The Rise of the Cemetery

(I wrote this chapter myself with passion, so the overspending words will not be divided. The nearly 4000-word chapter asks for a 17K main station subscription.)

Elf Continent, somewhere in the northwest wilderness.

Animal skin tents like mountains and seas are everywhere. There are cowhide blankets as big as human halls, and there are single-person tents that only allow one "person" to curl up inside. However, if you look closely at the top, you can find that each tent is patch after patch, and it is pitifully old and damaged.

It's just early in the morning and dusk, but many orc soldiers have already started to gather for training.

Teams of tauren warriors with blue and black curvy horns on their heads were wearing simple leather armor and lined up neatly, sweating profusely for training in a specially cleared field. The weapons they use are thick wooden stakes that are hugged by each person. Standing up to 3 meters, they can serve as the pillars of ordinary human homes.

However, these heavy and primitive wooden stakes are the most convenient weapons for tauren warriors to kill the enemy. When a giant bull-headed man with a height of 2.5 meters and a weight of 700 pounds (more than 300 kilograms) wields a thick wooden pillar that is comparable to a human siege cone, as if playing with a light grass mustard, anyone has to sigh that the Tauren is so powerful. The natural power of a race.

An adult tauren basically has 12 points of strength. If he becomes an elite tauren after being trained and cultivated in the cruel battlefield, his strength can be increased to more than 15 points. In the same period, the elite human fighters usually only have 7-8 points of strength.

At the other end of the ocean of tents, a group of centaur archers were practicing archery.

The whole body of the centaur is gray-brown, more than two meters tall, and it has long hair all over its body. Their upper body is a human torso, including hands and heads, and their lower body is a horse's body, including torso and legs.

Due to their "weakness" in strength, centaur warriors usually act as archers and spear throwers in the orc army. However, if outsiders think that they are easy to bully, it is a big mistake.

Although they don't know combat skills, they still have the ferocity of human elite fighters and the running speed of rangers. So they are cavalry archers wandering outside the battlefield one by one, shooting arrows when they are far away, and throwing short spears when they are close.

Although they don't have the precise and sharp archery skills of the elves, they are good at grouping together for medium and long-distance projectiles. The body strength close to 10 points is enough for them to use a more powerful longbow to shoot wooden arrows 100 meters away. If there is a situation that requires close combat, with their strength, it is not a problem for the short spear to pierce a human warrior wearing leather armor within 20 meters.

If it wasn't for the severe lack of metal deposits in the northwest wilderness, it would be impossible to equip them with iron spear points and arrows, otherwise they would be the biggest nemesis of human light infantry.

Of course, according to the practice of orcs, they also "travel lightly". Except for the quiver on the left and right sides of the horse's back and the leather belt for holding the short spear, there is almost no protective equipment. The male centaur runs directly to the alder fruit, and only the female centaur will wear a cloth strip of animal skin around the huge and high chest. But when they were running fast, the trembling, swaying and struggling meatballs were enough to make all the males swallow their saliva.

In addition to these special forces with distinct races, the most numerous orcs in the orc army are those green-skinned orcs with grotesque heads, blue-faced fangs, and thick and strong muscles.

The origin of their bloodlines is too chaotic and complicated, and the bloodlines of their direct parents can no longer be investigated.

They are usually muscular green with a broad snout and prominent tusks in their mouths. If you look carefully, you can vaguely see the appearance of a human being, but these are eventually destroyed by the too vicious appearance.

Male orcs tend to be significantly taller than male humans, typically about 6 1/2 feet tall (nearly 2 meters) standing erect. Female orcs are slightly larger than the average female human, and they are much slimmer than male orcs. But despite this, they also have the strong muscles that are the hallmark of orcs. The tusks of female orcs are so small that they are barely visible, and in essence they are more like oversized fangs than tusks.

These fierce orcs, male and female, are qualified fighters on the battlefield. They hold wooden or stone axes, wear simple armor that can barely cover their bodies, and wear various pointed helmets. Once such a guy stepped onto the battlefield, he would be the most ferocious and violent berserker. Once blood was stained, he would only rush forward screaming, trampling down all non-orc moving objects.

As for tactics? Just let them go to hell!

In this regard, the orcs in the plane of Klein are on a par with the demons in the abyss world. They are equally brainless and fearless of death!

But the only difference from Abyss Demons is that orcs attach great importance to honor and belief.

The sharp blades they wield are always only aimed at existences other than the orcs, and there are rarely large-scale internal wars like the human kingdom. However, in the past hundred years, as the wilderness in the northwest has become increasingly barren, the trend of desertification has become more and more serious, and the living environment of orcs has become more and more difficult.

This forced the orcs to flock to the vicinity of the forest continuously, using their own flesh and blood to snatch part of the fertile land and the food they depended on from those damned bean sprout elves.

The patriarch of the Stonehammer tribe, Vanel, stood silently on a high hill, looking down at the lively and vibrant tribal camp below his feet with a solemn expression. Looking at teams of tribal warriors practicing in full swing, looking at housewives carrying baskets to pick berries and plant roots in the distance, and seeing groups of green boys running and playing around among the tents, he felt an unspeakable feeling in his heart. torment.

What the tribal high priest Sanger told him the night before had disturbed him so much that he could not sleep well for two nights.

Unknown terrible crisis...

The doomsday disaster sweeping across the elf continent...

These disasters far beyond the limit of his simple brain imagination are about to befall all orcs.

