Chapter 686: The Dead Ogres
Swish, swish, swish—
The crisp sound of air being sliced through echoed as the Red Dragon unfurled its massive wings, descending slowly from the heavens with overwhelming majesty, surveying the battlefield below with a gaze that seemed to pierce through flesh and bone.
“Long live the Empire!”
“Long live Emperor Kai Xiusu!”
The cheers of Imperial officers and soldiers surged like an endless tide, rising in volume with each beat of the Red Dragon’s wings. Far beyond, in the Dragonfly Capital, countless soldiers raised their rifles in salute. Wyverns spread their wings wide, stretched their necks high, and let out a unified, thunderous roar.
The Red Dragon’s shadow fell upon the earth—huge, terrifying, and inescapable. As it approached the ground, the shadow grew, swallowing hundreds of Ogres, including Soro, into its darkness.
The sheer, crushing aura of the Dragon pressed down like a mountain upon every single Ogre present. Their hearts pounded, breaths came ragged, and each chest felt as if it were being crushed beneath an invisible weight.
Soro dropped to his knees, head bowed low. The suffocating wave of intimidation washed over him—cold, merciless, and absolute. His body trembled violently, sweat pouring down his face like rain.
This can’t be…
That Red Dragon… won?
How could this happen?
His faith—his belief in the mighty, invincible Father God—had been shattered. The very deity he had sworn to, the god who had promised victory, had been defeated by the Emperor of the Ashen Empire.
“Father God!”
“Father God, protect us!”
“That Red Dragon has returned! Father God, intervene—kill him!”
He screamed in his mind, praying, raging, but no answer came. Only silence. An endless, hollow silence.
At last, Soro understood.
The Father God had abandoned them. Abandoned the Ogres of the Ugo Great Plain. Completely.
His eyes went blank. He stared straight ahead, unblinking, as if struck by lightning. He remained frozen in that kneeling position, on the scorched earth.
The roar of artillery and the relentless shouts of Imperial soldiers surged around him, filling his ears with a deafening, spine-chilling hum.
Memories flooded back—Batu, the former chieftain, dead. The collapse of the Crimson Blood Tribe. The divine blessing of the Father God. And his own whispered vow: “I am the Great Chieftain of the Crimson Blood Tribe. I am the chosen warrior. I am the Hero who will rise to lead the Ogres to power.”
He had been destined for glory. He was meant to unleash a beast tide that would devour the north of Feanso. All of it—destroyed.
By that Red Dragon.
Silence. Then—Soro snapped his head up, eyes blazing with fury, teeth clenched, fire burning in his chest.
It was this dragon that took everything from me!
It destroyed my last hope, my future, my dreams—reduced them to ash!
But no. There was still one chance. One last thread.
If he could only—kill that damned Red Dragon.
In his rage, the Ogre spores within him stirred.
The six-meter-tall beast surged with power. His muscles bulged beneath his skin, his face flushed crimson, eyes wide and wild. Veins throbbed across his forehead with every labored breath. His gaze burned with fury.
He snatched up a spear from the ground, gripping it tightly. With a roar that shook the earth, he leapt into the air—mad with fury, mind unhinged.
“I will kill you!”
But even as he leapt, he was no more than a green-skinned flea hopping against a creature sixty meters long. The Red Dragon loomed above him like a mountain.
“Look! That green-skinned fool dares to challenge His Majesty!”
“Such arrogance.”
“Indeed. Even their god fell to King Kai Xiusu’s subordinates. How could he possibly hope?”
The Imperial soldiers murmured, their tone dripping with sarcasm. Some were outraged—this was an insult to the King. But no one—neither ally nor enemy—believed Soro could succeed.
Against such a gulf of strength, no skill, no courage, no will could matter.
“Arrogant fool,” Kai Xiusu said coldly, his eyes fixed on the charging Ogre.
Then, a flicker. A faint, mocking smile curled at the corner of his lips.
“Since you’re so eager… let’s see if the power I took from that old green-skinned wretch still holds any weight.”
