(I wrote this chapter myself with passion, so the number of overspending words is not divided. I have nearly 4,000 words to ask for a 17k main website subscription.)

Elf Continent, somewhere in the northwest wasteland.

Animal leather tents are everywhere, as big as a mountain and a sea of ​​animals. There are cowhide felts as big as a human hall, and there are single tents that only contain a "person" curled up inside. However, if you look closely, you will find that each tent is covered with patches, which is already old and damaged.

However, at dusk in the morning, many beast soldiers had already begun to gather for training.

Teams of tauren soldiers with blue-black curved ox horns on their heads were wearing simple leather armor and lined up in neat rows, sweating profusely in a specially cleaned field. The weapons they used were thick wooden stakes that were hugged by one by one. They stood 3 meters and could serve as the pillars of the homeland of ordinary humans.

However, these thick and primitive wooden stakes are the most convenient weapons for the Tauren warriors to fight to the battlefield. When a bullhead giant who is 2 and a half meters tall and weighs 700 pounds (more than 300 kilograms) wield a thick wooden pillar that is comparable to a human siege cone, it is like playing with a light grass mustard, anyone has to sigh at the natural power of the Tauren race.

An adult tauren basically has 12 points of strength. If you have experienced and influenced by the cruel battlefield and become the elite tauren, your strength can be increased to more than 15 points. However, the elite human warriors of the same period usually have only 7-8 points.

And on the other end of the ocean of tents, a group of centaur archers are practicing archery.

The centaurs are gray-brown all over, more than two meters tall, and have long hair all over. Their upper body is a human torso, including hands and heads, and the lower body is a horse body, including the torso and legs.

Because of its "weakness", centaur warriors usually act as archers and spearheaders in the orc army. However, if outsiders think that they are easy to bully, it is a big mistake.

Although they are not good at combat skills, they also have a fierce force that is no less than that of elite human warriors and a ranger-like running speed. So they are 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 do not have the precise and sharp archery techniques as elves, they are their strengths when they are clustered and performing mid- and long-distance shooting. The strength of the rou body close to 10 points is enough to allow them to use a stronger longbow to shoot wooden arrows 100 meters away. If there is a situation where close-range battles are needed, with their strength, it is no problem for short spears to penetrate a human warrior in leather armor within twenty meters.

If it weren't for the severe lack of metal deposits in the Northwest Wasteland and could not equip them with iron spear tips and arrows, they would have been the biggest nemesis of human light infantry.

Of course, according to the orcs, they are also "lightly equipped". Apart from the arrow pouches on the left and right sides of the horse's back and the leather belts that hold short spears, there is almost no protective equipment. The male centaurs run directly, and only the female centaurs will surround the huge and tall part of their chests with cloth skins. But when they run quickly, the trembling balls that are swaying up and down are enough to make all males swallow their saliva.

In addition to these special forces with distinctive races, the most common ones in the orc army are the green-skinned orcs with strange heads, green-faced fangs, and thick and strong muscles in their bodies.

Their bloodline origin is too chaotic and complex, and the bloodline origin of direct parents is no longer verified.

They usually have strong green muscles, a wide nose, and clearly reveal the fangs in their mouths. If you look carefully, you can still see a hint of human appearance, but these are ultimately destroyed by the overly vicious appearance.

It is obvious that male orcs are often taller than male humans, and they are generally about 6 and a half feet tall when they stand upright (nearly 2 meters). Female orcs are slightly larger than ordinary female humans, and they are much slimmer than male orcs. But despite this, they also have the orcs’ signature strong muscles. Female orcs have very small fangs and are almost invisible. In fact, they are more like large fangs than fangs.

These fierce orcs are qualified warriors on the battlefield, regardless of gender. They hold wooden or stone axes, wear simple armor that can hardly cover their bodies, and wear all kinds of sharp-horned helmets. Once such a guy steps onto the battlefield, he is the most brutal and violent berserker. Once he is covered in blood, he will only rush forward with a scream and level up all non-orc moving objects.

As for tactics and other things? Let them go to hell!

At this point, the orcs on the Klein plane compete with the demons in the Abyss World. They are both brainless and fearless!

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

The sharp blades they wave will always target only other than orcs, and there are few large-scale internal wars like human kingdoms. However, in the past century, with the increasingly desolate wastelands in the northwest, the trend of desertification has become increasingly serious, and the living environment of orcs has become increasingly difficult.

This forced the orcs to keep rushing to the forest, and used their flesh and blood to grab some of the fertile land and the food they depend on from the damn bean sprout elves.

Vanel, the leader of the Shimahammer tribe, stood silently on the high hills, looking down at the lively and lively tribal camp under his feet with a calm expression. He looked at the teams of tribal warriors who were training in the sky, looked at the housewife who were holding baskets to pick berries and plant roots in the distance, and looked at the groups of green-skinned boys running and fighting among the tents, and felt indescribable torment in his heart.

