Deep within the High Forest, at the Therenia Royal Court.
A crisp birdcall rang out.
A bird draped in pristine white feathers skimmed across the dawn-lit lakeshore. Weaving through the dense canopy, it landed gracefully within the royal palace, bearing news from the north.
On a windowsill deep within the court, the crowned Elven Queen extended an arm, letting the bird alight upon her slender hand before retrieving the missive clasped in its beak.
Catherine stroked the bird's wings and smiled gently. "Thank you. You may return, and give my thanks to all among the Harpers."
Beating its wings, the bird took to the air, melding into the azure sky and vanishing in the blink of an eye, leaving behind only a few spotless white feathers.
Only then did Catherine unfurl the letter. As she scanned the tidings within, she soon covered her mouth, her beautiful eyes widening with shock and dismay.
She looked up toward the north, murmuring to herself, "This... how could this be..."
Beyond the doorway, a dashing half-elven female general clad in light armor strode in, asking with concern, "Your Majesty, what has happened?"
Catherine turned to her. "Rhea, you've come at just the right time. Fresh intelligence from the Harpers reports that... the Mountain Kingdom has fallen."
Rhea's pupils dilated in shock. "What? Who did this?"
Catherine gave a helpless sigh. "Who else could it be? The Cinder Empire, of course. Under the pretext of eliminating the orcish threat, they occupied Evindeldan... What an absurd excuse."
Rhea's brows knitted tightly. "And what of King Ed, the Lord of the Mountain?"
Catherine sighed. "He fell heroically in that siege. Word has it he was slain by one of the evil dragon's scions."
Rhea drew a sharp breath. She knew the Lord of the Mountain's strength all too well—a peak-legend powerhouse against whom even she had no certain guarantee of victory.
Yet that red dragon had dispatched merely a single retainer to cut Ed down! It was testament enough to the Cinder Empire's formidable might.
"And that isn't the end of it. Following the Lord of the Mountain's demise, Dumathoin, guardian deity of the shield dwarves, descended upon the world. The Emperor of the Cinder Empire was summoned as well, and an earth-shattering battle ensued..."
Catherine continued, "In the end, Dumathoin departed the Material Plane, and Evindeldan was seized by the Cinder Empire."
With that, Catherine handed the parchment to Rhea.
"This... this is truly..."
Rhea hurriedly took the letter and scanned it several times. Only after confirming every detail did she say in a heavy voice, "...unbelievable."
That was a god, after all!
Even an avatar of the divine possessed majesty and power beyond mortal imagination. Those who defied divine authority were bound to perish, yet that red dragon had forced back a deity!
In that instant, the suspicion Rhea harbored deep in her heart wavered.
How could a young dragon born a mere few decades ago possess the power to battle a god?
Perhaps... perhaps the lawful neutral red dragon from her memories had long since died in the mountains, and this Cinder Emperor was indeed an ancient evil dragon who had lived through countless ages...
Catherine smiled bitterly, shaking her head. Resting her cheek in her hand by the window, she lamented, "Indeed, utterly unbelievable. A dwarven realm spanning thousands of years, one bound to our Therenia in sacred alliance, destroyed in a matter of days. It's almost... like a bad joke."
Rhea said solemnly, "Your Majesty, as I told you before, this world has plunged into turmoil. For us elves to bury our heads in the depths of the forest like ostriches is simply impossible."
Catherine nodded. "Rhea, your hurried arrival today—it was to urge me once more to launch the coup, wasn't it?"
"You guessed correctly, Your Majesty," Rhea said, her tone growing urgent. "With the Mountain Kingdom destroyed, there is no time left to lose. If we do not stage the coup now, those fossilized elders of the Council will drag the moon elves into the abyss! Your Majesty, the Mountain Kingdom has fallen. Who will be that greedy dragon's next prey? When calamity falls upon Therenia, it will be far too late."
"Very well. I agree."
"What? You..." Rhea was taken aback.
After all, Rhea had pleaded her case multiple times before to no avail. The Elven Queen had always hesitated, reluctant to launch the coup, constantly feeling their preparations were insufficient.
