Chapter 662: Elves and Orcs
Deep in the Supreme Forest, the Serenia Court.
A crisp birdcall rang out.
A bird cloaked in pure white wings soared past the dawn-lit lake, weaving through the dense forest before gracefully landing in the palace, bearing a message from the north.
On a windowsill deep within the royal court, the crowned Elven Queen extended her arm, letting the bird perch upon her delicate hand as she took the letter from its beak.
Catherine patted the bird's wings, smiling gently: "Thank you. Go back now, and give my thanks to the members of the Harpist Alliance."
The bird flapped its wings and ascended into the sky, merging with the azure heavens, disappearing in a flash, leaving behind only a few spotless white feathers.
Only then did Catherine open the letter and scan its contents. Soon, she covered her mouth, her eyes wide with shock and panic.
She lifted her head and looked toward the north, murmuring: "This... how can this be?"
Outside the door, a half-elf female general clad in light armor strode in swiftly, asking with concern: "Your Majesty, what happened?"
Catherine turned to her and said, "Rhea, you came just in time. The latest intel from the Harpist Alliance—the Highland Kingdom has fallen."
Rhea's pupils contracted instantly: "What? Who did it?"
Catherine sighed: "Who else but the Ember Empire? They claimed it was to eliminate the orc threat, and then took over Avenderdan. What a laughable excuse."
Rhea's brow furrowed deeply: "What about Edd, the Lord of the Highlands?"
Catherine sighed again: "He died a heroic death in the siege, reportedly killed by a subordinate of an evil dragon."
Rhea inhaled sharply. She knew all too well how powerful the Lord of the Highlands was—a true peak-legendary level powerhouse. Even she wasn't fully confident she could beat him.
And yet, that red dragon had only sent a single subordinate to kill Edd outright! That alone spoke volumes about the might of the Ember Empire.
"And it didn't end there. After Edd's death, the Shield Dwarves' guardian god Dumathoin descended upon the world, and the emperor of the Ember Empire was summoned as well. A titanic battle erupted."
Catherine continued: "In the end, Dumathoin departed the material plane, and Avenderdan was taken by the Ember Empire."
With that, she handed the letter to Rhea.
"This... this is just—"
Rhea took the letter quickly and read it several times over. Only after confirming its accuracy did she mutter solemnly: ".Incredible."
After all, that was a deity!
Even a divine avatar possessed power far beyond mortal comprehension. To defy a god was to court destruction—yet that red dragon had forced a god to retreat!
In that moment, a suspicion long buried in Rhea's heart began to waver.
A juvenile dragon born only decades ago... how could it possibly wield power to contend with a god?
Maybe, just maybe, the red dragon she remembered—orderly and neutral—had long died in the wilds, and the so-called Ember Emperor was in fact a true ancient evil dragon, a being of countless years.
Catherine gave a bitter laugh, shaking her head. She stepped to the window and leaned on her cheek, sighing: "Yes, it's all too incredible.
That dwarven kingdom which signed the sacred pact with us Serenia and lasted thousands of years... to fall in just a few days—it feels like a joke."
Rhea said seriously: "Your Majesty, I've told you before. The world is becoming unstable. Elves trying to bury their heads in the forest like ostriches—it's just not viable anymore."
Catherine nodded: "Rhea, you rushed here again to persuade me to launch a coup, didn't you?"
"You guessed right, Your Majesty," Rhea replied urgently.
"With the fall of the Highland Kingdom, this is now a matter of utmost urgency. If we don't act, those decrepit elders in the Senate will drag the Moon Elves into ruin!
Your Majesty, the Highland Kingdom is already gone. Who will be that greedy dragon's next prey? If disaster reaches Serenia, it'll be too late."
"Very well. I agree."
"What—you..." Rhea was stunned.
After all, she had tried persuading the Queen multiple times before, all to no avail.
This Elven Queen had always hesitated, fearing they were not fully prepared.
But now Catherine looked at Rhea, gripping the silver crescent moon pendant at her chest, her light purple eyes burning with conviction.
"By the Moon Goddess Sahani above, we've prepared long enough. It's time to end the rule of those fossils."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Rhea knelt halfway down, her voice shaking with emotion: "The Harpist Alliance will send over a hundred supernaturals, including three legendary-ranked reinforcements.
The Silvermoon Followers Legion is also fully prepared. Every member is utterly loyal to you. We can storm the Sacred Tree as soon as the Holy Day arrives.
And Lord Trefarlanlo of the Arcane Hermitage has promised to send twenty silver-robed mages."
Catherine asked: "By the way, Rhea, don't you also know that ancient gold dragon known as the 'Wing of Dawn,' Titus?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. Lord Titus is a fair and impartial powerhouse," Rhea answered truthfully.
"Invite him as well."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
This was no longer just a coup—it was a war. A war they had to win. That mighty golden dragon could be a great asset.
On the day of the Holy Sun, the dark clouds hanging over Serenia would vanish, and the sacred moonlight would once again shine upon the land.
Catherine looked up at the towering Sacred Tree in the distance, violet eyes shining with a light never seen before.
A turbulent era was about to begin.
And she would lead Serenia, lead her elven kin—to find a new path of light in this war-torn world.
But the Elven Queen could never have foreseen that a single offhand remark would bring the wolf to the door.
Ugo Great Prairie.
