菠萝视频无限看

Chapter 110: The Great Northern War (6)

The artifact was accompanied by a letter.

[Did you enjoy the Youngest Son of the Wizard House?[1] This artifact is a gift for you. It’s rare, but there’s no need to be stingy in a fight with the fate of the North on the line. I will put my faith in you because there’s no one else who is as skilled in combat as you are. Use it as you wish.]

Crockta’s eyes widened in surprise when he checked the information on the artifact that Jamero had sent him. It was a single-use artifact, but it was exactly what he needed at the moment. The artifact was an old pumpkin.

[Pumpkin Without Borders is a heritage of ancient fairies imbued with magic. You can only use it once.]

Tiyo and Anor were worried about Crockta.

“Will you be okay?” asked Tiyo.

“The ambush will work out if I have this pumpkin,” replied Crockta.

“You still don’t know for sure. The chieftain...”

“I have to see him in person,” said Crockta.

Tiyo nodded. “Then, I hope you will return safely.”

“Don’t worry.” Crockta grinned widely. “I will finish things off before the war even breaks out.”

***

The chiefdom’s army was headed north. Calmahart looked off into the distance while riding on his palanquin. They would soon be able to see the dark elf city beyond the horizon.

He grinned and ordered, “Go faster.”

The slaves carrying his palanquin were made up of orcs, dark elves, and humans. They quickened their footsteps at the chieftain’s command.

The chieftain’s huge body and palanquin were difficult to transport, but they heeded his commands anyway, in fear of the brutal torture and execution that would ensue if they were to defy him. There were many slaves who could replace them, and countless slaves had already been tortured in unimaginable ways. They had all met their deaths while begging to be killed to be relieved of their pain. Calmahart was an absolute demon.

“Calmahart, we should stop around here today,” suggested the sorcerer, as it was already dusk. “If we continue late in the night, we might run into the enemy’s guerrilla unit since they’ve probably made thorough preparations for battle.”

The advance troop that had gone to Ameranyan had been annihilated, so there was certainly something over there that the chiefdom needed to watch out for. Meanwhile, the advance troops that had gone to Nuridot and Yekatoru had successfully captured the cities as planned. The advance troops at Juolaideh were still sound, but they were unable to attack further due to a mysterious dark elf who used dual swords. Only the troops that had gone to Ameranyan had been wiped out.

There could be an enemy the chiefdom didn’t know about yet. This was the reason why Calmahart was marching to Ameranyan first.

“Understood,” replied Calmahart.

There was undoubtedly something unexpected going on. He grinned widely with excitement at the thought of it.

The chiefdom orcs stopped their march, and they made preparations to camp outside. They set up tents and distributed supplies. The tent that Calmahart would stay in for the night was the largest and most flamboyant one.

After observing the preparations for some time, Calmahart got down from his palanquin.

The slaves let out a sigh of relief. The enormous weight that had been pressing down on them had finally disappeared. They were done with their hellish tasks for the day, and they would finally be able to rest until tomorrow morning. At least, that was what they thought.

“Hey, you,” said Calmahart.

The slaves’ faces stiffened.

“The palanquin kept tilting to the right. Are you tired?” Calmahart deliberately asked in a kind voice.

However, he was unable to hide his innate penchant for violence. The slaves could already predict what would happen next. Calmahart only smiled like that right before he was about to kill someone. His axe didn’t discriminate against its targets. Calmahart often looked to the right and slashed to the left, or he\'d look to the left and kill whoever was on the right; his moves were unpredictable.

All of the slaves trembled at the thought that they could be the next target.

“The right side of my bottom kept sliding downward,” Calmahart said.

He tapped on his butt a few times and approached the slaves in charge of the right side. All of them immediately bowed. They couldn’t even kneel because they were still carrying the palanquin on their heads.

“We are sorry!”

“We are sorry!”

The slaves rushed to apologize.

Calmahart erupted in laughter at the sight. Everyone trembled in fear and begged for forgiveness at every word he said. They would do whatever he commanded to survive. Inducing fear was his forte, and scenes like this gave him joy.

He laughed, “Hahahaha, no need for you guys to apologize.”

