaching soldier and sighed.

"Why are the gods so adamant on getting involved like this?" He inquired out loud.

Then, someone appeared in front of him.

Cloaked entirely in a robe, the figure's identity was indiscernible.

"It's because of the Ashen God."

Hoyt instinctively raised his hammer but sensed no hostility from the figure.

He decided to ask a question instead of attacking the figure.

“What do we have to do with the Ashen God?"

"She has returned. The power of death has been detected. Are you saying that your kind and the Ashen God have nothing to do with each other?"

"The Ashen God? You speak nonsense."

"Are you acting innocent, or are you telling the truth? If you are really telling the truth, then has your kind become her puppets without realizing it?"

"Hah, so you waged war on us based on mere speculation!"

"Even if it was a hasty assumption, it wouldn't matter to them."

The figure faintly smiled. His lips, ever so slightly visible, were curling up under the robe.

"They don't want to leave even a sliver of chance for the Ashen God's revival. Even if innocent deaths occurred in the process, they wouldn’t mind one bit."

Hoyt twisted his mouth into a smirk.

"I think I get it. So what you’re saying is that they waged this war against us purely based on their assumption that we are conspiring with the Ashen God, and even if they were completely wrong, it doesn’t matter to them anyway, huh?"

"Correct."

"I don't know what this Ashen God is, or why you think we're related to it."

Hoyt exuded a murderous intent.

"We have no intention to be pawns in some game of the gods."

As Hoyt prepared to charge at the robed man, he put both his hands in the air.

"Calm down. I am not a god."

"Then what are you?"

"Let's just say I'm a spectator."

"You’re only speaking nonsense."

"It would be better for you to not know."

The figure stepped back and added,

"The day you come to know will be the day you face the apocalypse."

The expedition forces were closing in. As if they too were unsure of the man's identity, they hesitated as they surrounded both Hoyt and him.

One among them, possibly a divinely possessed soldier, radiated an unknown power.

"Are you with us or against us?"

"So I have to be either a friend or a foe..."

The man chuckled lightly.

"Perhaps that's the root of all of these problems."

With the man not answering their question, the soldiers exchanged glances, and one lunged with a spear at the man.

The robe was pierced.

"I got him...!"

But what the soldier managed to stab was just an afterimage.

The man had already moved behind, slicing the soldier's throat.

A swift sword!

The soldier's head fell, spouting blood.

The soldier possessed by a god immediately reacted, unleashing a burst of holy power. Despite his effort, the man dodged with ease and grace, then stood beside Hoyt.

He whispered to Hoyt,

"I will watch this battle to the end. You might just win. The gods are not in their best condition."

"Not in their best condition?"

"Don’t you think the gods are weaker than you’d expect? Enough for you to have lasted this long."

"Well, their power on earth isn’t as..."

"Even so, they shouldn't be this weak."

Their enemy had every single god of this world on their side. They organized an expedition to invade the orcs but were unable to claim their victory easily.

"The gods are fighting their own battles. Everyone believes they are right, so let the gods— no, the world decide."

"Then who are you?"

"You ask the same question twice. As I said before, I am..."

Looking at the expedition forces surrounding himself and Hoyt, the man said,

"Neither a friend nor an enemy to anyone. I am simply a spectator."

The expedition forces, led by the possessed soldier, charged at Hoyt and the man.

The man did not stay longer. He kicked off the ground and flew away, disappearing somewhere into the battlefield. His movement was almost like the wind.

Hoyt, watching him go, gripped his hammer.

"Gods and the Ashen God..."

The man’s identity was still unclear, but the reason for the battle was becoming somewhat visible.

They were entangled in the affairs of the gods.

"What a joke."

Hoyt swung his hammer in a grand motion. The heads of the expedition soldiers attacking him were simultaneously shattered, scattering blood and skull fragments in the air.

Hoyt looked at the scene and snorted through his nose. In the end, both the orcs and the expedition force were mere pawns entangled in the affairs of the gods.

Thus, his anger pointed at the gods.

The world slowed down. Between the fluttering brain pieces and the spray of blood, he saw the face of a man possessed by a god staring at him with malice.

It was as if the divine being was mocking him, smiling smugly as if he knew Hoyt's fate. Hoyt snorted again.

"Gods who aren’t in their best condition..."

Mountain Slasher, the masterpiece of the Golden Anvil Tribe, reverberated in his grip.

"Killable."

Hoyt's body leaped toward the divine being.

His hammer was aimed down at the possessed soldier’s head.

"Hmph!"

However, Hoyt's attack stopped right above the enemy's head.

Divine power emitted by the god created a strong pressure that pushed him back. Struggling to hold on, Hoyt was eventually forced to step back.

The god spoke as he walked toward Hoyt.

"Look at those friends of yours."

"..."

"They will all end up the same."

Hoyt took a deep breath and scanned the surroundings.

As casualties increased, the view of the battlefield cleared. The situation of the battle began to unfold before his eyes.

The orcs were still clashing weapons with the expedition force, and the orc leaders were desperately retaliating against the gods.

However, the tide of battle was turning against them.

"Kahhhhhh!"

Kumarak roared as he charged at the dwarf. Both were injured.

But while Kumarak was completely exhausted, his opponent remained vigorous. As the dwarf shook Kumarak off, Kumarak was flung through the air and tumbled to the ground. The dwarf slammed down his hammer. Kumarak blocked with Destroyer, but it seemed that was all he could do as he choked.

Not too far away, Anya had all of her limbs bound by the Goddess of Mercy, sitting helplessly. The divine power of the goddess, filled with malice, became chains that constricted Anya. Despite Anya's curses and screams, the goddess looked down at her coldly.

Zankus, who had slain the sun just moments ago, was attempting to shoot again despite having two penetrating wounds.