The Red Dragon extended its massive claw, five razor-sharp talons splayed wide. At its palm, a blood-red orb flared—then reshaped, coalescing into a jagged, bloodstained spear.
A wave of terrifying divine power erupted—thick, suffocating, and utterly overwhelming. Within a hundred miles, every living creature felt their soul tremble, their mind scream. Fear, submission, panic—none could resist. This was not mere Dragon might. This was the divine essence of war, strength, chaos, and the very soul of the Ogres.
The moment Soro saw the bloodstained spear and felt that familiar resonance—his body froze.
That… that’s the Father God’s aura?
His voice cracked, trembling, disbelief etched into every syllable.
In an instant, his mind reeled. Had the Father God’s power been stolen? By this greedy Red Dragon? And what of me—me, the so-called Chosen One? What am I now?
But Kai Xiusu gave him no time to think.
With a cold, amused smirk, the Red Dragon gripped the spear, channeling the stolen divine power.
Boom—
The sky cracked with thunder. Crimson divine light exploded outward.
In an instant, every Ogre felt it—the crushing sensation of their very flesh, spirit, and soul being held in the grip of an invisible hand, ready to be shattered at any moment. Even Soro, suspended mid-air, felt it.
Under the terrified gazes of the Ogres, the Red Dragon swung the blood-stained spear, pointing its tip at Soro.
Swish—
A beam of blazing bloodlight shot forth, striking Soro’s body.
In that instant, Soro felt as if his entire being had been seized by an invisible giant. No resistance. No escape.
His skin was peeled away. His bones shattered. His very soul torn from his body.
Suspended in midair, his once-mighty frame began to wither. His muscles shriveled. His limbs grew thin and hollow. His fur turned brittle and dry.
Within moments, Soro realized—this was worse than death.
The Red Dragon wasn’t killing him.
It was stealing his strength.
“No—no—!”
“Red Dragon! You can’t take my strength!”
He screamed silently, rage, terror, and despair tearing through him. But under the divine control, he was powerless—merely a puppet, twisted and manipulated at will.
In the end, Soro was reduced to a wretched, trembling figure—less than a meter and a half tall. His muscles wasted, skin wrinkled and sagging, fur nearly gone. He looked like a withered old Goblin.
No one would have believed he was once the mighty Great Chieftain of the Crimson Blood Tribe.
Kai Xiusu lowered the spear.
Soro fell—crashing hard onto the ground, his body broken, bones snapped, head spinning, vision blurred.
“Guh…” Soro groaned, lifting his head with immense effort. His eyes fell upon his own body—wasted, frail, old.
He twitched a finger. Panic surged through him.
His strength—less than one-thousandth of what it once was. He couldn’t even lift his arm.
For Ogres, who worshipped strength above all, this was worse than death. Worse than a thousand blades.
Around him, the Ogres began to whisper. Then laugh. Then speak louder—mocking, cruel.
“Soro, the Great Chieftain… so weak.”
“Yeah. This power? Not even a proper Underground Gnome.”
Soro lifted his head, trembling, his eyes wide with fear, staring up at the Red Dragon in the sky.
“Red Dragon… no—King Kai Xiusu… please… return my strength…”
But Kai Xiusu only stared down at him, amused, like a man watching a dying ant.
“Is this the chieftain we’re supposed to follow?”
“He’s too weak. He dishonors the Father God’s teachings. By tribe law, he must be cast out.”
“Tch… looks like a stray dog.”
“Leave him by the roadside. Vultures’ll pick him clean—just bones left.”
Their words cut like knives, each one stabbing into Soro’s heart. Rage. Regret. Pain.
In silence, he lowered his head, pressing his forehead hard against the ground. He rammed it again and again, until blood welled up.
Tears mixed with blood on his face. His voice, hoarse and broken, choked out:
“King Kai Xiusu… please… return my strength. I… I’ll submit the Crimson Blood Tribe to you. I’ll give you everything…”
Kai Xiusu glanced at him, then shook his head with faint amusement.
