Chapter 678: The Final Quest
The sky over the Ugo Great Plain had always been a boundless expanse of clear, crystalline blue—unblemished and serene. But now, jagged shadows streaked across the heavens.
They were the aerial armada of the Empire of Ashen—special forces composed of Two-Headed Dragons clad in “Tianhuo” armor, their wings cutting through the air like blades.
A chuckle crackled through the walkie-talkie. Singo’s voice, light and teasing:
“Stuffed Bun, you’d better watch your step this time—don’t end up as a crispy Stuffed Bun again.”
The other Dragon Riders burst into laughter.
“How many Experience Points did you lose that time? A whole ten thousand?”
“Know it,” Stuffed Bun snapped, his face darkening. “You all laugh all you want, but if it weren’t for me holding the line at the cost of my life, how many of you would’ve been slaughtered by that muscle-bound Ogre monster?”
“Alright, alright,” Singo said, grinning. “You’re a hero, our legendary martyr, the one who sacrificed in a crash. From now on, we’ll call you ‘Lao Da’—‘Old Big’.”
Another wave of laughter erupted through the comms.
“You—” Stuffed Bun clenched his jaw, red-faced, and stopped arguing. Instead, he turned his attention back to the Quest log.
This mission was simple: locate and destroy the breeding ground of the Green-Skinned Ogres—their terrifying reproductive hub. The Empire’s Court Mage had already scouted the area, uncovering crucial intelligence. The Ogres originated from the Bindler River, more precisely its source: the Inavu Valley.
The valley was thick with dense clusters of green mushrooms. Every single day, thousands of newborn Orcs emerged from the mossy soil. And with the black-green river flowing through it, the Ogres’ spores spread like wildfire across the entire Ugo Great Plain.
Stuffed Bun stared at the data, shaking his head.
“I thought I came here to be a hero, saving the world like some grand legend. Instead, I’m just flying a Two-Headed Dragon, ready to blow up a valley.”
Singo laughed. “You know, the kind of adventurers who do things the traditional way? They’re still stuck under level ten. You’ve got strength now—consider yourself lucky.”
Stuffed Bun forced a weak smile. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right.”
Suddenly, Curtis’s voice cut through the comms, sharp and urgent:
“Everyone, you’re approaching the destination. I’m detecting an intense Ogre Power Field. Activate Defense Concealment System immediately.”
“Roger,” Stuffed Bun replied, pressing the button.
The Heaven’s Fire Armor flared to life, emitting a flood of luminous particles that rapidly coalesced into a network of interlocking hexagonal shields.
In an instant, the Wyvern vanished from sight—blending into the air itself, as if erased from existence. The sky above returned to its usual clarity, untouched.
The Empire had gone all-in on this mission. Every piece of “Heaven’s Fire Armor” contained a scale shed by the Emperor of the Ashen Flame—each imbued with Legendary-level power.
Moments later, Stuffed Bun spotted the distant Mount Inavu. Named after an Orcish War God, the mountain loomed high and jagged, its peak piercing the clouds. The valley beneath it was deep, dark, and radiating an unnatural aura.
“This must be it,” Stuffed Bun muttered, swallowing hard. The place gave him an eerie, unsettling feeling.
Even with the Abjuration School’s protective wards in place, the moment he entered the airspace, his entire body trembled. The Two-Headed Dragon beneath him wobbled uneasily.
“Emergency Braking System offline!”
“Gravity System offline!”
“Warning! Magical Turbulence detected! Magic Defense System malfunctioning!”
Red warning text flashed across Stuffed Bun’s display screen. His breath hitched. Cold sweat trickled down his temple.
“Damn… what’s going on?”
But the turbulence hadn’t disabled his propulsion system. He still had control—enough to keep the Wyvern aloft, avoiding another catastrophic crash into the Ogre nest.
The comms crackled with static. Curtis’s voice was ragged, fragmented:
“…you’ve… entered… Mission Destination… complete the Quest… within three days… crack…”
A sharp, final snap severed the connection. The link was gone—no telling when it would be restored.
