Orc Tyrant

Krass Brauner was the first to discover those tracks.

At that time he and his guys had just moved a stone away from the plow, and then he bent his waist and stretched his cramped muscles, feeling every section of his spine burning like coals of fire.

At this moment, he looked up at the hot metal in the summer sky and caught them—hundreds of traces pierced the sky, falling sharply like lightning tearing the sky.

Soon, those diffuse clouds obscured the dimmed sunlight.

All those who worked in the fields put aside their work and looked at what was to come.

War is coming to Querlet.

Querlet, a small town 120 kilometers away from Tyre, is unremarkable. The surrounding farms produce a lot of vegetables to feed Tyre. There is a railway passing through the town, but since the outbreak of the war, this railway It was out of service.

Brauner followed the trails of the clouds. They shouldn't fall on his farm, nor on Nastuma's farm.

But it will not be too far away, not to mention those things are constantly falling, and their number will make the distance meaningless.

"Let everyone go back to the house."

He told his foreman Randy Trek.

"Close the corral, distribute the weapons, and wait for me here."

"Yes, Colonel."

Colonel--

He has been away from this identity for 20 years, and Randy Trek's days as a soldier have been about the same length.

The last war they fought with their colleagues was in Uhu, the former western province of the empire. After surviving, they were able to retire and get the reward they deserved at Querlet.

Although Brauner no longer manages his subordinates by rank, some deep-rooted habits are difficult to remove, and wars follow.

In recent years, fighting took place every month, and there was no peace.

It's all because of the **** green skin.

Although he has never fought against this kind of monster, he has never killed one, but from various reports and correspondence with his friends, he knows that this is a savage race that can hardly be added.

A **** pest that will destroy everything.

Today, their ranks seem to be back in battle.

He ran to the broken tractor, drove this old car through his field, and drove straight to Nastuma's farm, bouncing over the stone and plow marks on the barren ground.

Querlet is like a promised paradise to the soldiers in service—perhaps so decades ago, but its pastoral style has long since ceased to exist.

This agricultural area is still rich in products, but it has long been overwhelmed.

The nutrients in the land are being squeezed out during over-planting. Although a large number of chemical fertilizers produced in the imperial state-owned factories greatly promoted production, they have also gradually eroded and destroyed the hard work of all farmers.

Brauner didn't like the kind of fertilizer. He smelled the corpse there. Some people said he was suspicious, but the veteran was more willing to trust his instincts.

Just like he doesn't like the Shadow Prince and his tyranny.

All bastards!

He drove for about 20 minutes, crossing two farms and a large sturdy valley, until he reached the edge of the Nastuma Farm.

He guessed right, he saw her, a determined silhouette, looking far away at the trail left by the intruder.

A rare female soldier, who seemed to be in her forties, nodded when he approached, but kept her eyes on those tracks.

"Hello, Colonel."

"It's the same with you, Colonel."

He also responded, standing beside her.

"What do you think?"

"Looks like some kind of weapon."

"Ok's."

He agreed that the track had now covered the entire sky, and the green skin was obviously here to take the entire Tyre.

"They will steal everything, is there news of Tyre?"

The regional capital is about 120 kilometers away. It is said that millions of refugees have gathered there. Brauner has also helped many people fleeing from the south. Their tragedy is really teary, especially the loss of the ancestors who have cultivated the world for generations. Farmers, their kind of heartbreaking

Brauner felt the same pain.

But the gnomes who stayed in the magnificent palace in Tyre were obviously powerless to rob Ork. Brauner didn't count on the support of the army anymore, but he still wanted to know about other places.

Nastuma sighed.

"I just listened to the radio, and Tyre just issued a warning about this."

"Outside news?"

"There's no news from Malaguete."

So this small town in the south is obviously finished.

"Where is Gul?"

"Wailed."

As expected, this is a slightly larger town, but as far as Brauner knows, there is only one brigade of militiamen.

"They are attacking everywhere."

"should be."

They waited for a while in silence.

In the distance, the first shock wave of the landing echoed.

"Then—"

Brauner whispered.

"Then—"

Nastuma responded in the same way.

"I was never a good farmer."

"Who is it?"

They looked at each other.

That's right, Brauner thought, two veterans who absolutely don't want to encounter this kind of thing are covered with old wounds, and they will be in pain if they stand up straight, but he can barely get it.

So did Nastuma, but the arthritis didn't torture her back like he did, but her hands were a bit more miserable and could only maintain a permanent claw shape.

Both of them have grown white hair, almost as many as wrinkles and scars, and their skin has been aging and withered like old tree bark.

"Then—"

Brauner repeated.

"So."

"How do we fight them?"

Nastuma kicked a rock beside her foot.

"as always."

"Green Skin will never know who killed them."

They were smiling at each other, but Brauner felt something stuck in his chest.

Not because of the future war, but the thought of death, because Nastuma is also dying.

They were all going to die, and Ok's arrival confirmed this even more.

"Sir, Oak's striker has arrived at Quillette."

In the dimly lit room, a figure was lying on the table. The table top was a spread out map with pens, rulers and various flags scattered all over the floor.

The officer who walked into the room hesitated for a while, and finally pushed the sleeping figure.

"Well……"

There was a bewildered sound from under the coat, and then the curtains in the room were opened one by one.

Yushkin, who hadn't closed his eyes for three days, sat up straight. At this moment, he is more like a tramp than the top commander of the empire. Whether it is disheveled hair or messy stubble, it is enough to be the opposite of military appearance. .

"Sorry... what you just said, can you repeat it, I didn't catch it."

"Oak's striker has reached Querlet."

"Quillet..."

Yushkin blinked his blurred eyes, then stood up, swept away the debris on the map with his arm, and found the location of the town in eight seconds.

"Damn... how can it be so fast."

For an instant, the severe headache that had been slightly relieved from sleep caught him again.

Since receiving the news of Wen Genhe's fiasco, his head hurts more and more, like a messy green skin hiding inside.

At that moment, he even felt despair for the first time.

"The telegram of the Tyre Garrison Command is already the seventh today."

"Seek help! What else do those pigs know besides asking for help!"

The angry empire admiral snatched the telegram from the adjutant and threw it to the ground.

"Once we let go, millions of Okers will rush to their faces!"

"But Tyre... General!"

Seeing Yushijin's sudden shaking, the adjutant hurried up to help, and the guards outside the door hurried in.

Soon, a large circle of people surrounded him.

But Yushkin pushed them away, cursing:

"I can't die yet...Send a report! Send a report to Diego! Ask him how to end it now!"