6：Decapitation Strike
The wind died down. For a fleeting moment, the world fell utterly silent.
Soren’s hand was remarkably steady. On the string of the Windwhisper Bow, the triple cyan runes flared to their absolute peak of brilliance.
He released the string.
Twang!
The arrow tore through the air, leaving a crimson afterimage in its wake.
. . .
The Orc Logistics Camp.
An old goblin slave, tasked with guarding the supplies and shivering in a tattered sheepskin coat, huddled next to an unmarked wagon to shelter from the biting wind.
A gust of wind flapped the wagon's tarp open, revealing neat rows of large, red iron barrels.
Just as the old goblin picked up a shovel, intending to pile snow onto the barrels to prevent them from spontaneously combusting, it heard a faint noise.
Crack.
A crimson arrow appeared as if out of thin air, piercing straight into the side of one of the iron barrels.
The crude ruby prism attached to the arrowhead shattered instantly. Highly unstable mana violently spilled from the crystal shards.
A flash of blinding red light.
BOOM!!!
An incandescent orb of light rapidly expanded. More than a dozen barrels of high-purity alchemical fire oil on the supply wagon detonated simultaneously!
Yet, this was merely the prelude to destruction.
The storage area was dangerously overcrowded. Using the first wagon as ground zero, the fiery blast swept outward in all directions. The first wagon ignited the second, the second triggered the third. . .
A devastating chain reaction ensued.
The ground quaked violently. Even two kilometers away on the front lines, both orcs and humans felt a numb tingling shoot up through the soles of their boots.
In the distance, a massive black mushroom cloud billowed into the sky. Beneath it lay a terrifying sea of viscous, flowing liquid fire.
The old goblin had been instantly vaporized, leaving not a single speck of ash behind. Hundreds of Wasteland Wargs, used as draft beasts, howled in agony as skin, flesh, and bone were flash-fried into charcoal.
The concussive shockwave tossed hundreds of goblin porter slaves high into the air, many spontaneously combusting from the sheer heat before they even hit the ground. The thirty-six high-tier Orc Warriors guarding the perimeter lasted a mere second before being reduced to flying ash.
. . .
The Frontlines.
All the brutal hacking and slashing ground to a sudden halt. The advancing Crimson Moon Knights stared, dumbfounded, at the rear of the orc army.
"My gods. . ." an officer muttered, watching the apocalyptic pillar of fire surge into the heavens, blotting out half the sky.
Meanwhile, the strictly disciplined Blackstone Warband shattered the moment they turned their heads.
That encampment hadn't just held fuel—it housed their food supplies, spare weapons, and the warband's contingent of priests. Now, it was nothing but a blazing inferno.
Without supplies in the freezing depths of the Storm Rift, everyone from the lowliest goblin to the highest warlord would freeze to death by nightfall.
"Put out the fire!"
"No! Go back and save the food!"
The Orc Centurions in the vanguard roared, desperately trying to hold the line, but the rank-and-file warriors were already surging backward, trampling their own comrades in the panic. On the flanks, the light cavalry completely lost control of their wargs, terrified by the apocalyptic blaze, the beasts threw their riders and bolted in the opposite direction. Low-tier thralls like goblins and ghouls scurried about in total chaos.
The perfect window of opportunity had opened.
Commander Leona could actually feel the rolling waves of heat washing over her face. The sheer scale of this tactical strike was enough to make her scalp tingle with awe. A murderous glint in the woman’s eyes flared to its absolute peak.
Clang!
Leona hoisted her massive, slab-like greatsword high above her head with both hands and unleashed a deafening battle cry:
"Look ahead of you!"
"This is the doom of the Orcs!"
"They are afraid! They are trembling!"
Leona charged to the absolute front, shoving her way through the ranks."Don't give the bastards a chance to breathe! All forces, full assault! Leave no survivors!"
Sylvia raised her battered shield and followed closely behind."Pierce their lines!"
"KILL!!!"
Their morale entirely ignited by the explosion, the soldiers of the Crimson Moon Knights charged with bloodshot eyes. Kick them while they’re down! That was the only thought running through their minds.
