Chapter 432 - 431, Reduce Quantity_1
The biting cold of the night on Beast God Mountain was remorseless, but for the exhausted orcs who had drunk Fire Seed Potion, nothing could resist their overwhelming desire to sleep.
The orcs who had already climbed the mountain yesterday voluntarily assumed the duty of patrolling, allowing their clansfolk to rest.
"Are we setting off to the territory of the Divine Wood Tribe tomorrow?"
"Indeed, I reckon we’re likely the first to arrive this time."
"We owe it all to Shaman Ji Nuan, the orcs of the Watson Tribe are so fortunate."
"We’re not faring too bad ourselves, we’re also in the Eneru Mountain Forest, and our relationship is so good, we can always seek Shaman Ji Nuan’s help in the future!"
While Ji Nuan and the other orcs were immersed in sweet dreams, the tribes of the other three continents weren’t as fortunate.
"Chief, another winged orc has had his wings frozen and fallen off... the others that were with him..." The orc didn’t finish his sentence, but the unsaid words were clear to all the orcs atop the mountain.
Chief Bertel’s face was stormy: "How many winged orcs do we have left?"
The orc exhaled deeply, "We’ve got 7 left, but their wings have also sustained varying degrees of damage, we don’t know how much longer they can hold on."
Upon hearing this number, Bertel felt a pang in his heart; these winged orcs were a valuable asset to the tribe: "How many orcs are left below?"
The orc hesitated for a moment before answering: "We have about 200 orcs left."
Chief Bertel gritted his teeth: "Let the winged orcs bring about 50 orcs up here, and leave the rest."
The orc gasped, "Chief, if so, we will lose many orcs, which would put us on disadvantage in the competition later."
Chief Bertel quirked a corner of his mouth, "Given the harsh cold this year, we are certainly not the only ones suffering. If we can’t bring up many orcs, do you think the tribes of other continents could bring up more?"
The orc slapped his forehead, smiling obsequiously, "Our Chief is really smart, we clumsy orcs would never think of that, hehe."
Chief Bertel snorted lightly, shot a derisive look at him: "You stick around here, report to me if there is any situation, I’ll go rest for a while."
The orc quickly bowed in submission to see the Chief off.
"Chief Bertel doesn’t care about our lives as much as the old Chief did." A middle-aged orc sighed on the side.
The orc rebuked instantly, "Shut up! Chief Bertel is an evolved orc who has eaten two Beast God Fruits, if you want to die, don’t drag me into it."
The scolded orc could only lower his head and slink away, his eyes filled with nostalgia for the old Chief.
Not far away on the beast skin mat lay several winged orcs, their wings bloody and drooping, they looked utterly miserable, occasionally moaning in pain.
After the Gru Tribe again lost three winged orcs, they finally managed to bring fifty more orcs up the mountain, and two more orcs, glistening with sweat and groaning in pain, were added to the pile on the beast skin mats. Still, another one fell off the cliff and died.
The orcs on the peak had no time to mourn their fallen kin. They immediately began to exchange items, eat dinner, and then huddle together for warmth under thick beast skins.
Orcs would often be awakened by the cold and squirm closer to their clanmates, before drifting off to sleep once again.