An orc lord, though, huh? Sounded pretty tricky. Stealing people’s skills sounded awfully unfair, not that I was really one to talk. But I had been sweet-talked into confronting him, and I couldn’t disappoint Treyni now. I wasn’t at all sure about my chances, but I had made the agreement, and I’d go at him with everything I had.
If I screwed this up, I’d have no chance of carrying out the promise I made to Shizu. I had to think about the future, even if the thought depressed me a bit.
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The orcish army stormed across the forest, feet stamping against the soil; entire trees toppled along the way.
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Destroy them! Destroy them! Destroy them! Destroy them!
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Such was the thunderous chant of the orcs as they marched along, their yellow eyes sparkling with rage.
They were not capable of thought in the normal way. In their eyes, anything that moved was prey. They were eternally hungry, and the whole of their consciousness was devoted to filling their empty stomachs.
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Whump.
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Another one down. Those surrounding him were overjoyed. They had prey now. At one point, they might have been friends—but now, he was just a slab of something edible. He looked like he was still breathing, but all that meant to the others was that his meat was fresh.
Those lucky enough to have been marching alongside him immediately took to taking the body apart. The liver was taken to the leader of their little group, with the rest snatched up on a first come, first served basis.
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Crunch, rip, smack.
✦ ✦ ✦
The air was quickly filled with the repulsive sounds of flesh and bone being torn apart.
They were forever hungry. And the hungrier they got, the more powerful they became in battle. That, right there, was the hidden benefit of the unique skill known as Ravenous. The more orcs that fell and were eaten—the hungrier the survivors grew—the stronger it made the entire army.
They numbered two hundred thousand, a city’s worth of famished slaves under the orc lord’s rule. There would be no salvation for them, as they worked feverishly to fill their stomachs…
It was all too futile an effort in this endless hellscape.
✦ ✦ ✦
Now the homeland of the ogres was before them. The orcs were D-ranked monsters. The ogres, with a grade of B, made them cower in fear—never in their dreams would they dare challenge them to a fight.
But look at them now…
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Destroy them! Destroy them! Destroy them! Destroy them!
✦ ✦ ✦
They never stopped. If anything, the hunt for prey made them go faster.
Their comrades fell as the ogres raged, exercising the full brunt of their powers, slashing them apart, caving in their skulls with the handles of their axes…
But all it meant was that the orcs suddenly had a bountiful supply of fresh meat. They were thrilled, hoping against hope that it’d help stave off the hunger for at least one passing moment.
An ogre fell. Several orcs immediately pounced, bathing in his blood as they gnawed at his body. But…ahh, it didn’t work. It filled nothing.
But now look. The orcs’ bodies were changing. The power of the ogre was now within them. And now the ogres were swallowed up by the supposedly inferior orc hordes, screaming their last, pained at the seeming uselessness of their powers.
And slowly but surely, some among the orcs began to manifest new, unexpected abilities.
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The strength of the companions I eat becomes my own!
The power of the prey I consume becomes my own!
✦ ✦ ✦
The eating continued.
None were afraid of death. Any sense of fear in their minds had been consumed right alongside the flesh of their comrades. And the power flowing within them was now making its way to the king. Their king. The orc lord, the one at the top of the food chain.
✦ ✦ ✦
The march continued. Their next prey was right in front of them.
✦ ✦ ✦
The lizardman chief shuddered when he heard the report. The thing he feared most was now reality.
According to the messenger, the stronghold of the powerful ogre race was destroyed before the day had even ended. As if swallowed whole by the orc horde.
There was no longer any doubting it. The orc lord was here.
✦ ✦ ✦
In terms of sheer statistics, these were still D-ranked orcs, two hundred thousand of them or not. Ten thousand C-plus-level lizardmen, playing on their home turf in the marshes, had every chance of fighting evenly, or better. But if the thing he feared the most—an orc lord—was on the scene, nothing about them was D rank any longer.
If they had completely overwhelmed the ogres, that was an indicator of their power—from the guy up top, all the way down to the lowliest peon in the army. They may not be as powerful as ogres, no, but you could put a plus sign next to that D, at the very least. And any orcs who were at knight level or higher would be at least a C. Hell, at this point, they might be leaning toward C-plus, matching the lizardmen’s grade.
It would be hard enough to fend off such a massive army attempting to strike them at their weakest link. But if there was no meaningful difference in strength at the infantry level now, they had no chance. The presence of the orc lord meant that holing up in the caverns and attempting to weather out a siege would be pointless. It was one thing if they had reinforcements, but shutting off all potential exits would simply make the lizardmen starve, not the orcs.
They would simply have to throw themselves against them. It was a bitter decision for the chief, but one that had to be made.