Calmahart’s aide and sorcerer approached him after noticing what was going on. The orcs setting up the campsite looked in that direction too. Nevertheless, they weren’t surprised by the sight because they were used to seeing scenes like that.

“Just take this,” Calmahart said.

Then his figure suddenly appeared blurry as he pulled his axe out from behind him and swung it at an incredible speed. Blood splattered, and the palanquin tilted.

“Argh!”

“Ahhhhhh!”

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!”

Screams rang throughout the campsite. Blood soaked the ground on the right side of the palanquin. Calmahart’s axe had chopped off the ankles of the slaves on the right. Even the slaves who were outside the impacted area were affected, and their ankles were barely still attached to the rest of their legs.

Nonetheless, they refused to collapse. They gritted their teeth and dug into the ground with their torn legs.

“Ohh,” muttered Calmahart.

If the palanquin fell, all of the slaves would die. The slaves held on with tears dripping down their faces. The slaves on the left inched toward the center of the palanquin to take some of the weight off the slaves on the right, but Calmahart glared at them to stay where they were.

“I will free you guys if you keep this up until tomorrow,” Calmahart told them.

However, his words were complete nonsense. The slaves were completely worn down. The ankles of those on the right had been amputated, and they were losing a lot of blood.

“I will kill all of you if you fail... painlessly.”

Calmahart had a habit of warning his victims before killing them. He enjoyed telling them in a roundabout way that he would murder them and then watching their reactions.

He laughed as he watched the slaves struggle with the news of their death sentence.

Suddenly, the palanquin tilted.

A slave with a sound ankle on the left side of the palanquin ran out and shouted, “Die, you demon!”

He was wielding a small dagger that he had kept hidden. The slave jumped up and swung his dagger at Calmahart’s throat.

However, Calmahart grabbed the slave’s head with his enormous hands. The slave flailed in his grasp.

“Ack... Eccch...”

“Hahaha,” laughed Calmahart.

Normally, he would have crushed the dark elf’s head, but he just tossed the dark elf aside this time.

“You, you, you, and you—you lot over there,” Calmahart said and pointed at a few orc slaves. “Come outside.”

The slaves went outside as ordered. They were a mixed group of orcs who had either refused to join the chiefdom, been captured from Mount Luclan, or fought against the chiefdom. They were the type of orc that Calmahart detested the most.

“That dark elf tried to come at me even in the face of death,” Calmahart told all the orcs who were watching him. “He challenged me even though he knows there’s no hope! But what are you?!”

Calmahart raised his axe, and the faces of the slaves turned pale.

“How could an orc—you’re supposed to be orcs! How could you orcs hide so cowardly behind a dark elf?!”

The chiefdom orcs stopped what they were doing and shouted, “You guys are pigs, not orcs!”

Calmahart’s axe split an orc in half vertically. The insides of the orc’s body were in plain view with his intestines spilling out.

“We orcs never run away! We fight to the end!” yelled Calmahart.

The chiefdom orcs cheered.

“For the chiefdom!” added Calmahart.

The faces of the other enslaved orcs became as pale as ghosts, and they trembled in fear. Calmahart was a frightening monster. He looked down at them from a much higher point even though they were also tall orcs. Calmahart almost seemed like a member of a different species but with the appearance of an orc. His bulging muscles made them think he could tear apart an ogre with his bare hands.

“Kneel,” Calmahart ordered, smirking with his grotesque face. “I will let you guys live if you admit you all are pigs and crawl around while making grunting noises for the rest of your lives.”

The orcs hesitated.

They had been living peaceful lives without any interactions with the chiefdom. However, the chiefdom warriors suddenly appeared one day. They pressured the ordinary orcs to succumb to the chiefdom’s rule and to start preparing for war. When they refused, their village was destroyed, and everyone became slaves. None of them knew how to fight.

Right then, one of the enslaved orcs stepped forward. He was the only outsider among them as he was from Mount Luclan. He wasn’t a warrior, but he was from Orcheim, where they held the ancient beliefs of orcs.

“Calmahart, you poor madman.”

“...!” Calmahart narrowed his eyes.

He had seen many of his victims struggle before dying. They all screamed and cursed at him, but there hadn’t been anyone who had faced him with composure and insulted him. The orc from Orcheim looked at Calmahart with calm eyes, even though Calmahart naturally induced a sense of fear in others.