The tribal high priest Sanger asked him to inform him the night before, which made him unable to sleep for two nights.

An unknown terrible crisis...

The doomsday disaster that swept across the Elf Continent...

These disasters that far exceed the limit of his simple brain's imagination will come to all orcs.

So at this time, should we sit still and watch the elves who occupied nearly 80% of the fertile land of the Elf Continent be affected by the disaster? Or should we call on all tribal leaders to send troops to take the opportunity to seize the fertile land from the elves?

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

In the huge cowhide tent behind him, a sacrificial ceremony praying to the spirits of the ancestors had been held 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 experiencing the ancient war, the beast gods who protect orcs have fallen into a deep sleep. The total number of orcs is less than 400,000, and they cannot support the beast gods who once had powerful divine power. Therefore, the beast gods whose divine power has been lost can only choose to sleep helplessly.

The beast god was unable to respond to the call and prayer of the orcs, so more orcs gave up their former belief in the beast god and instead believed in the spirit of the ancestors.

The ancestor spirit said seriously that he was just a powerful warrior who died in battle in a certain tribe.

If you are on the earth of the low demon, this belief is just a reverence and memory of a certain name when you are bored. However, in the multiverse of the high demon, faith is also a powerful force.

When the name of a certain tribe 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 like a trapped spirit. Usually such a totem symbol is 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 tribe totem, the heroic spirits can be attached to their bodies and make them live with some extraordinary power.

This extraordinary power is either augmentation of power, a regeneration of strength, or a fear of pain... In short, praying to different heroes will lead to different individual augmentation, which has given birth to a new combat profession of the tribe - Shaman.

Shamans are also called totem masters. They always carry totems of all sizes, but they are actually short and thick wooden sticks covered with various patterns. Whenever they need to fight, they will quickly insert the totem into the soil, and then through short prayer spells, the tribal heroes project their accumulated power onto these totem poles.

In this way, a small domain-type halo appears.

Small tribes can only be called heroic spirits, and only large tribes like Warhammers can have powerful ancestor spirits.

Usually, the tribe uses the spirit of the ancestor to gather the power of faith. When war, it will guide this power out in the form of a totem pole. Therefore, the shaman is a special spellcaster in the orc tribe.

Just as Vanel was pondering silently, the dazzling blood-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 tent with his thick arms and walked in with great strides.

The spacious tent was filled with a strong smell of blood and a pungent herbal smell. More than a dozen orc women were gently withdrawing. The blood of the cow heads that were cut off directly had been drained and piled up together, looking hideous and terrifying. Next to the cow head ritual were five elves' distorted bodies, their throats had been cut open, and there was a huge blood hole in front of their chests.

Just in the middle of the stack of these sacrifices, a tall and rough warhammer tribe totem flag was clattering.

There was obviously no wind in the tent, but the flag of the big flag was completely stretched out, and the pattern of an orc roaring to the sky was clearly visible on it.

Vanel bowed respectfully to the battle flag, silently muttering the names of the ancestors' spirits.

After the brief prayer was over, he turned his eyes to the high priest Sanger, who was sitting on the side of the tent.

"A great sign of evil!" The prayer ceremony for one day and one night obviously exhausted Sanger's energy. He kept taking out the pungent grass cakes and the black poisonous scorpion all over his body from the rough clay pot beside him, putting them in his mouth and chewing them a few mouthfuls.

"We can't wait anymore. The ancestor spirit cannot extend its power so far. But even if I look at it, I see a vast sea of ​​blood and countless terrible enemies.

They come from the underground, they come from the sky,

They cover the sky and the sun, they are endless...

The orcs are falling down, the tribe is slaughtered,

The warriors were bleeding in the desperate killing,

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

The thin-shaped High Priest Sanger is a famous wise man and wise man in all the orc tribes. The words he pours out from his mouth are often the most direct warnings of the ancestor spirits.

Vanel closed his eyes in pain.

Another difficult choice!

Such divination results must be immediately passed on to all the leaders of the tribe, and it is time for them to gather again.

After resting for a while, the thin and weak High Priest Sanger, who was as thin as an old human, opened his turbid and dim eyes and stared at Vanel for a moment.

"Vanel, you are a good leader. Your bravery has made the entire Orc Wasteland celebrate your name, and your wisdom has won the respect of all priests and shamans. At this time, we have no time to hesitate or wait. It is time for us to make a decision. Remember, everything is for the tribe!"

Vanel opened his eyes again, with indescribable sorrow and confusion in his fierce eyes. But with the last words of High Priest Sanger, all this was wiped out.

He pounded his chest lightly and repeated it solemnly.

"Everything is for the tribe!"

As he turned around and walked away from the tent with great strides, the roar of a cow trembled the entire Warhammer Tribe.

"Everything is for the tribe!"

All the orcs who heard this could not help but feel excited, and they slapped their chests and responded in unison.
Chapter completed!