Chapter 667: A Day in the Life of Big Fang
"Mine, mine, it's all mine——"
An orc was humming a tune, walking southward with a spring in his step, elated beyond words.
At first glance, this orc didn't look much different from his kin—maybe just a bit bulkier and more muscular.
He was disheveled, hideous, clad in ragged beast hides, carrying a massive club made from some unknown beast's leg bone, and reeked of an overpowering stench.
His only standout feature was the two long, thick tusks jutting from his mouth—yellowed, bloodstained, and nearly poking his nose.
These orcs born from the soil had no names and often just took the first word they heard. Thanks to his tusks, this orc came to be called "Big Fang."
He was proud of the name. To keep others from stealing it, he beat up a few other orcs who also called themselves "Big Fang," snapping their tusks and literally making them "search for their teeth."
After this, the name "Strong Big Fang" spread. Many orcs came to follow him, and he gradually became a warband leader with over a hundred underlings.
Life for these green-skinned orcs was simple—either fighting, or on the way to fight. The reasons for battle were countless: stealing resources, claiming nests...
Even just making eye contact and getting annoyed was reason enough for a fight to the death.
Everything in orc society was gained through robbery and plunder. The strong robbed the weak, the many robbed the few. And if you couldn't win? Join the stronger gang and become their lackey.
Through rapid reproduction, the green-skins formed their own society—crudely structured and built around countless raiding groups looting one another, each robbing the one below.
What about the weaklings at the bottom? Either be physically eliminated and turned into food, or go rob other races.
In Big Fang's short life so far, he'd pulled off over a hundred raids—but he'd also been robbed seven or eight times by stronger orcs. To him, that was all perfectly normal.
And so, this upcoming war felt no different.
They were going to beat up the weak but rich southerners, take everything, and become masters of the continent.
"If I see it, it's mine!" Big Fang hummed the orc war song as he marched with the horde, in high spirits.
"Boss, when we take Avenderdan, I wanna make my club out of wood!"
"Pathetic. Humans and dwarves are rich—once we rob them, I'm making mine from iron!" Big Fang sneered at the short-sighted minion.
His mindset mirrored that of most orcs—fanatical about war but clueless and naive. Their only guiding principle: "This sounds good!"
At first, their "Great Chief" Soro tried to stir them up with history and racial pride—but the green-skins didn't get any of that. They just scratched their heads in confusion.
Eventually, Soro snapped, raised his spear, and roared, "We're going to war! We're taking everything from the southern cities!"
One orc asked, "Are they rich?"
Soro replied, "Listen well, my kin: one human is richer than a hundred orcs. One elf is worth a thousand!"
"What about dragons?"
Another orc chimed in.
Soro grinned wide. "Dragons are the greediest, strongest, and richest beings. One dragon's hoard is worth hundreds of thousands—maybe millions—of orcs!
Their scales can make the toughest armor, their bones the hardest clubs, their—"
"Waaaagh!"
"Take everything!"
"I want a dragon!"
The horde exploded with excitement. War cries boomed from the orc tide like crashing waves, shaking the ground with raw energy.
Big Fang was there too, shouting with the rest, dreaming of the future—maybe one day he'd coat his tusks in gold.
That way, no one could break them or steal his name again.
Suddenly, chaos erupted at the front of the orc horde.
"Look!"
"That's Avenderdan! No wonder it was once the dwarves' capital!"
"Waaagh! That city looks ripe for plundering!"
"Outta my way!" Big Fang shoved orcs aside to get to the front.
"Th-this is..." Big Fang looked up and gaped. His tusks jutted forward, reeking as always.
In the distance, atop a tall mountain, stood a grand fortress made of iron and stone, built into the cliffs. Above it, countless wyverns flapped chaotically, a dark cloud in the sky.
"How much iron must be in that fortress! How many clubs can I make from that?!" Big Fang marveled aloud.
His heart pounded, blood roaring. Every cell screamed the same thing—War! We need war!
The air was thick with pale green orc spores. When they collided, they sparked a strange chemical reaction, making the orcs even more feral and fearless.
"Charge!"
"Take everything! Waaaagh!"
In an instant, the orcs went berserk, waving spears, bone clubs, and stone axes as they surged toward the fortress.
Their footsteps thundered like war drums, even causing the distant Blackstone Mountains to tremble.
They trampled over each other, but Big Fang forced his way to the front, laughing wildly: "Fat sheep, here I come! Waaaagh!"
In Big Fang's eyes, the scene of war would be completely one-sided—just like all the battles he'd fought before. The orcs would swarm forward and tear their trembling enemies apart.
"Charge!"
"Take that fortress!"
Just then, with a deafening "Boom!", shattered earth, blood, and orc limbs blasted into the sky. A massive crater appeared on the ground ahead.
—It was a landmine.
To counter the orcs' flood-like onslaught, the Empire's army had planted a minefield spanning dozens of kilometers in length and two kilometers in width—a brutal "gift" for their enemies.
But the orcs had no idea. Oblivious to their comrades' cause of death, they kept charging ahead, shouting in confusion.
"What was that?!"
"How did they die?!"
"Kara's head just flew off! I'm taking it as a trophy—he was my best friend!"
"Bullshit! I was Kara's best friend! That head is mine!"
