Looking down at the battlefield that resembled a meat grinder, Name put down his binoculars, his face filled with massive confusion.
"No, what's the point of him doing that?" He pointed to the small black dot in the distance, which, though courageous, was clearly submerged in a green tide.
"He's surrounded layer upon layer by Greenskins. One spit from each of those ten-thousand-odd Greenskins could drown him. Even if the potions in his backpack are enough to keep his adrenaline maxed out, and he slaughters until the effects wear off—killing for twelve straight hours—it's impossible for him to hack his way through the entire camp and reach the Greenskin Warboss."
To him, this seemed like a meaningless, suicidal charge that offered zero tactical value beyond a brief rush of adrenaline.
Hearing this, Flying Eagle didn't answer immediately. Narrowing his eyes, he carefully observed the battlefield through a high-powered scope, paying close attention to the emotions of the Greenskins, who were growing increasingly fanatical yet visibly agitated due to their inability to take the target down.
After pondering for a moment, he spoke slowly, "I think I have a rough idea of what he's planning."
Without keeping his companion in suspense, he continued, "He never intended to fight his way in. He's trying to display his martial prowess this way. The logical circuits of these Greenskin fellas are very simple: whoever can fight is the boss, and whoever is the most Waaagh is the coolest."
"I figure if the strength he shows is great enough—great enough that these ordinary Greenskin Boyz can't kill him no matter how they swarm him, and instead get slaughtered until the ground is carpeted with their corpses—then according to Greenskin logic, this stops being a mobbing. It becomes a battle that only the strongest are qualified to join."
A playful smile curled at the corner of Flying Eagle's mouth. "When that time comes, to maintain his authority and enjoy a satisfying scrap, there's a very high probability the Greenskin Warboss will actively push his lackeys aside, step up, and have a '1v1 duel between the strong' with him."
"Holy crap," Name froze for a second, then slapped his thigh. "Come to think of it—the racial traits of Greenskins really are like that! As long as the fight is intense enough, the Warboss definitely won't be able to sit still."
"So what should we do?" Name set his binoculars back up, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. "Should we go down and help? Or use the chaos to slip inside?"
"What else can we do? Just watch," Flying Eagle said as if it were a matter of course. "If this bro really helps us draw out the Greenskin Warboss, that's a massive win. Weren't we just stressing over not being able to find the guy?"
At this point, Flying Eagle suddenly paused. He scanned the rolling, desolate wasteland and rocky ridges around them, letting out a meaningful smile.
"Besides, do you really think we're the only two who thought of this 'waiting for the rabbit to hit the tree' trick?"
"What do you mean?"
"There are absolutely plenty of players watching this situation just like us," Flying Eagle lowered his voice. "We're using binoculars to watch the show, but inside those other rock crevices and behind those dunes, dozens of sniper rifles have probably already been set up—"
"And that newbie is using his life as bait. If I were him, it's highly likely that once the Greenskin Warboss appears and gets close, I'd rush forward and detonate a melta bomb."
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Name couldn't help but shudder, offering half a second of silence for the yet-to-appear Greenskin Warboss. "This isn't a duel at all; this is clearly tricking him out just to murder him."
After a Terran hour of bloody, brutal slaughter, a small mountain built from the corpses of Greenskins had been violently erected right in the middle of the originally flat camp.
Green blood snaked down the pile of corpses like a thick, viscous stream.
LetMeSolo stood at the very peak. Covered in blood, both of the tactical knives in HIS hands had chipped edges. Yet, HE still stood tall, even beginning to look down upon the Greenskin Boyz who were originally far larger and sturdier than HIM.
Right at that moment, an ear-splitting roar that felt capable of shattering eardrums exploded from within the Ork camp.
"WAAAAAAAGH!!!"
This roar acted like a mandatory command. The Ork Boyz, who had still been frantically swarming, instantly froze their movements and receded to both sides like a tide, parting to reveal a wide pathway.
The earth trembled. A massive Greenskin Warboss, built like a Dreadnought, finally showed himself, flanked by a crowd of Nob guards. He wore heavy power armor draped in trophy skulls, leaving a deep crater in the ground with every step he took.
He walked to the base of the mountain of corpses, his yellow eyes—filled with tyranny and murderous intent—staring fixedly at the audaciously bold human above. Standing atop the remains of his enemies, Solo met the monster's gaze at eye level.