The heavy cavalry spearheaded the charge, their iron-shod hooves striking the permafrost like rolling thunder. Upon the first devastating clash, the disorganized orc phalanx was instantly torn wide open. Absolute butchery ensued, with severed limbs and heads sent flying through the air.
The orcs were utterly chain-of-command-less. The vanguard tried to fall back, but the rear blocked their path. The resulting stampede caused more orc casualties from being trampled by their own kind than from human blades.
However, amidst this torrential human counter-offensive, one man remained completely still.
Soren stood his ground, letting the charging soldiers rush right past him.
He was taking deep, measured breaths. He didn't even glance at the spectacular explosion. From the moment he loosed that first arrow, his gaze had been dead-locked on the highest point in the orc army.
Eagle Eye activated.
His vision bridged the two-kilometer gap, tearing right through the barrier of thick, billowing smoke. His field of view zoomed in rapidly.
At the highest vantage point of the Blackstone Warband’s formation stood a towering platform crafted from massive spine bones.
A colossal figure, easily four meters tall, stood near the edge. It was a terrifying monster clad head-to-toe in black-and-gold full-plate armor. He wasn't wielding a standard orcish axe, but rather a massive black executioner's scythe.
That was Warchief Blackstone, the supreme commander of this warband.
The explosion had only decimated their rear-flank supply train, the command platform hadn't so much as trembled. Right now, the gargantuan Warchief was roaring at the top of his lungs.
"Deserters will be executed! Form up! My eyes are upon you!"
His booming roar easily cut through the cacophony of the battlefield. Following his absolute command, the orc enforcer squads stepped forward, their blades flashing. Three Orc Warriors attempting to flee had their heads cleanly lopped off.
Intimidated by these extreme, bloody measures, a portion of the wavering Orc Centurions forcibly quelled their panic. They began physically beating their subordinates into line, attempting to plug a massive gap and reform their defensive formation right below the command platform.
. . .
Soren pulled another heavy, steel-shafted arrow from the dirt.
If the Blackstone Warband managed to successfully regroup, the Crimson Moon Knights would slam into a heavily fortified wall. With their current numbers, they would be slowly bled to death by the orc counter-offensive in a war of attrition.
The thunder of hooves momentarily paused nearby.
Bloodlust swirling in her eyes, Leona was looking for her next target when she glanced back and saw Soren standing completely still. Vice Commander Sylvia impaled a goblin wolf-rider, her warhorse treading over mashed gore as she rode closer.
Soren nocked the heavy arrow. He raised the bow, leaned slightly backward, and aimed toward the distant sky once more.
Leona’s eyebrow twitched.
She used the flat of her greatsword to lightly smack Soren’s shoulder pauldron."Keep pushing, kid! What the hell are you aiming at?!" she barked."It’s just a sea of fire over there, there's nothing left to blow up!"
The arrowhead in Soren’s hand raised infinitesimally, shifting a mere two centimeters to correct the trajectory.
"Eleven o'clock. Elevation three, " Soren said, his voice curt and detached."One thousand eight hundred meters. The commander."
Sylvia quickly pulled out her brass spyglass. Through the lens, she saw a sea of swaying black banners and the terrifying, hulking silhouette of Warchief Blackstone.
"It's too far, " Sylvia immediately shook her head, her breathing hitched."Eighteen hundred meters? Even a Harpy wouldn't be able to make out a face from here."
"Not to mention, that is Warchief Blackstone. He has the blessing of the Orc God, his battle instincts are monstrous."
Leona was characteristically blunt."Sylvia’s right. If you miss this shot, you'll just be giving away our exact position to their supreme commander." She pointed her greatsword forward."Listen to me, fall in with the heavy cavalry battalion and hit their flanks—"
Soren didn't move.
He didn't even reply.
In his hyper-focused perception, this chaotic world of roaring flames, clashing steel, and screaming men fell deathly still. Everything faded into a high-contrast sketch of black and white lines.
At the very edge of his vision, there was only a single, pulsating dot of crimson light.
It was the millimeter-thin gap in Warchief Blackstone’s black-and-gold armor. Right at his throat.
The wind currents shifted.
High above the orc encampment, the rising fire vortex created a brief, powerful updraft.
Now.
The wind runes flared violently once more, the brilliant light stinging the eyes of the women beside him.
BOOM!
The heavy steel arrow violently tore through the air.
