Praise the Orc!

Chapter 211: Last Stand

Chapter 211: Last Stand

Every time the shield and greatsword clashed, a thunderous explosion sounded.

In between them, the War God thrust his longsword. The moment the shield and greatsword collided, tiny gaps appeared between them. Piercing through these gaps with his blade was the War God's unbeatable technique.

Booooom!

With each strike of the greatsword, the War God withstood the impact and lunged forward with his longsword again.

His sword was symbolic of the countless wars he had fought.

It grazed across Crockta's neck, spraying blood. Crockta, dodging fluidly, swung the God Slayer in a wide arc, generating a whirlwind with a deep vibrating sound.

After twisting his neck with a crackling sound, Crockta readjusted his stance.

To the audience, these minor details were all they could discern amid the high-speed exchange.

As the War God and Crockta faced off again, their figures vanished into a barely visible blur, leaving only the sound of their weapons clashing in rapid succession.

Woosh!

Flames erupted where the sword and shield met.

Fire from the God Slayer enveloped the War God and swept to the ends of the Colosseum, dispersing against an invisible barrier. That spectacle repeated with each exchange of blows.

The War God's body was slowly charring under the dual assault of the God Slayer's fire of the Sun God and the War God’s warfare. The battlefield was engulfed in flames.

The battle raged on.

The War God faked attacking with his shield only to creep his sword toward Crockta, but Crockta deflected the blade. As the War God staggered, Crockta kicked him, sending him reeling. Crockta then brought his greatsword down again, but the War God parried it with his shield, dropping it in the process.

Exposed without the shield covering his body, the War God was full of openings.

It seemed like Crockta could aim for anywhere on his body and land a critical blow.

Crockta swung the God Slayer mightily toward him. The blade ripped through the air and caught the War God. The two flames, one from God Slayer and one from the War God exploded, obscuring the two from view.

In that moment.

The world came to a pause.

“...”

“...”

In the silence, footsteps echoed.

Step, step, step.

It was the War God striding in the halted world.

He had achieved an unimaginable acceleration that transcended the very concept of extremes. It was a point where even the word ‘extreme’ wasn’t enough to describe it. He stepped aside to gaze upon Crockta.

With both hands gripping his greatsword, Crockta was swinging God Slayer with every ounce of his power behind it. In a world that had come to a halt, Crockta was, at his own pace, moving forward. Slowly and gradually, his strike seemed almost stationary in the frozen world. It was going to take an entire day just for him to move the blade a few inches.

He was probably believing that he was only moments away from slaying the War God.

But just as his blade was about to touch the god, he had already evaded.

In a realm where a moment stretched into eternity, the War God ascended, seizing control of time to aim a deathly blow at Crockta.

With an acceleration that even Crockta wouldn’t understand, he was going to execute Crockta.

“Hoo.”

But the War God's grip weakened.

Even for him, manifesting such a power was taxing on his body. It was especially so because the gods had divided their strength to sustain the world, which had been exactly the reason allowing the orcs to stand against numerous gods.

Raising his sword, the War God reminisced about the past.

There was a catastrophic battle where many gods perished.

That was when he came to the realization.

The realization that compassion and mercy were luxuries they couldn’t afford. They were gods who had to uphold this world. If they were to allow such small emotions to leave an opening, it was certainly going to be exploited by ghoul-like beings, leading to the utter breakdown of the world.

‘I’m sorry, but this is what I have to do.’

The Ashen God whispered to him, who was squirming on the ground. The world was crumbling down.

If the other gods had not sacrificed themselves that day, the world would have ended.

That was why he, the War God, was going to kill Crockta and eradicate the orcs, or at least strip them of all power to prevent them from serving as minions to the Ashen God.

Even if they had no direct connection to the Ashen God.

“It has to be done. There is no other way.”

It was far better than leaving even the slimmest chance of the Ashen God’s return. If annihilation was the price of eliminating that chance, he was more than willing to pay it.

He looked at Crockta.

Everyone said that he was a great warrior.

And truthfully, his accomplishments testified to their claims.

But there was a scent of the Ashen God coming from that warrior. It was an unforgettable scent of burning ash. He certainly had something to do with her.

“A great warrior.”

The War God held his greatest affection for warriors like these.

A warrior who has the will to pursue his convictions even in the face of death.

When such indomitable wills clash, conflict ensues, and the greater and bolder the will, the larger the conflict grows. That was the essence of war, through which history has always flowed.

It was a pity.

"Great warriors inevitably meet their end on the battlefield."

If the Ashen God was merely using this warrior named Crockta for her purposes, it was truly regrettable. Mortals entangled in the affairs of gods always died tragically.

Therefore, he was going to end it himself.

It was the highest honor he could bestow.

"You were alive."

His blade plunged down.

Just like that, the unfortunate orc warrior who had believed he had slain a god, intoxicated with victory, was about to embrace a glorious death.

Or so he thought.

“...!”

But just as the blade was about to touch his throat.

Crockta's eyes flashed, and he looked directly at the War God.

* * *

After the War God dropped his shield, Crockta swung the God Slayer toward his body. The god seemed to be bewildered.

With his power of heroism and the ability to go beyond causality, Crockta sealed all possibilities. He limited all the possible outcomes so that the conclusion could only be War God’s death. Therefore, that strike was destined to split the War God's body without fail.

The God Slayer moved toward the War God's body.

In the realm of extreme speed, faster than anything else.

In the domain beyond causality where all possibilities were replaced by his own will.