“This place… it’s seriously cursed,” Stuffed Bun finally muttered, voice tight.
The other Dragon Riders echoed him.
“Yeah, thank the Abjuration School. Otherwise, we’d all be like you—crashed and dead.”
“Stay sharp,” Stuffed Bun said, irritation in his tone. “There could be a Legendary-level Boss in there, just like last time.”
“Please, don’t remind me,” he groaned. “Just finish the mission. Or we’re all going to lose our homes—and our eggs.”
Singo hovered high above, scanning the area, collecting data. A detailed map began to form on his screen.
He shared it with the rest of the Aerial Corps, his voice low and serious:
“That valley—Inavu Valley—is the Green-Skinned Ogres’ breeding ground. The source of the Bindler River. Our mission? Blow it to hell.”
---
Deep within Inavu Valley.
The air was thick with pale green spores. The river ran black and viscous, choked with slimy, foul matter. In the shadows, mushroom-like fungal growths sprouted from the earth, spreading like veins across the ground.
Soro stood beside the Bindler River, watching the dark water flow. He gave a cold command:
“Throw them in.”
“Yes, Great Chieftain,” came the chorus of voices.
The Green-Skinned Ogres unslung the blood-soaked sacks from their backs. Inside were fragments of corpses—heads frozen in despair, limbs severed by blades, torsos split open.
Among them were Clan Chieftains, elite warriors from various tribes. But now, these once-proud figures were nothing but broken pieces.
Three days prior, Soro had hung their heads from poles, branding them traitors to the Ogre race.
When the Pure-Blooded Ogres saw the heads, chaos erupted. The Crimson Blood Tribe erupted in outrage. Loyalty Warriors from the Raven Clan, Frost Wolf Clan, and others roared in fury, cursing Soro and demanding rebellion.
But Soro’s army had already surrounded them. Without hesitation, the Green-Skinned Ogres swung their execution blades, cutting down every rebel.
That day, the valley ran red. The massacre became known among the survivors as the “Bloody Day”—a name whispered with dread.
Now, Soro had absolute control over the Crimson Blood Tribe. Any who dared defy him would remember the fate of their kin—crushed beneath the weight of that massacre.
“Hey-oh!”
“Throw them in!”
“Haha, old bones!”
The Ogres worked with feverish glee, tossing the corpse fragments into their Mother River—the Bindler River.
They felt no guilt. No remorse. Only satisfaction. They’d long despised these haughty “elders,” the ones who looked down their noses at them.
Soro crossed his arms, staring at the black-green water.
“With these Supernatural-level corpses feeding the river, we’ll birth even stronger Ogres. In three years—no, five at most—under Father God’s favor, I’ll raise an unstoppable Legendary Orc Army.”
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“When that day comes… first, I’ll Conquer Aivendeldan. Kill every Empire soldier there. Then, I’ll lead my army into the Empire of Ashen.”
He licked his lips, eyes blazing with bloodlust. His hands trembled.
What a glorious future.
All the humiliation, the anger, the years of suffering—wiped clean in rivers of blood. The Ogres would become a Mobile Cataclysm across the continent, a terror that would make even the most arrogant races—Dwarves, Elves, Humans, Dragons—bend their knees in eternal fear.
Beside him, Mok, draped in black robes, let out a dry chuckle.
“Great Chieftain, the quality of the material is excellent. That Frost Wolf Clan Chieftain’s corpse alone could birth Legendary-level Ogres.”
“Legendary?” Soro’s eyes lit up—then clouded with concern.
“Mok… if such Ogres were born, would they obey me?”
As the temporary Great Chieftain, Soro feared one thing above all: losing his status. The moment his subordinates turned on him, he’d be finished.
That was why he’d slaughtered the Clan Chieftains and their followers—no loose ends.
Mok chuckled again, his voice raspy.
“Of course they will, Great Chieftain. You are the chosen one—the one blessed by the Father Divine. Your status is above all newborn Ogres. They are born to serve you.”