So at this time, is it better to sit back and watch the elves who occupy nearly 80% of the fertile land in the elf continent suffer? Or is it time to call all the tribal leaders and send troops to seize the opportunity to snatch back those fertile lands from the elves?

This kind of question is not something that his limited brain can think about, so he is waiting, waiting for the most intelligent high priest in the tribe to tell him the answer directly.

In the huge cowhide tent behind him, a sacrificial ceremony to pray to the spirit of the ancestors has been going on for a day and a night. For this reason, the Warhammer tribe also presented the blood of the only remaining thirteen cows and five elves in the tribe. .

Since the ancient war, the beast god who protects and protects the orcs has fallen into a deep sleep. The total number of orcs is less than 400,000, and they can't support the beast god who once possessed powerful divine power. Therefore, the beast god who lost his divine power has no choice but to choose to sleep.

The beast gods could not respond to the calls and prayers of the orcs, so more orcs gave up their belief in the beast gods and instead believed in the spirits of their ancestors.

Seriously speaking, the spirits of the ancestors are nothing more than powerful warriors who died in a certain tribe in the past.

On a low-magic earth, this kind of belief is nothing more than reverence and remembrance of a certain name in leisure time. But in the multiverse of high demons, faith is also a powerful force.

When the name of a certain tribal warrior is recited and prayed thousands of times, the heroic spirit after its death may return to the totem symbol of the tribe and become a kind of existence similar to a bound spirit. Usually such a totem symbol is something like a thick wooden pillar or a tribal banner.

In this way, when the warriors of this tribe are bloody and killing the enemy on the battlefield, as long as they pray devoutly to the tribal totem, they can let the heroic spirits attach to their bodies and make them live with some extraordinary power.

This kind of extraordinary power is either the increase of strength, or the strong regeneration, or the fear of pain... In short, praying to different heroic spirits will have different individual enhancements, which also gave birth to a new fighting profession in the tribe. - Shaman.

Shamans are also called totem masters. They always carry totems, large and small, which are actually short and thick wooden sticks with various patterns painted on them. Whenever they need to fight, they will quickly insert the totems into the soil, and then through a short prayer spell, let the tribal heroes project their accumulated power onto these totem poles.

In this way, a small domain-type aura blessing appeared.

What small tribes believe in can only be called heroic spirits. Only a large tribe like Warhammer can have powerful ancestor spirits.

In normal times, the tribe uses the spirit of the ancestors to condense the power of faith, and in wartime, it guides this power out in the form of a totem pole. So shaman is a special caster in the orc tribe.

Just as Vanel was meditating silently, the dazzling bloody red light in the cowhide tent where the high priest lived behind him finally dimmed. Soon, an orc warrior came to summon him.

Vanel lifted the big tent with his thick arms and strode in.

The spacious tent was filled with a strong smell of blood and pungent herbs, and a dozen orc women were leaving lightly. The blood of the bull's head that was directly cut off has been drained, and it is piled up together, looking hideous and terrifying. Beside the bull head sacrifice, there are five twisted bodies of elf girls, their throats have been cut open, and there is a huge blood hole in their chests.

Right in the middle of the pile of sacrifices, a tall and rugged totem banner of the Warhammer Tribe was buzzing.

There was obviously no wind in the tent, but the animal skin flag of the big flag was completely stretched out, and a pattern of an orc holding a warhammer and roaring upwards was clearly visible on it.

Vanel respectfully bowed to the battle flag, silently chanting the names of the ancestor spirits.

After the brief prayer was over, he shifted his gaze to High Priest Sanger who was sitting crookedly on the side of the big tent.

"It's a bad omen!" The day and night prayer ceremony obviously exhausted all of Sanger's energy. He kept taking out pungent grass cakes and black-covered poisonous scorpions from the rough clay pot beside him and put them in. Chew a few mouthfuls and swallow.

"We can't wait any longer. The spirits of the ancestors can't extend their power that far. But no matter how I look at it, all I see is a sea of ​​blood and countless terrifying enemies.

They come from the ground, they come from the sky,

They cover the sky, they are endless...

Orcs are falling, tribes are slaughtered,

Warriors shed blood in desperate slaughter,

The tribe's totem was also drowned in the sea of ​​blood..."

The thin high priest Sanger is a well-known wise man and sage among all the orc tribes. The words poured out of his mouth are often the most direct warnings from the spirits of the ancestors.

Vanel closed his eyes in pain.

Another difficult choice!

The results of such divination must be communicated to all the chiefs of the big tribe immediately, and it is time for them to gather again.

After resting for a while, High Priest Sanger, who was thin and frail like an old man, opened his cloudy and dim eyes, staring at Vanel for a moment.

"Vanel, you are a good leader. Your bravery has made your name known throughout the Orc Wasteland, and your wisdom has won the respect of all priests and shamans. At this time, we have no time to hesitate, nor Wait. It's time for us to come up with a decision. Remember, it's all for the Horde!"

Vanel opened his eyes again, with indescribable grief and hesitation in his fierce eyes. But with the last words of High Priest Sanger, all this was swept away.

He thumped his chest lightly, and repeated it solemnly.

"All for the Horde!"

As he turned around and strode away from the big tent, a roar like a bull's roar shook the entire Warhammer tribe.

"All for the Horde!"

All the orcs who heard this remark couldn't help their blood boil, they slapped their chests and echoed in unison.

One after another, roars resounded through the camp, and they were transmitted to the distance...