There, the enemy awaited only the arrival of his blade.

When Crockta felt the premonition of victory brushing past his mind.

At that moment, Crockta suddenly saw something.

Profound darkness began to descend from above his eyelids, spreading inward from the edges of his vision, starting to blacken everything in front of him.

It was darkness.

Crockta realized that was death.

He tried to flail his body, but under the dominion of extreme inertia, his body couldn't control itself. His blade was converging toward the enemy while he was converging toward death.

Causality twisted wildly, the world turned upside down, right and wrong intermingled, and chaos reigned.

Amidst all this, only one thing was clear.

Death.

Mortality was inevitable for everyone.

Crockta realized. His sword was not going to be able to slay the War God. His opponent was a god who had lived through countless wars. And that god stood on a level that surpassed his own. He had believed that he would certainly strike this opponent, but that was not the case.

His certain demise was getting closer.

‘Are you alive?’

Someone asked.

But Crockta couldn’t tell whose voice it was.

Actually, it wasn't a voice. It was something beyond the five senses, directly input into his soul.

‘Honor.’

The voice ceased.

His vision was now completely engulfed in darkness.

Then, suddenly, Crockta found something in that darkness. It pulsed slowly.

It was a single thread.

It shone with an indescribable color from a far-off world, it was one Crockta had never seen before. That thread was penetrating the world. It was always there, whether Crockta was brewing coffee on Earth as Yi-An, clashing swords with enemies as Crockta, or sharing laughter with companions.

It was there, no matter what.

Even when he accelerated to the absolute limits in the realm of extremes, it maintained its slow, pulsing beat. Even as he disrupted the world's laws in the realm beyond causality, it remained unchanged, linking those moments. The past and present were on that thread, and the future would eventually dance upon it too.

What was that thread?

And what was that color?

Why was it so brilliantly radiant?

Crockta realized that it ran through everything, even himself.

It pulsed slowly, and it resonated with him.

Thump.

Thump.

A color that didn't need light to be brilliant.

That color stood out vividly in the darkness, dazzling Crockta's eyes.

Thump.

Thump.

Slowly, the thread tilted. The world tilted. He was in Elder Lord, in the realm of extremes, witnessing the landscape of heroes, and seeing the embodiment of death descending like a black curtain.

Past moments flashed by.

And countless possibilities presented themselves as the landscapes of the future.

He stepped out of the world rampant with death, and death, and death...

Then, he stood again, in the present.

‘Hey, apprentice.’

A familiar voice grabbed Crockta by the hair.

‘What are you staring at? A warrior never takes his eyes off his enemy.’

The person holding Crockta's hair slowly turned his head. Crockta's head turned powerlessly.

‘Remember this well.’

When he turned his head, there it was.

The blade descending toward him, and the face of the War God looking down at him

* * *

The blade sliced through Crockta, splattering blood.

Crockta twisted his body to avoid the attack, but the blade scraped across his helmet, splitting off a part of it and slicing into his face, causing a superficial wound. Simultaneously, God Slayer also cut through the War God's chest.

Blood and flames spurted from both sides.

"How?!"

It was the War God who was surprised by this turn of events. He retreated, tending to the wound on his chest.

Crockta, too, carelessly wiped off the blood streaming down his face.

With his shattered helmet on, Crockta grinned at the War God. The cut on his face seemed of no concern to him.

"I’ll consider this as another medal."

"How did you dodge that?"

They were still within the realm of extremes.

Within a world still paused, they faced each other.

"How could a mortal like you accelerate to this extent? This is the ultimate realm, burdensome even with divine power."

"Well..."

Crockta shrugged.

He had been to the brink of death. And there, he saw something.

He had witnessed it before during the fight with Adantadore. When he stood alone against the empire, that same force had pushed him from behind.

Today, it saved him again.

A thread pulsating slowly in an indescribable color.

Crockta knew that it still connected him and the world.

"Let's save the talk for after the fight is over."

The time of the world slowly returned.

The previously paused world began to move again.

The last thing the spectators saw was the incessant clash, and Crockta flinging the War God's shield away and swinging his greatsword toward him. Even the gods couldn't properly perceive what happened after that.

For a moment, a flash occurred, and the two inside the Colosseum were standing again.

Crockta had a wound on his face, and the War God on his chest.

Regardless of the outcome, the mere fact of their battle inspired awe in everyone.

Outside the Colosseum, watching this fight, someone suddenly joined Hoyt.

It was the shaman Tashaquil, who had summoned the ghouls to massacre the expeditionary force. Hoyt nodded lightly to him.

"Are you okay?"

"A bit tired after using a grand spell for the first time in a while. Anyway... now there's no denying it."

"What are you talking about?"

"That Crockta."

Tashaquil smirked.

"That clumsy apprentice warrior has now become the greatest warrior of this era."

Hoyt nodded.

Not just the orcs, but everyone watching this fight felt it.

Crockta was holding his own in a duel against the War God.

"What happens if Crockta loses?"

"The orcs will likely be imprisoned in the underworld, under the watch of the gods, out of Ashen God's reach. If we resist, the gods will risk the world's collapse to kill us all."

"Do you think he can win?"

"How would I know something even the gods don’t? But..."

Crockta and the War God picked up their weapons again. If the earlier exchanges were relatively harmless to both sides, now every strike resulted in blood and flames erupting from each other.

The attacks were becoming increasingly lethal.

Tashaquil continued.

"... There's a pleasant breeze.”