Catherine looked at Rhea, clasping the silver crescent pendant at her chest. An unshakeable conviction shone in her pale purple eyes.
"By the Moon Goddess Sehanine, we have planned this for far too long. It is time the rule of those ossified elders... came to an end."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Rhea dropped to one knee, barely suppressing her excitement. "The Harpers will send over a hundred extraordinary figures and three legendary paragons as reinforcements. The Silvermoon Followers Legion is fully prepared; every member is unconditionally loyal to you. Once the Holy Day arrives, we can storm the Sacred Tree at any moment. And Lord Trafalanlo of the Arcane Hermitage has promised to dispatch twenty silver-robed wizards..."
Catherine added, "By the way, Rhea, do you not also know the ancient gold dragon Titus, known as the 'Wings of Dawn'?"
"I do, Your Majesty. Lord Titus is an upright and selfless champion," Rhea answered honestly.
"Invite him as well."
"Understood, Your Majesty."
"This is far more than a mere coup—it is a war, a war we must win. That powerful gold dragon should be able to offer us great aid. When the Holy Day arrives, the dark clouds looming over Therenia will finally disperse, and the sacred moonlight will bathe the realm once more."
Catherine raised her head, gazing toward the towering, magnificent Sacred Tree in the distance, an unprecedented light shining in her violet eyes.
An era of upheaval was descending.
And she would lead Therenia, lead her elven people—finding a bright new path of their own in this war-torn, chaotic world.
Yet never could the Elven Queen have imagined that a casual remark would end up inviting the wolf right through their gates.
...
The Ugo Steppe.
The vast expanse was nearly smothered in green—not the pale green of wild grass tinged with yellow, but a dense, nauseating dark emerald.
Fields of green mushrooms grew in unbroken swathes, densely packed and greedily gorging on the earth's energy, converting everything within reach into nourishment for breeding orcs.
*Crack.*
Beneath the mushroom caps came the sudden snap of rupturing membranes. Mounds of earth bulged outward, followed by massive, dark-green hands bursting through the soil, their slick skin coated in slime.
One after another, burly, hideous orcs crawled forth from the dirt. In no time, these "newborns" acclimated to the open air. In unison, they threw back their heads and howled, releasing frenzied roars that shook the heavens.
"WAAAGH!!!"
In mere moments, several hundred more orcs took form upon the plains. The horrific rate of reproduction had stripped the grasslands bare, turning their birthplace into barren, dusty waste.
Following primal instinct, the newborn orcs bolted along the black river, surging toward the valley like a tidal wave...
"Good, very good! Hahahaha! More and more warriors for us! The Red Blood Tribe has never been so glorious! Praise Father Gruumsh!" Soro stood atop a hill, laughing maniacally.
The orc chieftain had grown vastly more grotesque, having shattered the genetic boundaries of his kind long ago.
Towering at nearly six meters tall with knotted, corded muscles, he was clad in hideous armor cobbled together from scrap iron and beast scales, smeared in crude war paint, and fitted with massive claws on his hands.
Transformed by some mysterious force, the once taciturn interim chieftain had undergone a drastic change in personality, growing ever more frenzied.
In truth, not just him, but every orc had become stronger, more obsessed with slaughter, and entirely fearless of death—veritable living weapons.
Soro surveyed his surroundings. Beneath him stretched a churning sea of heads, a relentless din, and a stench of foul blood rising toward the heavens—the valley was choked with greenskin orcs beyond count!
If such a deluge of orcs appeared before them, those dwarves would surely tremble in terror. Soro was already picturing the glorious scene in his mind.
He could almost see the dwarves being torn apart by the orc tide, corpses carpeting the ground, while he led his hordes in roaring victory atop the walls of Evindeldan.
How glorious that would be! He would fulfill his race's millennia-old dream and become the greatest hero of the orcs!
At that point, even if Batu were to rise from the grave and behold such a sight, he would have to bow his head with respect and call him "Chieftain"!
