Chapter 675: Rout and Destruction
“Shhhhh—”
A deafening, eardrum-piercing scream split the sky. A line of armored Wyverns tore through the heavens, trailing streaks of white like celestial harpoons. Their sharp metal wings sliced through the air with a metallic shriek. To the countless enemies of the Empire of Ashen, this was the sound of death itself.
“Damn it, those damn birds are back again!”
“Those cursed beasts!”
“Last time they came, I was left half-dead—lucky to survive!”
“Get down! I lived through it because I hit the dirt!” One ogre bellowed.
To these green-skinned, inexperienced brutes, the aerial bombardment was nothing short of monstrous birds laying exploding eggs. But they knew—deep in their marrow—that these were deadly things, capable of snuffing out lives. The proof lay in the mountain of charred corpses scattered across the ground.
Shells fell like rain, descending in perfect unison, detonating at the same instant. A storm of shrapnel and thick, sticky gasoline mist erupted across the battlefield, igniting a wall of fire after wall of fire.
The Empire’s napalm bombs were specifically designed for these green-skinned ogres—ferocious, relentless, and utterly merciless. They created a sea of flames that burned and spread, consuming the half-plant, half-animal creatures in a merciless inferno.
By now, the ogres were no longer the mindless, charging madmen they once were. Though still brutish and reckless, they’d learned caution. They’d even begun digging holes in the earth to hide from the explosions. They weren’t afraid of death—but they feared dying without a fight. Dying without having spilled blood, without having fought.
In their old world, dying on the battlefield was noble. But now? After enduring the Empire’s relentless aerial bombardment, their beliefs had shattered.
“We’re leaving!”
“Run!”
“Hide in the pits—those birds can’t hit us there!”
Amid the roaring sea of flames, the ogres scrambled in chaos, shoving and yelling, desperately fleeing the Wyverns, fleeing the fire. For the first time, panic had taken hold.
Boom!
A shell detonated mid-air, its intense flame tongue lashed out like a whip, instantly consuming dozens of ogres in a single breath. The fire spread fast—too fast—swallowing more and more, trapping them in a hellish sea of fire. They screamed, writhed, burned.
“Too hot!”
“Big mouth, help me—put the fire out on my back!”
“Get away from me!”
“Damn you! You made me catch fire too!”
Two ogres, blazing from head to toe, rolled into each other, thrashing in the flames. Within moments, they were twisted lumps of blackened charcoal, dead—yet in death, they found what they’d always sought: a glorious, fighting death.
Seeing this, more ogres stopped resisting. Without a word, they turned on their companions, clawing, biting—any excuse to end their suffering. Just a quick death before the fire takes me.
“Blackback, why are you staring at me?”
“Just looking at you, what’s it to you?”
“Want to die?”
“Hahahaha! I’ll kill you before you burn to death!”
“Me too!”
Flames spread with terrifying speed—like crimson scythes, cutting across the surface world. Thick smoke blanketed the scorched wasteland, swirling over the endless shadows of dying creatures, their final wails fading into silence.
But even as the artillery fire raked the land, massive iron beasts burst through the smoke, rampaging across the earth. They crushed the few ogres who’d survived the bombing—crushing them under their iron treads, which now gleamed with the green blood of the fallen.
“Boom—”
The iron beast roared, its thick barrel flaring with fire. In an instant, a pack of ogres clustered in the distance were reduced to scattered remains.
“Kill these Empire beasts!”
“Finally! This is what Empire soldiers look like!”
“Waaaagh!”
For the first time, they saw real enemies—tangible, reachable. A wave of excitement surged through them. They swung bone clubs, stone axes, charging the steam tanks with wild ferocity. One ogre even leapt onto the back of a tank, hammering the armor with his club. Others hurled spears and rocks, hoping to break through.
Thud. Thud.
Muffled sounds. But no matter how hard they fought, their blows were useless against the thick, iron-plated hulls.
“Can’t break it!”
“Damn it! Even their giant beasts are wrapped in iron—just a big hunk of steel!”
“Watch out—this one’s going berserk!”
Boom—
The steam engine roared to life. Thick white smoke poured from the exhaust pipes. Crimson eyes, painted by a Dragon Vein Goblin pilot, glared from the front of the vehicle.
Suddenly, the steam tower charged forward like a wrathful beast from legend. In seconds, it crushed hundreds of ogres into meat paste.
The shield barrier snapped open. Ogres clinging to the tank’s back were flung off, flying through the air—only to be torn apart by the machine gun turret, reduced to sieves.
Hundreds of tanks followed behind the sea of flames, forming a solid wall. They were massive meat grinders, devouring every ogre that escaped the fire.
Yet some ogres found another way—digging deep into the earth, burrowing beyond the fire’s reach. They sealed their cave entrances with rocks and debris. These green-skinned creatures were born from the soil. They could breathe underground, draw nutrients from the dirt, and possessed an astonishing resilience. Even buried alive in deep tunnels, they could survive for months—eating soil, enduring the dark.
“Good thing I hid early. Everyone else is dead out there…”
“Yeah. We’re smarter than them. We’ll survive. We’ll take more, kill more.”
Listening to the crackling of burning flesh, the dying screams, the roars of ogres fighting each other in the flames, feeling the earth tremble, soil and debris raining down—those in the burrows felt a strange mix of relief and sorrow.
They hadn’t yet slain an Empire soldier. They hadn’t seized the legendary, wealthy city of Aivendeldan. To die here, in this sea of fire, would be a waste.
But they had no idea—no clue—that the aerial corps was about to strike them.
