Chapter 41: Orc Chief

The Mothkin quickly descended from the sky.

​A powerful gust of wind swept past her wings as she dove toward the ground, landing silently atop a massive dead tree overlooking the settlement.

Her claws wrapped tightly around a thick branch.

​The effects of [Shadow Wing] remained active, her dark frame blending seamlessly with the deep shadows cast by the withered tree.

From a distance, she was little more than another patch of darkness among countless others.

​Her glowing violet eyes turned toward the settlement below.

​It was enormous. Hundreds upon hundreds of crude tents stretched across the jagged landscape, illuminated by large bonfires, while towering wooden watchtowers stood vigilant along the perimeter.

​The entire settlement was protected by a rough wall fashioned from sharpened logs, massive monster bones, and black stone.

​Orcs moved everywhere, some carried weapons, others hauled supplies, and disciplined groups of warriors patrolled between the tents.

The entire encampment radiated a savage yet shockingly organized atmosphere.

​The Mothkin’s attention soon settled on one of the approaching figures.

​The Orc was massive, standing nearly three meters tall. Its body looked more like a moving mountain of green muscle than a living creature, and every heavy step caused the ground beneath it to tremble slightly.

​Dark tribal markings covered its skin from head to toe. Its long black hair was braided into thick strands, decorated with beast fangs, polished bones, and carved skull fragments.

​A massive battleaxe rested upon its shoulder, a weapon that alone was nearly as large as an adult human.

​The Mothkin observed the creature with an unblinking stare.

​Then, she vanished.

​The shadows beneath the tree rippled as a dark blur slipped across the ground. Using every patch of darkness as cover, she silently infiltrated the perimeter.

​No guards noticed her passage; no warrior sensed her presence.

​Eventually, she found a secluded nook between several large supply tents. Remaining fully submerged within the shadows, she began her observation.

​The settlement was unusually lively. Orcs moved about in massive numbers, their voices constantly echoing through the night air, laughter, shouting, violent arguments, and boisterous boasting.

​The noise never seemed to stop.

​The Mothkin listened carefully. There was far too much activity for an ordinary night, and her inherited instincts reminded her that Orcs were not naturally nocturnal creatures.

​Which meant a significant tribal gathering was currently taking place.

​Her violet eyes narrowed in the gloom. ’Information. This is exactly what my Lord sent me for.’

​The Mothkin shifted deeper into the settlement. She never approached the Orcs directly, remaining hidden within blind spots and structural shadows, observing silently from afar.

​Soon, she noticed a distinct pattern: the Orcs were all moving toward the exact same location.

Warriors, hunters, shamans, and even elderly Orcs leaning on carved bone staffs were all converging near the heart of the settlement.

​The Mothkin followed the flow of the crowd.

​After several minutes of ghosting past patrols, she reached an elevated vantage point overlooking the central courtyard.

​Her eyes widened slightly.

​At the center of the settlement stood a colossal bone altar. The structure towered high above every surrounding tent, encircled by dozens of roaring bonfires.

​Thousands of Orcs had gathered before the platform, their rapt attention fixed entirely upon the raised altar.

​The atmosphere was thick with tension and heavy expectation, as though an entire civilization was waiting for a dark ritual to begin.

​The Mothkin remained motionless within the shadow of a nearby watchtower, not a single movement escaping her sharp gaze.

​As more Orcs flooded into the courtyard, one truth became absolute: something monumental was about to unfold in the heart of the Kragmar Dominion.

The Bone Worm wrapped around her neck suddenly established its telepathic link.

​’Big Sis, my scattered bodies have detected a massive migration of Orcs throughout the surrounding region.’

​The Mothkin’s gaze never left the vast gathering below. "Let me guess..."

​A brief, heavy pause followed.

​"...they’re all heading here."

​The Bone Worm replied instantly. ’Yes, Sis.’

​The Mothkin fell silent, her glowing violet eyes observing every movement within the settlement.

​Minutes bled into hours as more Orcs arrived. And more. And more.

​An hour passed. Then another.

​The Mothkin’s expression grew increasingly grim as the influx showed zero signs of slowing.

By the time the arrivals finally began to taper off, even her cold composure was shattered.

​The sheer number of Orcs packed into the central courtyard had surpassed one hundred thousand.

​’Big Sis...’

​Even through the telepathic connection, the Bone Worm’s shock was palpable.

Across the entire Kragmar Dominion, countless miniature Bone Worms hidden beneath the soil froze momentarily, overwhelmed by the sheer density of the horde.

​And the raw headcount wasn’t even the most terrifying revelation.

​The weakest Orcs present were roughly equivalent to Advanced ★★ mana beasts, and the Mothkin had already identified dozens of far more dominant individuals scattered through the crowd, Elite-class monstrosities whose mere existence radiated suffocating pressure.

​Without hesitation, she channeled additional mana into [Shadow Wing].

The dark mist around her body thickened, dissolving her presence into absolute nothingness.

​At that exact moment, the rowdy, chaotic settlement fell dead silent.

​The shift was instantaneous. Thousands of voices cut off at once, leaving one hundred thousand savage warriors standing in eerie, unmoving unison.

​The Mothkin’s eyes narrowed. ’Something is happening.’

​Heavy, thunderous footsteps echoed from the steps of the central bone altar.

​Boom.

​Boom.

​Boom.

​Each step carried tremendous physical weight.

​A massive Orc warrior climbed onto the platform, standing nearly four meters tall and covered in jagged battle scars.

A gigantic greataxe rested easily upon his shoulder, his mere presence forcing nearby Orcs to lower their heads in reflexive fear.

​Yet instead of claiming the center of the altar, the scarred giant stepped aside, bowing his head as he cleared a path for another figure.

​The moment that person appeared, every single Orc in the settlement dropped to one knee.

​A deafening, thunderous roar shattered the quiet night air:

​"Glory to the Chief!"

​"Glory to the Chief!"

​"Glory to the Chief!"

​The synchronized voices of over one hundred thousand Orcs merged into a shockwave that physically shook the earth.

​The Mothkin stared intently toward the high altar, her eyes widening in genuine disbelief.

​It wasn’t because the Chief was female, nor was it because she lacked the towering, mountain-like physique common among her kin.

In fact, compared to the hulking elite guards surrounding her, the Chief was tiny, barely the height of an average human adult.

​No, what shocked the Mothkin was something far more unnatural.

​The Chief looked almost human.

​While pale green skin still covered portions of her body and slender tusks protruded from her lower jaw, her facial structure was remarkably refined, vastly different from the brutish, flat features of the monsters around her.

​Glowing crimson eyes burned beneath long, dark hair woven with intricate bone ornaments.

Her posture was straight, elegant, and regal, radiating the unshakeable aura of a sovereign born to rule.

​The contrast was so extreme that she looked like an entirely different species standing amidst a sea of monsters.

​The Mothkin’s inherited instincts immediately screamed a dire warning.

​This was no ordinary Orc, and no ordinary Chief.

​She was an Orc Hybrid.