Full health is the kill threshold, no matter if you're a god or a demon!

Lin Yan was silent for a moment, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the map, making a dull "tap-tap" sound.

"Do you know how many undead are in that army?" she asked.

"We haven't found that yet." Van Lun shook his head. "But judging from the scale of Bloodhowl Guild's mobilization, it shouldn't be a small force."

Lin Yan nodded secretly, preparing to contact the Pharaoh's army directly later to find out the situation.

Lin Yan stood up and walked to the window.

Outside the window stretched the streets of the Savage Fortress, bustling with activity. Players of all races moved among the lights; some chatted loudly outside taverns, others haggled at blacksmith shops, and still others pulled their mounts through the crowd. The shadow of the Pharaoh's army looming over the city hadn't crushed it; instead, it had made it even more boisterous than usual.

There were also quite a few snake-man players on the streets.

They walked by, heads bowed, bodies hunched. No one spoke loudly, no one dared to linger at the tavern entrance, and no one even dared to look passersby in the eye. Those scales, those vertical pupils, that snake tail—in this city, they were practically original sins.

Since when did snake people become so humble?

Did the snake people really give up after Riftscale left? She refused to believe it!

Lin Yan's face was illuminated by the dim light from the window, creating flickering shadows.

Her face turned sinister, like a venomous snake driven to a dead end that finally decided to bite.

"Van Lun." Her voice was low and slow, each word seemingly squeezed out from between her teeth.

"exist."

"Since they all say we're traitors—" Lin Yan turned around, her emerald vertical pupils burning with a cold and resolute light, "then I'll betray them and show them!"

She walked to the table and pointed sharply at the location of the Bloodhowl Guild's camp on the map.

"Blood Howl... Hmph, just wait until I brutally violate your anus!"

Van Lun's pupils contracted slightly.

"Sister...you mean—" Fan Lun's voice was low.

"When the Bloodhowl guild attacks the undead, we'll stab them in the back! We'll directly assist the Pharaoh's army in wiping them out!"

Van Lun was startled and let out a sharp, shrill sound.

"Should we defect directly?" Her voice trembled slightly. "But... there are still our kin in the Savage Fortress. Those who didn't come with us will be purged. The orcs in the city won't let them off the hook, and the Bloodhowl Guild's revenge will surely fall on every serpent-man."

"I can't worry about that anymore," Lin Yan interrupted her, his tone curt.

She walked to the window and looked at the snake-man players on the street with their heads down, without a trace of hesitation in her eyes.

"What do I care if those good-for-nothings who don't obey my orders live or die!" Her voice was icy and ruthless. "Besides, with them in the city to lull the enemy into a false sense of security, our sneak attack will be much easier to succeed. The Bloodhowl's people, seeing so many snake-men still in the city, won't expect us to dare to make a move!"

Van Lun remained silent.

She knew Lin Yan was telling the truth, but she also knew that many of the snake people who remained in the city simply disliked or were not good at fighting. Many were her sisters who had grown up with her—what would their expressions be when they discovered that their people had led their elite troops to defect, leaving them only with hatred throughout the city?

But she didn't say it.

She had followed Lin Yan for too long and knew that once this woman's heart hardened, it was harder than frozen feces in winter.

"Go and contact these people... and tell them I've arranged to meet them here tonight."

"Yes."

"Be careful," Scaleflame said, his emerald vertical pupils fixed on her. "Especially don't let Night Owl know!"

Fan Lun's body stiffened slightly.

She nodded, then silently disappeared into the darkness outside the door.

Lin Yan was the only one left in the room.

------------

The Haiderleyman Gobi Desert stretches to the horizon in shades of gray and yellow, merging seamlessly with the dark yellow sky.

The wind howled from the horizon, whipping up fine sand that stung my face.

A foul stench wafted on the wind—the smell of decay and death.

In the distance, the camp of the undead army looked like a gray-white ocean, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Countless skeletons stood in formation, their eye sockets burning with dark green flames, and the bone knives in their hands were dull and lifeless.

Within these arrays, besides high-ranking undead, there were also numerous undead chariots and flesh-and-blood catapults poised for action, their magazines filled with bone arrows and energy blasts burning with eerie green flames.

The Bloodhowl guild's forces have advanced to within firing range of the undead camp.

The 30,000 orc warriors were roughly arranged in three huge battle formations—the left wing, the right wing, and the center.

Although not as formal as the system's troop formations, and even looking somewhat chaotic with players huddled together, weapons on their shoulders, and shields clattering, they generally maintained a formation with warriors in front, archers and healers in the middle, mages in the rear, and mobile units on the flanks.

There aren't many war machines and vehicles. Mainly because they're too cumbersome to operate. Most Orc players have a strong desire to fight and believe that "axes are more reliable than wrenches," so very few people study engineering.

Only certain orc races would bother with those iron lumps. Therefore, the Bloodhowl Guild only had a handful of catapults and ballistae, making them seem rather lonely on the vast battlefield.

But no one was discouraged by this.

The battle cry of 30,000 orcs was louder than any weapon.

With a command to launch a full-scale attack, the army set off.

Gamor rode on the back of the manticore, a giant beast covered in purple scales, its scorpion tail held high, its stinger gleaming with a ghostly blue light in the sunlight.

Gamor slung his battle axe over his shoulder, his eyes fixed on the distant undead defenses, the gray-white ocean reflected in his pupils.

The wind blew tirelessly through the center of the battlefield again and again. In the dry wind and the dust that filled the sky, he could smell the putrid stench unique to the undead.

Because the undead side had a large number of ranged attack devices, and the bone projectiles they fired were relatively light and had a much longer range than ordinary arrows, the Bloodhowl Guild's vanguard was the first to be hit.

The undead chariots began to fire large numbers of bone arrows, while some of the giant chariots fired bone spears.

"Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—"

They came down in a dense, overwhelming barrage, like raindrops. The sound of bone arrows and spears tearing through the air was sharp and piercing, like the howling of countless ghosts.

Immediately afterwards, the catapults began hurling dark gray and poisonous green energy projectiles. These projectiles traced arcs through the air, leaving long trails, like shooting stars falling to the earth.

"Mage Legion, Protective Shield!"

Gamor's voice boomed like thunder, echoing through the channel. He was known for his loud voice even in normal times, and in the chaos of the battlefield, he shouted so hard that his voice cracked—although everyone knew that shouting in the channel was enough, Gamor felt that something was missing if he didn't yell a few times.