Boom!
The ground shook violently.
At first, the ogres thought it was just another artillery barrage. They stayed put, huddled in their tunnels.
But they didn’t know—a catastrophe was approaching.
Then—a sudden transformation.
A brilliant flame streaked across the sky. The explosion roared, deafening. Several bombs fell precisely near the tunnels.
The blast unleashed a massive fireball—angry, furious, like a living beast. It consumed everything in its path, even rushing into the tunnels. The heat was unbearable. The air turned scorching. Skin blistered. Hair and clothes ignited instantly.
“Why are we still burning?! We hid!”
“Too hot! No place to run!”
They screamed in agony, rolling in the tunnels, trying to smother the flames—useless. Utterly futile.
Then came the shockwave—a silent, invisible giant hand slamming into the tunnel walls. The ogres were thrown into the air, crashing down with brutal force. Bones shattered. Organs ruptured.
The shockwave penetrated the ground, sweeping through like a wave, incinerating every living thing in its path.
But the fuel-air explosive wasn’t done.
As the explosion continued, the air in the tunnels vanished—sucked out, even the air trapped in the soil. The ogres gasped, choking. Their throats roared with the sound of struggle against death.
“No…”
“Let me out!”
But as oxygen vanished, their voices faded into silence. Darkness pressed in—thick, suffocating, absolute. Only faint moans, barely audible, proved life still lingered.
Yet even those sounds were swallowed by the void.
They had no idea—no idea—that Imperial military engineers had spent months developing bombs for every scenario. Including this: ogres hiding underground. Designed to utterly annihilate them.
---
From high above, the earth was a writhing sea of smoke. Ground emerged from time to time, broken and scarred, like a corpse in agony.
Stuffed Bun stared at the devastation—burning ground, countless ogre corpses—and whispered, “The power… it’s absolutely terrifying.”
Singo nodded in agreement, his voice calm through the walkie-talkie. “Yeah. Three million ogres. Half of them dead in just a few days. Easier than slaughtering chickens. My XP is spiking past my limit. Can still unlock extra max-level skill points. This mission? A total win.”
Even he hadn’t expected this quest to grant him so much experience. As for Stuffed Bun—well, the man who’d been labeled “unworldly”—he was utterly stunned.
Looking down at the churning sea of fire, Stuffed Bun said, “It’s magnificent. Reminds me of the Tokyo bombing in that old movie—LeMay’s barbecue. Heh. Looks like that American really is returning to his old ways. Too bad they didn’t have the ‘Little Boy’ or ‘Fat Man’—would’ve been much more satisfying.”
Singo’s voice cut in coldly: “Given the state of that madman from Yuan Huan Xiu Hui… maybe they already mixed those into our ammo stockpile.”
Stuffed Bun’s jaw dropped. “That… that can’t be serious, right? Do we really need nuclear weapons against these ogres?”
“I hope not,” Singo said, shaking his head. “But I’m not counting on it.”
Then, Curtis’s calm, emotionless voice came through again:
“Everyone, prepare for cluster bombing. Cut off every escape route. Surround them.”
“Roger, sir.”
The dragon riders responded in unison. They activated their gravity devices, climbing sharply. Behind them, fiery tails streaked across the sky.
Through the helmet’s image projection, Stuffed Bun saw countless dark dots—ogres, fleeing in panic, chased by the spreading fire toward the north.
This time, the aerial strike wasn’t just to kill—it was to trap. The plan: bomb from north to south, creating a wall of fire that would cut off their retreat, cornering them completely.
“North-south encirclement. Use encirclement tactics. That’s surround and destroy—clever. I like it,” Stuffed Bun grinned.
He ascended with the others to ten kilometers above, drawing arcs across the sky, then turning for a level flight.
On the display screen, the dark dots grew larger—closer.
Stuffed Bun smiled, placing his hand on the bomb release button at the side of his dragonfly’s neck.
The walkie-talkie crackled.
“Attention all units. Preparing for bomb drop—”
“Three… two…”
“One…
Drop bombs!”
At the command, Stuffed Bun snapped the button. And so did the other dozens of dragon riders.
Instantly, hundreds of napalm bombs poured from the Wyverns’ ammunition bays—like a torrential downpour. The sky filled with dense, glowing bombs, an awe-inspiring spectacle.
Meanwhile, the shells screamed through the air, their ear-piercing roars rattling eardrums, shaking the soul.
“Hurry up!”
“We keep running north!”
“Damn it! We won’t be sacrifices for those old fools! I’ll steal for real!”
The ogres were still in chaos—jostling, pushing, fleeing the fire behind them, running north—toward their homeland, the Ugo Great Plain.
But then—the sound.
A familiar, chilling scream.
“By Gush above…”
“I… I can’t believe it…”
The ogres froze. Eyes wide. Trembling. Above them—the strange birds had returned. Dropping their deadly eggs again.
The creatures were like ghost legends—always following, no matter where they ran. Bringing fire. Bringing death.
Pointing at the sky, legs trembling, they screamed:
“It’s the strange birds! They’re here in the north too!”
“Move out of the way!”
“Don’t block my path!”
But the ones in back—frenzied, desperate—pushed forward, trampling the stopped ones like a flood, rushing north in overwhelming numbers.
Yet soon, with each explosion, the open grassland ahead vanished—replaced by a rolling sea of fire, thick with smoke.
Now—there was no escape.
East. West. North. South. Above. Below.
No matter where they turned, the merciless Empire forces would hunt them down—until not a single green-skinned ogre remained on this earth.
(End of Chapter)
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