Amidst this bloody chaos, a few orcs began brawling over their friend's head—a grim touch of dark humor.
"Boom!"
Another massive explosion rang out. An orc who'd stepped on a mine was blasted to a charred husk. The shrapnel instantly killed dozens more.
The explosions came faster, like war drums pounding in the orc sea, carving a long, bloody path of shrapnel, gravel, and limbs.
Their numbers were so dense even Imperial engineers hadn't expected the mines to be this devastating.
But spurred on by spores, the orcs ignored their comrades' deaths. The spore-laced blood in the air only made them more frenzied and high.
"Waaagh!"
"Push through!"
Like moths to a flame, they charged into the minefield, triggering explosions with sharp metallic snaps, their bodies launched skyward.
Soon the ground was littered with charred corpses. The orcs behind trampled their dead kin to keep the assault going. In mere minutes, thousands had been obliterated.
But Big Fang didn't rush forward. He lingered just behind the frontline, waiting for the others to clear the mines before moving in.
His orc underling, Hawk, was eager to charge ahead, but Big Fang held him back.
Hawk turned with a confused, anxious look. "Boss, why aren't we charging?"
"Idiot!"
Big Fang smacked him on the head. "Let those short-lived fools die first. We go in after, then we get the loot!"
"Ow!"
Hawk rubbed his head and nodded vaguely, muttering, "If not for the boss..."
As Hawk looked on with envy, another batch of orcs charged forward, screaming—only to be blown sky-high again.
Big Fang kicked a nearby scorched head and snapped, "That'd be your head if I hadn't stopped you! Let's move!"
As a green-skinned orc, Big Fang wasn't afraid of death—but he didn't want to die pointlessly like the others. He still had a fortress to plunder!
It was his thirst for killing and looting that gave Big Fang his rare cunning among orcs.
"Boom!"
"Boom! Boom!"
More explosions echoed like stones thrown into a sea, splashing up waves of blood—but compared to the orcs' numbers, it barely made a dent.
And so, the orcs advanced, sacrificing tens of thousands of their kin to make inch-by-inch progress.
During this time, Big Fang slyly led his crew behind the frontline fodder, only suffering light injuries.
"We'll be inside soon..."
Big Fang licked his tusks, eyes glinting greedily. He stared at the fortress, already picturing the slaughter to come.
"Vrrrr—"
Suddenly, piercing screeches split the air like thunder, causing confusion among the orcs.
"What's that sound?!"
"Kinda sounds like hawks on the prairie... only way louder."
"Forget it! Keep charging! Loot everything in Avandeldan! Waaagh!"
Unlike his kin charging headfirst, Big Fang cautiously looked up—and saw a sight he'd never forget.
In the sky were rows of massive black-and-red monster birds. From their bellies fell countless dark "eggs," raining down from the heavens.
"Those freak birds are laying eggs!" an orc shouted.
"Boom!"
In a flash, the "eggs" burst like fireworks. The roaring flames engulfed the orcs, igniting everything—grass, rocks, trees—in seconds.
The spores in orc bodies didn't protect them from fire; instead, they made them burn better.
"Aaaaghhh—!"
The crackle of fire and bursting air echoed across the plains. Tens of thousands of front-line orcs howled and writhed in the inferno, turning to blackened husks within moments.
Wildfire spread, reeking of gasoline. The savage flames consumed the cheap lives of the green-skinned invaders.
This was the Empire of Ember's gift: napalm bombs. No wonder players earned the title "Grill Master"—this really was a barbecue, and the orcs were the meat.
Seeing the flames rush toward him, scorching his skin black, Big Fang couldn't help but yell, "Fall back! Stay away from the bird eggs!"
But it was too late. Nearby, Hawk burst into flames, screaming in agony. He'd brushed against the sticky, flammable gel while running.
"Boss, help me! I'm burning! I don't wanna die here—I want to loot Avandeldan!"
Hawk staggered toward Big Fang, reaching out, his burning skin cracking open.
Big Fang's face turned cold. He glanced at the sticky goo on Hawk and cursed, "Screw off! I don't need trash like you in my crew!"
"Boss, don't leave me—"
"Bang!"
Big Fang kicked him straight into the fire, cursing, "You're useless and you wanna drag me down?!"
He slapped his almost-scorched leg, skirted the blaze, ignored the screams of burning orcs, and sprinted for open ground.
But just then, the monster birds circled back and launched another bombing run. A fresh rain of explosives hit the ground and detonated.
"Boom!"
"Boom! Boom!"
Flames surged across the land. Smoke blotted out the sun. Fire closed in from all sides, forming a giant ring of death, trapping tens of thousands of orcs in a blazing hell.
"Whizz—"
Another napalm bomb dropped from above and exploded midair.
Big Fang looked up, furious. The blinding fire reflected in his muddy eyes. Without thinking, he cursed, "Motherf—"
"Boom!"
In the next instant, the fire consumed the orc leader. His body charred, then melted in place. The shockwave blasted across hundreds of meters.
And thus, the infamous orc warlord Big Fang—known in his past life for wreaking havoc across northern Feianso, razing cities, and earning the hated titles "Fang of Ruin" and "Enemy of Civilization"—was obliterated in this bombing. Not a soul would even remember his name.