Chapter 383: Taken Mana Cores
Chapter 383: Taken Mana Cores
As the last echoes of the battlefield faded into the night, the soldiers stood frozen in place, their breaths still heavy with the tension of what they had just witnessed. Before them, the Pig Orcs began to move, their massive, hulking forms illuminated faintly by the moonlight. Slowly, methodically, and with an eerie sense of purpose, they began to leave the scene.
The ground beneath them barely trembled now as their heavy footsteps carried them away, though each step seemed deliberate and full of restrained power. The Pig Orcs moved with a strange grace that belied their brutish appearance—silent, disciplined, almost ceremonial. Their towering bodies cast long shadows across the earth, and the glow from their enchanted weapons flickered like dying embers.
The soldiers, still in shock from the battle, watched in awe. None of them dared to speak at first, as if breaking the silence would somehow disturb the moment. Slowly, one soldier leaned toward another and whispered, “Do you see how they move? It’s… it’s not just brute strength. They’re like a perfectly trained army.”
Another nodded, his eyes wide. “It’s like they don’t just fight together—they think together. Look at how they leave… it’s as if they’re marching back into a war that never ends for them.”
The Pig Orcs, without a single glance back, continued their slow exodus. Their massive forms moved in perfect unison, their heads held high, their backs straight, their weapons resting easily in their hands. Despite the carnage they had left behind and the ferocity with which they had fought, their departure felt neither triumphant nor celebratory. Instead, it carried a somber weight, as if they were returning to an eternal duty rather than a place of rest.
One by one, they disappeared into the darkness, their glowing weapons the last traces of their presence before even those faded from sight. Their silence was haunting; no shouts of victory, no chants, no boasts. Just the rhythmic sound of their retreating footsteps.
A younger soldier, unable to contain his thoughts, finally spoke up. “Why do they fight like that? Like… like they don’t even care about winning or losing. They just… do it. Like it’s what they were born for.”
An older soldier shook his head, his face grim. “Because they probably don’t see it as a choice. Look at them—they’re not like us. Whatever they are, wherever they came from… they’re something else. Something made for this.”
Another soldier, his voice hushed with reverence, added, “They didn’t even look at us. Not once. Like we weren’t even there. Like we’re not worth noticing.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. The soldiers continued to watch the horizon where the last of the Pig Orcs had vanished, their minds racing with questions they couldn’t answer. For all their awe and respect, an unsettling fear began to creep into their hearts. These creatures were not just warriors—they were something far greater, far more alien, than they had ever encountered.
Finally, one soldier, his voice low and almost reverent, broke the silence. “Do you think… do you think this is what Lyerin sees every day? These monsters… his monsters?”