Warhammer: Return of the Dragon.

"Take up your swords and continue to fight for Sigmar and the Emperor!"

Derrick was hit in the face by a fist. He trembled and retreated, wanting to retreat backwards. The low dragon roar was not only a blow to the morale of the greenskins, but also a screening for the weak.

Those who lack courage are not worthy of standing on the same battlefield with the Dragon Lord.

Boss Mok, whose left hand had been cut off by the greenskins, grabbed Derrick's collar with one hand, his angry and cold eyes full of contempt.

"Do you think the appearance of the elves means we will win?! There are less than a thousand of them. Even if they can defeat ten of us with one, they will still be trapped in the quagmire of minced meat in the end!"

The notched sword was thrown in front of Derrick, and Mork growled to the people around him, "Son of Rick, come closer to me... We need to show the elf cavalry a way to find the greenskin warlord."

Silent silence began as the lucky man who had picked up a lot of treasures at the beginning and was ready to return to Uberek to enjoy the treatment of a grandfather, dug out the grenades that were supposed to be used for throwing, and the inflammable explosives that he bought from the merchants accompanying the army at a high price.

The courage to face death with indifference reappeared after the explosives were ignited. Mok led the soldiers who trusted him, stopped their defensive posture, and rushed forward towards the most chaotic battlefield with their last bit of strength.

The sound of gunpowder explosions and the screams of machetes tearing flesh were intertwined. The confrontation between courage and brutality never stopped. After losing an arm, Mok had lost most of his combat power, but before he died, he still stabbed the sword into the chest of the greenskin that killed him.

The air was filled with smoke and flames. The white smoke that was supposed to serve as a warning gradually drifted into the sky as the Mok team moved forward...

Imrik naturally noticed the rising white smoke, and the direction it indicated was the location of the Big Belly King. Although he had already found the warlord through the mark left by Istharion, the courage of the imperial people still made the Phoenix King admire him.

"Hail to the warriors...their sacrifice will not be in vain, Carol! Curtis!"

The monarch's order caused the two Flame Knights who were following closely behind to slowly raise their battle flags.

In order to express the great contribution to the unification of the Elven Empire, the new Flaming Phoenix flag was woven by the Eternal Queen herself. Countless skilled craftsmen and magicians spent a lot of effort on it, and it was then baptized by the burning platinum Phoenix Holy Fire, and finally exchanged for an extremely cold symbol.

Everyone who gazes at the flaming phoenix flag will have their heart examined by Asuryan, gradually lose themselves in the cold will, and repent for the sorrow of living in this world.

The other flag is a brand new volcanic dragon, and along with the coldness, there is also the rage that is unique to a dragon.

The flags were raised, the lances showed no hesitation, the tip of the sacred spear passed down from generation to generation in the family shone with fire, and the dragon lord descended again.

The Flame Knight followed closely behind, his face beneath the golden dragon armor filled with fanaticism. Only those who guard the monarch at all times could understand the heart that symbolizes the duality of the elves.

Killing and mercy have always been one and the same.

Standing in front of the Phoenix King were a group of green-skinned orcs who had definitely taken drugs. They were obviously larger than their fellow men in the Badlands, and their red eyes fully demonstrated their desire for battle.

Seeing the cavalry entering, the green-skinned boys became even more excited. Not only did they want to kill the good-looking Douya, they also wanted to step on his corpse and spit on the war horses. That was really cool.

"waaaagh!" There was no need for communication. The long-lasting battle had made the greenskins so blood-thirsty that they forgot who had started a wave of greenskin grief in the world.

Naturally, the stupid orcs could not cause Imrik any difficulty. He was not a gentleman on the battlefield and did not care about his appearance during battle.

Mortelius had no intention of dodging the oncoming orcs, and directly hit them with his dragon-shaped horse armor wrapped in iselama silver, smashing the leading orc's bones and tendons.

Following closely behind was the wide-ranging sweep of the Star Lance.

The Star Lance transformed into a dragon spear is more than four meters longer than usual. If an ordinary Dragon Prince lifts it, he can only rely on the assistance of the dragon saddle to make stabbing movements. The dragon spear is too heavy and difficult to control.

But the Phoenix King was no ordinary Dragon Prince. With a large-scale sweep of the Star Lance, the sharp spear tip easily cut through the greenskins' crude armor, exposing the mushroom meat to the hot blade, which cut through it as easily as cutting butter.

The orcs who were hit by the spear handles did not suffer any better fate than the guys behind them. The flaming lances and unreasonable brute force resulted in the dual experience of meat paste and dicing.

With one sweep, the Flame Knight behind him was so shocked that his hammers even slowed down by half a beat.

Although I know that Imrik’s strength must have increased after the Holy Fire Trial, he can’t be like a... monster.

The Phoenix King was somewhat eager to fight, but no matter what the Flame Knight thought, his best way of fighting was to rush in alone, kill the strongest enemy, and then... kill crazily like catching a mouse.

Sensing his master's will to fight, Mortelius hummed softly and ran at full speed towards the source of the white smoke, ignoring all the greenskins blocking his way.

Because the horse that had served Imrik for so long knew that its master longed for a battle.

The Phoenix King rode into the greenskins without paying any attention to the tactical arrangements he had previously given to the guards, such as joint advancement, gradual strangulation, air-ground coordination, and magic cover...

All that sounds good on paper, but as long as he enters the arena riding Mortelius, he will never be as calm as when he is on Old Mi's back.

Carol, holding the flaming phoenix flag, stabbed the flag-bearer's sword bestowed by the emperor into the eyes of the greenskin beside him, without even noticing the Asuryan curse rising from the boy's head.

He looked askance at the passage that Imrick had cleared and was quickly closed by the greenskins. He casually asked Curtis, "What should we do now? We can't keep up with his speed. Every time he says he will charge with the Flame Knights, he ends up killing the strongest ones by himself, and we are left to deal with the deserters."

"You'll get used to it. The greenskins shouldn't be able to pose much of a threat to him... Creon will protect this reckless guy." Curtis calmly stabbed the volcanic dragon flag into the goblin's chest. After pulling it out, he felt the flames on the flag became even more intense.

He waved the flags, and a dragon-like low voice emerged with the wind: "Now... let these two flags see blood. I am not used to holding a precious thing that looks like it was just taken out of a girl's arms, as if I am a guard of honor every time I accompany you on an outing."

"I suddenly envy Masno... I can fight Chaos Barbarians every day." Carol complained, and finally took a look at the Phoenix King who had disappeared, and waved the battle flag to guide the guards to attack. (End of this chapter)