“Now, you’re worth nothing but a worthless life. What else could you possibly offer me, Soro Chieftain? You made your choice. Now you must bear the cost.”
“Exactly!” boomed a deep, powerful voice—like thunder cracking the sky.
All eyes turned. Even Kai Xiusu looked down.
A massive, ugly Green-Skinned Ogre stepped forward, claws of steel in hand. He stomped down hard, pressing Soro’s head into the dirt.
It was Galong—Soro’s own second-in-command, survivor of the “Bloody Day.”
Soro glared up at his former subordinate, rage burning in his eyes. But his voice was weak, broken.
“Damned low-class Ogre! Your life force… was mine! Without me, you’d never have existed!”
Galong laughed, waving his steel claws. “Old fool. You said it yourself—old relics of the past must be eliminated!”
Spine—
A sharp, wet sound. A blade pierced flesh.
Galong had driven his claws straight through Soro’s skull.
The old Ogre’s face twisted in horror, disbelief—until the very end. He never believed he’d die at the hands of someone he’d raised.
Galong pulled out the bloodied claws. Blood and brain matter sprayed across the ground.
He grinned. “Goodbye, old fool.”
Then, raising his head, he pointed at Soro’s corpse, his face smeared with blood, grinning like a worshipper.
“Red Dragon Lord! I’ve slain this old wretch! We Ogres pledge allegiance to you—you’re our new leader. Where you point, we’ll strike!”
“Yeah! Soro was never fit to lead!”
“Kai Xiusu, our king!”
“And I feel it—this familiar, comforting aura. Serving this Red Dragon Lord is the right choice!”
The Ogres Soro had raised—his own Green-Skinned followers—turned on him instantly, cheering and shouting their submission to the Red Dragon. The Pure-Blooded Ogres stood silent, pale, frozen.
For creatures with simple minds and powerful bodies, loyalty meant nothing—only strength mattered. And Kai Xiusu had proven himself—strong enough to crush the old chieftain with a flick of his claw. And now, he carried the scent of the Father God.
Seeing the moment was right, Galong dropped to one knee.
“King Kai Xiusu! Accept our submission!”
Then, imitating the Empire’s way, he roared with fanatic energy:
“Long live Emperor Kai Xiusu!”
Kai Xiusu watched the traitorous Ogre, a faint smile on his lips. Interesting. This one’s no fool.
Galong—yes, Kai Xiusu knew the name. In his past life, he had been one of the “Four Great Calamities” of the Beast Tide, orchestrating countless massacres, slaughtering hundreds of thousands of humans. He was a nightmare in the hearts of every soul in the north of Feanso.
Back then, Kai Xiusu might have welcomed him—harnessed his fury, used his blood for credit.
But now? After his past mistakes, Kai Xiusu was far more cautious.
Galong carried too deep a mark—the essence of the Orcish Deity, the Mother of Fungi. His body likely harbored hidden traps, secrets, and betrayals. To bring him into the Empire would be to invite disaster.
Even if he wished to use the Ogres’ divine power, Kai Xiusu preferred to create his own race—his own Dragon Vein bloodline, free of hidden threats.
With that thought, Kai Xiusu turned his gaze over the battlefield—tens of thousands of Ogres below. Slowly, he raised the Blood Spear, the symbol of Ogre authority, its tip glowing with crimson divine light.
“Ogres, listen!”
His voice thundered across sky and earth, a storm of power.
“Great!”
“Did the King accept?”
“We’re part of the Empire now!”
The Ogres erupted in joy, waving spears and bone clubs, shouting cheers. Galong grinned, ecstatic.
But then came Kai Xiusu’s next words—words that froze the blood.
“I will grant you… Absolute Death.”
Swish—
The crimson light exploded outward, spreading ten miles in every direction. Every Ogre caught within—Green-Skinned, Pure-Blooded, all—fell like wheat before a scythe.
In an instant, their eyes dimmed. Their pupils dilated. They collapsed, lifeless, silent.
No scream. No struggle. Just death.
(End of Chapter)
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