Relief washed over Soro. He grinned, arms crossed.
“Exactly. I’m the one who will restore the ancient glory of the Ogres.”
Suddenly, Mok turned, pointing into the shadows of the valley.
“Do you see it? The Ogres born from the Rock Lizard Clan Chieftain’s spores.”
“Spines!”
The damp soil bulged. A slimy hand broke through the surface. Then another. Then a massive, green body, towering nearly three meters tall, burst from the ground.
It blinked, eyes dull with hunger. Its gaze swept the valley—ravenous, hungry to devour everything in sight.
“Waaagh!”
It let out a guttural roar, and instantly, the nearby Ogres joined in, their cries echoing across the valley like a storm. The sound shook the bones.
Mok smirked.
“Look, Great Chieftain. The old newborns were weak, fragile. But these? They’re stronger, taller, more powerful than common Pure-Blooded Ogres. They’re natural warriors—evolving through war and plunder. Their strength will be yours. In just a few years, we’ll be a race that makes the entire Feiansuo Continent tremble. No, not just the continent—the Multiverse.”
“Excellent,” Soro murmured, his face twisted with frenzy, obsession, and anticipation.
Then—Mok’s expression shifted. His eyes snapped shut. His brow furrowed.
“Something’s… wrong.”
He stood still, tense, as if sensing something beyond sight.
Soro leaned forward, voice urgent.
“What is it?”
Mok was his most trusted advisor. He relied on him to control the Crimson Blood Tribe, to breed stronger, more loyal Ogres. He couldn’t afford to lose him now.
Mok opened his eyes slowly. His voice was low, gravelly, serious.
“Great Chieftain… there’s an intruder. Someone has breached Inavu Valley.”
“What?”
Soro’s eyes flashed with murderous fury. He clenched his teeth.
“Damn it… Empire agents? I have to find them. I have to purge them completely!”
His voice rose, cracking with rage—then exploded into a roar.
No wonder he was furious. Inavu Valley was the last hope for the Ogres’ rise. If it were destroyed, the entire race would be doomed—trapped forever in this barren wasteland. His dream of becoming the Ogres’ Hero would shatter.
He stood, his monstrous frame radiating menace.
“Even if we have to level Mount Inavu to the ground—find them! Purge them! Completely!”
“Yes, Great Chieftain,” Mok replied, nodding. He raised his vine staff.
Instantly, through the air thick with spores and mycelium, tens of thousands of Ogres across the valley heard the order. They knew: an intruder had dared enter their sacred ground.
“Did you hear it? The Great Chieftain’s command!”
“Haha, wonder how they taste?”
“Been days since I’ve eaten a living thing—I’m gonna find them!”
The Ogres went wild. They tore through every crevice, every shadow, desperate to find and devour the intruders.
To them, the intruders weren’t a threat. They were a feast.
They had no idea—those so-called “intruders” weren’t hiding in the valley at all.
They were above.
Circling high above the mountain, unseen.
“Still no word on the intruders?” Soro demanded, sitting on his bony throne, face dark with fury.
“Nothing yet,” came the reply.
“How is this possible?” Soro growled, slamming his fist on the table. “We have hundreds of thousands of Ogres searching! They’ve scoured every inch of Mount Inavu! Not a trace!”
“Mok… did you make a mistake?”
Mok shook his head firmly.
“Great Chieftain, I am certain. The Spore Network wouldn’t tremble without cause. Someone has entered.”
Soro’s voice cracked with rage.
“Then how—how can they vanish? Did they fly away?!”
His voice died. His eyes widened.
“Wait… the sky… they’re in the sky! The Empire’s riding dragons!”
Mok’s face paled. “Impossible… no one should have seen them…”
Suddenly—a piercing, ear-splitting scream tore through the sky.
“No… no—!”
Soro lunged from the command tent, eyes wild.
And there, descending from above, was a metal sphere—falling straight toward the source of the Bindler River. Toward the heart of Inavu Valley.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