It spiraled.
It broke the sound barrier.
A visible white vapor cone lingered in its wake.
Soren finally lowered his arm, panting heavily as beads of sweat rolled down his face.
. . .
High atop the bone platform, Warchief Blackstone was actively restoring order. He hoisted a massive war totem banner, made entirely of flayed human skin, high into the air with a single hand.
This banner was the spiritual pillar of the orcs—a symbol of their invincibility.
Suddenly.
The four-meter-tall behemoth violently shuddered. Every ounce of his high-tier warrior's instincts screamed in absolute terror.
A prickling sensation at his throat.
It was moving at a speed no mortal could possibly react to, but he was no mere mortal, he was the Warchief.
Moving entirely on reflex, Blackstone twisted his massive torso and, by a hair's breadth, threw his left arm—encased in a thick adamantine gauntlet—in front of his face.
THUNK!
Accelerated to terrifying velocities by the Windwhisper Bow’s runes, the heavy steel arrowhead hit with more devastating kinetic force than a heavy siege ballista.
Spinning like a high-speed drill, the arrowhead bored straight into the center of the adamantine gauntlet. Sparks showered into the air.
Armor Pierced!
A full third of the steel shaft punched through the metal plating, biting incredibly deep into the flesh and wedging perfectly between the forearm bones beneath his bracer.
"ROAR!"
The haughty, seemingly invincible Warchief Blackstone let out a bellow of sheer agony. The absurd kinetic energy carried by the arrow violently threw his colossal frame backward.
His footing slipped.
The grisly human-skin war banner, meant to anchor the army's morale, slipped from his grasp. It plummeted to the wooden floorboards.
Unable to overcome the backward momentum, Warchief Blackstone lost his balance entirely. The giant crashed backward onto the platform with an earth-shaking thud, vanishing from sight in a highly undignified heap.
. . .
Eighteen hundred meters away.
In front of the Storm Trenches.
Leona was staring, completely dumbfounded. Her greatsword drooped, the heavy blade nearly slicing into her own greaves.
Her eyes had been glued to the command platform. So she saw it with absolute clarity: she saw the terrifying titan holding the banner collapse backward like a falling wall. She saw the war banner—the absolute symbol of the Blackstone Warband’s glory—flop out of sight like a discarded rag.
Sylvia stood frozen like an ice sculpture, her battered shield still slightly raised."He. . . he hit it. . ." she muttered in disbelief.
"Dead center."
Leona’s neck snapped toward Soren with almost mechanical stiffness. She stared at the physically drained, pale, yet abnormally calm young man.
Then, the Commander threw her head back and let out a manic, ecstatic laugh!
"By the God of War!"
She lunged forward, grabbing Soren by the collar and shaking him vigorously, spit flying from her lips."Are you kidding me?!"
"You are the fucking bastard son of the Wind God!"
She kicked down the wooden barricade in front of them, stepping triumphantly onto an orc corpse as she descended into a state of sheer, battle-crazed ecstasy. She swept her greatsword outward, pointing it dead center at the enemy lines.
"Their banner just fell! Did everyone see that?!"
"Their boss is down!"
Indeed, they had.
The orcs had seen it clearly. This final, impossible sight completely shattered the psychological defenses of the elite vanguard.
Their supply camp had been blown to hell, cutting off their rear. And now, Warchief Blackstone—the invincible warlord who had never once fallen in battle—had been brought down by a single human arrow. His fate was utterly unknown.
Somewhere in the ranks, a high-tier orc officer let out a wail of utter despair.
"The Warchief is dead!"
"The banner has fallen!"
The half-formed defensive line instantaneously dissolved. The panic evolved into a full-scale, uncontrollable rout. Every single orc was trying to shove their way to the very back of the army to escape.
"Opportunities wait for no one!" Sylvia yelled. She actually discarded her beloved tower shield, opting to grip her lance with both hands.
Leona locked eyes with her vice-commander. Her subsequent roar seemed to shatter the falling snow."I've been sick of these 'elite' Blackstone bastards for far too long!"
Leona spearheaded the final charge straight into the sea of fleeing orcs.
"All units, maximum speed! Trample them into the dirt!"
"No mercy, no quarter! Butcher every last one of them!"