The Greenskin Warboss raised the giant, roaring choppa in his hand, pointed it at LetMeSolo, and roared in a harsh voice that sounded like grinding metal: "I am Ghazghkull Ironhide! I'm gonna smash ya into paste with me own hands!"
LetMeSolo casually spun a clean knife flourish, flicking the beads of blood off his tactical blade, and responded concisely, "Name's Solo."
In the next second, both sides charged at each other simultaneously.
The Greenskin Warboss's attacks were heavy and powerful. Every swing of his axe brought a howling gale; catching even a glancing blow would likely shatter one's body to pieces. However, Solo's movements were incredibly agile. Like a ghost dancing on the edge of a blade, he constantly evaded those lethal strikes through extreme rolls and side-slides.
Meanwhile, the tactical knives in his hands darted like a viper's tongue, repeatedly attempting to thrust into the gaps of the Greenskin Warboss's joints. Sparks flew everywhere, but it yielded little result against that thick armor.
On the distant hillside, Flying Eagle realized something was wrong.
"Hold on, why hasn't he detonated the melta bomb yet? Or led this big guy toward the trap zone?" Flying Eagle was shocked.
"Holy shit, he really came to 1v1 the Greenskin Warboss? Giving him a massage with a pocket knife?"
Right in the middle of his sentence, the outcome on the field was decided.
Seizing a moment of rigidity after the Greenskin Warboss swung too hard, Solo launched himself like a cannonball. The tactical knife in his hand precisely slashed across the thick neck of the Greenskin Warboss, which lacked any armor protection.
Pfft—
Green Ork blood jetted out.
But at the same time, the backhand swing from the Greenskin Warboss, carrying terrifyingly monstrous strength, arrived as well.
The massive choppa swept across without any resistance, instantly cutting the mid-air Solo into two halves at the waist.
Thud.
The two halves of the mangled torso crashed onto the corpse pile.
The Greenskin Warboss staggered a step back. He raised his massive power klaw to touch his incessantly bleeding neck. The wound was deep, even slicing open his windpipe, but for a Greenskin Warlord with extremely tenacious vitality, it wasn't enough to be fatal.
Looking at the human remains on the ground, a trace of appreciation actually surfaced in his eyes. "You're pretty good, Humie. Got some kick to ya."
At this time, Solo hadn't expired immediately. Looking at the blood-red sky above, he let out a helpless sigh, leaving a final word in the team channel:
"Looks like I'll have to find another boss to complete the challenge—"
It wasn't that he felt he couldn't defeat this one, but rather he knew that since he was dead, this already-exposed Greenskin Warboss was as good as dead in the eyes of the surrounding players, who were like a pack of wolves and tigers. Since it wouldn't be a personal kill, the "1v1 Decapitation" achievement was naturally ruined.
The Greenskin Warboss looked with some confusion at this Humie who was still muttering. However, by the time he lowered his head, the light in Solo's eyes had already gone out.
"Hmph."
Ironhide scratched his head, feeling that this Humie was a opponent worthy of commemoration. Thus, he decided to chop off the Humie's head to use as his new hanging trophy.
Just as he raised his choppa high, preparing to perform the final ritual—
Shoo!
A beam of high-energy laser, blinding to the absolute extreme, instantly crossed a distance of several kilometers. With flawless precision, it shot straight into the right eye socket of the Greenskin Warboss.
"WAAAAAAA—!!!"
A roar of agony echoed through the skies. This clearly wasn't an ordinary lasgun; calling it a lascannon would be more accurate. The intense heat instantly melted the metal implants on the right side of his face, burning it into a pile of smoking black sludge along with the flesh and bone.
Receiving a heavy injury didn't make this beast fall; instead, it thoroughly triggered his savagery.
Substantial rage burned within his single remaining eye. He instantly locked onto the source of the attack—which was precisely a sand dune in the distance.
Without any hesitation, this Greenskin Warboss roared and launched a charge in that direction. Ignoring all obstacles along the way, both his speed and momentum resembled an armored train derailing at full speed. The earth wailed beneath his feet.
Seeing this scene from the distant hillside, Flying Eagle's pupils shrunk violently, instantly understanding the shooter's intention.
"Holy shit! Hurry up and pull aggression! That's an aggro shot!"
Flying Eagle grew anxious. "That sniper guy definitely buried melta bombs over there, just waiting for the Greenskin to rush over! Don't let him hog it all!"