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墨書 Inktalez
John watched as his subordinates discarded their weapons in a desperate attempt to flee. He quickly stepped in front of everyone, brandishing his spear to hold them back.
"Pick up your weapons! If you don’t want to die, pick up your weapons! Those who don’t want to be captured, pick up your weapons!"
The authority in his voice made them instinctively stop and retrieve their arms. Once they had done so, John relaxed slightly, gripping his weapon firmly. Those without weapons discarded them, and he declared, "You are my subordinates. Trust me, I will lead you back alive."
Not far from the village, on a hillside, a group of Wolf Riders guarded a young orc who was surveying the village below. Standing at two and a half meters tall, it was clear he had not yet reached adulthood. He wore intricately carved half-armor and a horned helmet, wielding a pair of spiked maces.
This young orc was Grom, the junior chieftain of the War Song Clan. What stood out most were his two blood-red tusks. Unlike humans, orcs had green skin and large ears, along with a pair of tusks that were their most notable feature. Orc tusks came in various colors; the most common were white and gray, which belonged to ordinary Orc Warriors. Though stronger than human infantry, their lowly lineage meant they rarely achieved Transcendence.
Beyond the ordinary gray and white tusks were red and gold ones. Orcs with these colors possessed warrior talents and could achieve Transcendence upon reaching adulthood, growing faster and stronger than their human counterparts. The rarest were blue and silver tusks, indicating magical talents—so rare that even common orcs believed that the mages of both races were mere legends.
The junior chieftain realized that among this group there were some with brains; they had reacted accordingly. Grom kicked his Kodo Beast into motion and charged down the hillside, his face reflecting a thirst for battle.
"Since they’ve come out to play, let’s deliver them a delayed death," he declared.
The Wolf Riders understood and followed suit, racing down the slope. For orcs, killing was a way of life; death only brought them joy.
Redman looked back at the flames shooting into the sky behind him and fell helplessly to his knees, his eyes devoid of their former spark.
"It's over... it's all over."
He felt he had lost all his chips in this gamble. Only Lyd, Lai Gen, and two others remained from the armored soldiers. As for the militia, only part of John’s men still maintained formation; the rest of their Hundred-Man Teams had scattered across the plain.
John looked at Redman with disappointment. "Get up! You’re our leader; you need to pull yourself together!"
Unfortunately, Redman’s spirit had been shattered; all he could do was weakly repeat, "It’s over... it’s all over."
Lyd approached John’s side, covering his burned left arm with a pained expression. John sighed; it seemed that Lyd's spirit had also broken. Perhaps it was best to let him be for now.
He—no, what was that? Letting go of Redman, he stood up straight and noticed a cloud of smoke rushing toward their group from a distance.
Everyone turned to look, the dust drawing nearer, the heat waves scattering the sand and revealing what lay within the cloud.
It was the Wolf Riders. John murmured, his voice suddenly rising, "Yes, the Wolf Riders!"
Having barely escaped the sea of flames, seeing a squad of Wolf Riders again filled the entire team with despair. The instinct of survival surged in their minds: run. This was the unified reaction of everyone’s heart.
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