“You are the one who is not an orc,” said the orc from Orcheim.

“You’re funny. Me?”

“Do you know bul’tar?”

The orc was saying nonsense Calmahart had never heard before.

He grinned and replied, “You’ve gone crazy.”

Nevertheless, the Orcheim orc’s eyes were clear as he spoke, “Keep in mind, Calmahart, that everyone dies. The only thing that death can’t erase is our honor.”

“You just say sweet nothings. What’s certain is that you will soon die in my hands,” declared Calmahart.

“You, who can’t understand this, will die in the hands of a real orc one day,” stated the Orcheim orc.

He bent down and grabbed the dagger from the hand of the dark elf whom Calmahart had thrown aside. The Orcheim orc pointed the dagger at Calmahart, but his stance was awful. He obviously didn’t know anything about fighting.

Calamahart couldn’t help but smirk. As expected, the Orcheim orc was crazy.

“So, you weakling orc, what is a real orc like? Are they idiots like you who can’t even hold a knife properly? A wimp? A sissy like you?” Calmahart laughed cruelly. “Or are they the trash of Mount Luclan whom I will soon exterminate?”

Calmahart approached the Orcheim orc. The orc swung the dagger, but Calamhart immediately grabbed his wrist.

Calmahart said, “Tell me. Who’s the real orc now?”

The Orcheim orc’s face exposed his fear when Calmahart’s frightening face moved right up against his own. Calmahart’s murderous intent permeated his surroundings, inducing fear in those around them. It was a terror that no one could withstand.

Yet, the Orcheim orc gritted his teeth and grinned. “I have seen a real orc before—a true orc warrior, unlike you.”

“Ohh.”

“You will meet him soon.”

Then Calmahart grabbed the Orcheim orc’s neck.

Calmahart found those who made a last-ditch attempt to resist despite their fear unamusing. What Calmahart enjoyed most was seeing others succumb to the overwhelming fear that they felt and then fall into despair. Those who blabbed their mouths in the face of death like the Orcheim orc bored Calmahart. Even those who resisted with all they had left ultimately had to submit to him.

“His name is...” began the Orcheim orc just as he was being choked.

Unable to continue due to the immense force twisting his neck, he coughed and gagged.

With his last strangled breath, he called out a name, “Crock...ta.”

Then his body went limp.

Calmahart had heard that name before. Crockta was said to be an orc from the continent.

‘Those weak as hell continent dwellers. An orc like that is supposed to be a real orc?’ Calmahart thought mockingly with a smirk.

He tossed the Orcheim orc’s corpse onto the ground.

“We will march tomorrow,” Calmahart said.

Then he turned around to leave. He had lost interest.

“What should we do with the rest of them?” asked the sorcerer.

“Just leave them be until tomorrow.”

Once Calmahart disappeared, the slaves let out sighs of relief. Their lives had been extended until tomorrow. With the hope that they would be rescued one day, the slaves with sound ankles carried Calmahart’s seat from the palanquin and brought it inside his tent. The slaves who had lost their ankles moaned in pain on the ground, while other slaves came and administered first aid to them.

There was an orc who had been watching all of this with a face hardened into an expression of anger. The tattoos all over his body were distorted with rage. He gritted his teeth as he looked at the corpse of the orc who had mentioned his name. The enraged orc was Crockta.

[With Pumpkin Without Borders, you can teleport by riding an invisible magic pumpkin coach. After you use it the first time, you can teleport back only after midnight. Afterward, the pumpkin disappears.]

Crockta had been watching the orcs from up in the air while waiting for the sun to set. He had to wait for Calmahart to become alone. It was time for Crockta to show that trash, who had blabbed ignorantly, what a real orc warrior was.

The Ogre Slayer in Crockta’s hand cried out for blood.

“Wait,” muttered Crockta.

As the Ogre Slayer stirred, Crockta’s world slowed down and then sped up again, continuously charging and retreating. He felt the trajectory of the wind blowing on his skin. His senses were heightened to the maximum in the world of the pinnacle.

Crockta was in the ideal condition to kill. His murderous intent charged toward Calmahart.

1. The Youngest Son of the Wizard House written by Saynkiun was mentioned in chapter 102 and is an introductory book to magic ?