At the thought, Soro grew even more elated, foul saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth.
"We possess such tremendous power, we deserve more living space! Gruumsh, the great god of orcs, bestowed upon us the divine right to plunder! We were born to wage war, to pillage the weak, and take everything from them!"
Raising his massive claw high, the orc chieftain roared, "Brothers! Do you want to take Evindeldan and butcher every last one of those cursed dwarves?!"
"YEAH!"
"WAAAGH!"
"Awesome, a fight! I'm gonna smash those runts into mincemeat!"
Suddenly, an orc riding a worg galloped from the distance, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Chieftain! Chieftain!! Evindeldan has fallen! The Mountain Kingdom is destroyed!"
"What?!"
Soro froze in stunned bewilderment. He hadn't even marched out yet—how could Evindeldan have fallen?
No, it wasn't him! It wasn't even the orcs!
Humiliation and outrage surged through the chieftain, sending him into an incandescent fury. "Who! Who did it?! That is land meant for us orcs! How... how dare they beat us to Evindeldan?! This is an outright insult! An open provocation to the great orc race!"
The messenger stammered, "It... it's the Cinder Empire!"
*Bang!*
Blind with rage, Soro slammed his fist into the rock beneath his feet, spraying shards in all directions and blasting out a massive crater.
"Damn them! Bastards raised by dwarves! The Cinder Empire again! Not only did they murder our envoy, they stole the glory that belongs to me—to the orcs!"
*Boom! Boom! Boom!*
Soro swung his fists again and again, battering the hill until it groaned under deep, web-like fissures.
The orc chieftain burned with such fury precisely because the Cinder Empire had achieved with utter ease what the orcs had failed to do for thousands of years: conquer Evindeldan.
Evindeldan had been hailed as the "City That Never Falls," the royal capital of the shield dwarves.
For millennia, dwarves and orcs had waged savage battles over the stronghold. Millions of orcs had likely perished there across the ages, their remains choking the valley along the Path of Glory into a veritable river of bones.
Yet in the end, the first to seize Evindeldan was this Cinder Empire, springing up from who knew where! How could Soro not be consumed with wrath?
"Kill 'em all!"
"Loot everything!"
"Let's take Evindeldan back!"
The greenskin hordes below whipped themselves into a frenzy, roaring in unison. Even though many of them were newly born and didn't even understand what "Evindeldan" or the "Cinder Empire" were, they grasped one essential thing: there was a fight to be had!
In just one short month, over a million greenskins had spawned across the Ugo Steppe. Like a swarm of locusts descending upon the land, they swept across the plains, devouring everything in sight—vegetation, beasts, and monsters alike—leaving nothing behind.
Now, what these orcs craved above all else was an unbridled, reckless war, where they could unleash the bloodlust simmering in every cell of their bodies.
His eyes glowing crimson, Soro wrenched a spear from the ground beside him, thrust it high into the air, and bellowed, "Since the Mountain Kingdom is gone, our next target is the Cinder Empire! I hear their emperor is a dragon—then we'll chop that overgrown reptile's head off and make it an ornament! We'll tear off his wings to make tents, and hack off his limbs and tail to brew in our stewpot! For Father Gruumsh!"
"WAAAGH!!"
"For Father Gruumsh!"
"Destroy the Cinder Empire!"
"Hahahaha! I wanna taste what dragon meat's like!"
At the promise of war, deafening cheers and roars erupted once more from the greenskins. The fervor reached a fever pitch, as if they were gathering for an immense feast.
Orc spores drifted through the valley. Crowded together, blood vessels webbed the greenskins' eyes.
Much like the swarming phase of a locust plague, when greenskin orcs reached critical mass and crowded together on the brink of war, their bodies secreted various chemical toxins that triggered genetic mutations.
They grew wilder, more violent, and utterly immune to pain, morphing into biological weapons—this was the "orc tide" that would make all creation tremble in ages to come.
Yet little did these orcs know that they were about to become test subjects for the Cinder Empire's newest weapons.
Chapter 658