The vast steppe was nearly swallowed by green—but not the soft yellow-green of wild grass. This was a dense, sickening deep green.
Green mushrooms grew in dense clusters, greedily draining the land's energy, turning everything they touched into fodder for breeding orcs.
Crack.
Suddenly, under the mushroom caps came the sound of membranes splitting. Mounds of soil swelled, and thick green hands burst through the earth, their skin slick with slime.
From underground emerged muscular, ferocious-faced orcs. These "newborns" quickly adapted to the surface and let out deafening, frenzied roars to the sky.
"WAAAGH!!!"
In mere moments, hundreds more orcs had spawned from this grassland. Their reproduction rate was horrifying. The once-rich prairie now lay barren, stripped to sterile sand.
These newborn orcs, driven by instinct, surged along the black river like a tidal wave heading toward the valley.
"Good! Good! Hahahahaha! Our warriors grow ever more numerous! The Redblood Tribe has never flourished like this! Praise Father God Gruumsh!" Soro roared atop a hill, laughing maniacally.
At this moment, the orc chieftain looked more monstrous than ever, having long surpassed the genetic limits of his kind.
Towering nearly six meters, bulging with muscle, he wore ugly patchwork armor made of scrap metal and beast scales, painted with crude warpaints. His hand bore a massive clawed gauntlet.
Altered by some mysterious force, this once-silent interim chieftain had become violently manic.
In truth, not just him—all orcs had become stronger, more battle-hungry, and utterly fearless. Living weapons.
Soro glanced around. The valley swarmed with green-skinned orcs, a suffocating stench rising to the sky. They packed the area so densely that their numbers defied estimation.
If such a tide of orcs appeared before the dwarves, they'd probably piss themselves, Soro thought, imagining the delicious sight.
He saw the dwarves torn apart by the horde, corpses everywhere, while he and his orcs celebrated atop Avenderdan's walls.
How wonderful that would be! He'd fulfill a dream millennia in the making and become a hero of his people!
Even if Batu returned from the dead, he'd have to bow his head and call him "Chieftain!"
Thinking this, Soro grew smug, foul drool leaking from his lips.
"With such power, we deserve more territory! Great Orc God Gruumsh has granted us the divine right to plunder!
We were born for war, to take from the weak, to seize all they have!"
The orc chieftain raised his clawed hand and bellowed: "My kin! Do you want to seize Avenderdan? Kill every last dwarf?!"
"Yes!"
"WAAGH!"
"Hell yeah, time to smash those stubby midgets into paste!"
Suddenly, an orc rider galloped in on a war wolf, shouting, "Chieftain! Chieftain!! Avenderdan has fallen! The Highland Kingdom is gone!"
"What?!"
Soro froze, confused and shocked. They hadn't even marched—how had Avenderdan already fallen?
No... not him! Not even their orc race!
Then fury and humiliation overtook the chieftain. "Who?! Who did this?! That was our land!
How dare they beat us to Avenderdan! This is a blatant insult! A challenge to the glory of the orc race!"
The orc messenger replied: "It—it was the Ember Empire!"
Boom!
In a rage, Soro punched the ground, scattering stone and earth and leaving a giant crater.
"Damn those dwarf-licking bastards! The Ember Empire again! They not only killed our envoy, they stole the glory that should've been mine! Ours!"
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Soro unleashed a flurry of furious blows. The hill groaned, covered in cracks.
His fury came from the fact that the Ember Empire had done in days what the orcs had failed to do for millennia—conquer Avenderdan.
Avenderdan, the so-called "City That Never Falls," the Shield Dwarves' capital.
For thousands of years, dwarves and orcs had fought bitterly over it. Millions of orcs had died there. The Valley of the Glory Road was said to hold a river of bones.
And yet... it wasn't them. It was some upstart Ember Empire. How could Soro not explode with rage?
"Kill them all!"
"Take everything they have!"
"We'll take Avenderdan back!"
The green-skinned orcs roared in anger, stirred to a frenzy—even though many of them had just been born and didn't yet understand what "Avenderdan" or the "Ember Empire" even were.
But they understood one thing: there was a fight coming!
In just a month, over a million greenskin orcs had bred on the Ugo Steppe. Like locusts, they had devoured everything—plants, beasts, even monsters.
Now, what they craved most was a wild, reckless war—to unleash the killing desire in every cell of their bodies.
Soro's eyes were bloodshot. He lifted his spear high and roared: "Since the Highland Kingdom has fallen, our next target is the Ember Empire!
I hear their emperor is a dragon—then we'll cut off that big lizard's head and mount it as a trophy! We'll tear off his wings for tents, rip off his limbs and tail for stew!
For Father God Gruumsh!"
"WAAGH!"
"For Father God Gruumsh!"
"Destroy the Ember Empire!"
"Hahaha! I wanna taste dragon meat!"
At the mention of war, the green-skinned orcs exploded in ecstatic howls and cheers. The atmosphere was electric—like they were off to a feast.
Orc spores spread across the valley. In such dense clustering, blood vessels burst red in their eyes.
Just like a locust swarm, when greenskin orcs reach a critical mass and prepare for war, their bodies secrete toxins that trigger genetic mutations.
The result—more feral, more violent, numb to pain—complete biological weapons. This was the infamous "Orc Tide" that would one day make all creation tremble.
But the orcs didn't know—they were about to become test subjects for the Ember Empire's new weapons.