Then, a beam of light from somewhere pierced his thigh, adding another wound on top of the other two. Zankus fell down. His steel bow clattered on the ground with a crashing noise. He twitched trying to stand but could only collapse again as if his body wasn’t under his control.

The God of Radiance, who had been swallowed by the abyss of Wallachwi, appeared crawling out of it, dragging Wallachwi out with him. As he released his grip, Wallachwi tumbled to the ground. The god, not in the best shape himself, kicked Wallachwi with a face full of rage, and Wallachwi weakly rolled on the ground.

They were all so close.

"Just a little."

If only they had been a little stronger.

If only there had been a few more of them, the outcome might have been different.

But that small difference was lacking, and they were overwhelmed by their enemies. Like how a scale only tips quickly once it starts moving in one direction, the orcs couldn't withstand that minute weight and began to collapse, ultimately facing imminent defeat.

"Oh, gods..."

Hoyt, who found himself praying, suddenly felt chills.

The gods were their enemies.

The gods had united their powers to kill them.

An emotion close to absolute despair settled in his chest.

But instead of dropping his head, Hoyt faintly smiled.

"Now you’re seeking the gods? Then kneel and beg. Since we are merciful gods, we just might forgive you," the god in front of him mocked.

"Shut up. You who are unworthy of the title of god, you claim to be one until the end?" Hoyt retorted.

"You filthy orcs just don’t know when to stop."

"You can’t and won’t ever be our gods. Our god is right here."

Hoyt raised his hammer.

Yes, that was it.

Above Hoyt's hammer, their god was watching over him.

"I forgot for a second."

Every warrior who becomes one faces him and realizes. He is always there, always watching over them.

And what they offered to that god was not sacrifices, nor gold or treasures, nor grand temples.

Simply.

The indomitable Seven Virtues, and the honor it illuminates.

That was the most precious thing they could offer.

That was all they had.

In its presence, death was too small, too trivial for them to regret or be afraid of.

Hoyt took a deep breath and looked at the orcs dying around him, the warriors dropping their weapons before crumbling to the ground.

Then, he shouted.

"Listen up, my warriors————!”

Hoyt's roar shook the battlefield.

The orcs raised their heads.

Hoyt, the great warrior of Orcrox who followed in the footsteps of their teacher, Lenox, was shouting at them.

"You may die today————!"

The orcs chuckled.

At that moment, that place didn’t feel like a battlefield, but more like Orcrox’s training ground. And the strict instructor Hoyt seemed like he was about to command them to do something again. He says that dying is acceptable. How harsh was this demand going to be?

The orcs listened attentively to his next words.

Hoyt shouted again.

"So, prove yourselves————!"

The orcs nodded.

Prove themselves. He was truly a strict and harsh instructor.

The orcs had only one way to prove it.

It was to slash open their skins and write with their and their enemies' blood. The content was their life itself, and the period was death. It was a privilege that only a warrior who charged on without cowardice could enjoy, and the reward for submitting the proof of courage was only one thing.

Honor.

Hoyt raised his hammer.

The orcs lifted their weapons.

Kumarak's Destroyer was shoved in the air. Zankus rose again and notched his bow. Anya's axe floated in the air, and Wallachwi sunk back into the abyss. All the warriors' axes and spears were lifted toward the sky.

The following words were too obvious, so everyone roared in unison.

"Burnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn————!”

Even the gods stepped back from their spirit.

The orcs began another wave of resistance with their undying spirit.

The entire battlefield was shaken.

Watching the scene, Hoyt smiled.

His job was finished. He had no regrets. He should’ve died back then, anyway. Lenox was waiting for him.

Just as he was about to make his final charge toward the gods and enemies in front of him.

Suddenly.

There was an echo.

Burnnnnnnnnnn...

Hoyt flinched. Then, he turned around.

They were on a vast plain.

There should have been no echo.

But the sound continued.

Burnnnnnnnnnnnnn...

Burnnnnnnn...

Burnn...

The sound gradually got closer.

The ground began to tremble.

"That’s...!”

"What is that?"

"Holy shit!"

Dust rose from the horizon, revealing hundreds of flags soaring into the air.

All wearing the same armor.

Orcs in dark armor and helmets.

They were coming.

The orc at the forefront waved his hand.

Then, all the flags were waved in unison.

A silent command without a single word, not to mention a shout.

Following that command, the orcs charged toward the battlefield as if they were one.

It was a charge, a mysterious charge that was expected by neither the orcs nor the expedition force.

They drew closer.

Their momentum and roars flooded the battlefield like a tsunami.

The expedition forces, already battered from fighting the orcs, crumbled powerlessly under their collision. The orcs charged madly until collision, like tanks. Their target was clear, anyone and anything that was not orcs. Their blades plunged down upon the weary heads of the expedition forces. The exhausted enemies were slaughtered without being able to make an effort to fight back.

The enraged gods screamed and unleashed their divine powers.

That spectacle seemed unreal.

Among the chaos, Hoyt saw an orc walking toward him.

He was the man who had been leading the group at the forefront of their lines. His face was grim with scars.

"Who are you?" Hoyt asked.

"We are from the north. For the Great Chief."

With those words, Hoyt understood everything.

He once heard from Crockta.

The orcs of the north.

Those who followed the 'Northern Conqueror' Crockta, orcs of a different culture from the continent.

They had broken through the boundary in defiance of the oracle to come down here.

Hoyt nodded his head. Then, he extended his fist.

"My name is Hoyt. Thank you for the salvation."

The man stared at him for a moment, then thumped his chest once and extended his fist toward Hoyt.

"I'm Shireuga. Don’t mention it."

Against the backdrop of a blood-red battlefield where gods and mortals mixed.

The fists of the two men met.

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