Starting from Ainz Ooal Gown, simultaneously traveling through time

Chapter 129 Destruction of the Orc Capital

In the sky, the king slowly exhaled a breath of stale air, cold sweat sliding down his forehead.

That large spear that could fire dragon lightning was indeed ruthless. Even though he was already an abnormal being, being hit head-on would still leave him with a lot of skin.

Fortunately, the orc king had treasures but didn't know how to use them, and only pursued head-on confrontation. He was pulled back and forth by the orc king riding the griffin king, and was played around like a monkey. Finally, he seized the opportunity and beheaded the orc king with a sword.

If it had been a more cunning opponent, lurking in the shadows and launching a sneak attack, things might have been very different for him today.

The king glanced down at the longsword in his hand, its blade still stained with the orc king's blood. He suddenly raised his head and addressed the empty sky: "Your Excellency, you've followed me all this way. Why not show yourself?"

The sound wasn't loud, but it echoed clearly across the battlefield.

Just moments before he was about to be struck by the dragon lightning, a faint ripple appeared in the air. Someone had secretly intervened, disrupting the trajectory of the dragon lightning and giving him a chance to dodge.

That feeling was exactly the same as when that gray-robed powerhouse appeared before.

The king waited a few breaths.

There was no response from the air, only the mournful sound of the wind blowing across the battlefield.

It was as if everything that had just happened was just his imagination.

The king said nothing more, but a sense of unease began to creep into his mind.

Just then, another unexpected event occurred on the battlefield.

A group of orc soldiers who had been scattered suddenly regained their footing and, led by an old orc, fought their way out, covering a large number of orcs as they fled out of the city.

The old orc had a lizard-like face, his body was covered in strange totem patterns, and he wore ornaments made of feathers and skulls; he was clearly no ordinary person.

The king narrowed his eyes and urged the lion king to swoop down, blocking the other party's path.

"Your Majesty, human king," the old orc spoke, his voice hoarse yet steady, "I am the orcish high shaman. We are willing to offer up the capital with both hands, only begging you to show mercy and spare the lives of these children."

The king listened and gave a cold laugh.

"Spare their lives?" He pointed to the bodies of human soldiers in the distance, those who had died in the siege. "You orcs captured our people, to be either slaves or food. Why didn't you think of sparing their lives then?"

The high shaman fell silent.

He knew the other person was telling the truth; orcs fed on humans, and this hatred couldn't be resolved with just a few words.

He sighed and said no more.

With a wave of his hands, a faint layer of spiritual light enveloped the fleeing orc soldiers. It was a blessing from the orc ancestral spirit, which could increase their speed by three points.

Then he turned to face the king.

"Come on," said the high shaman.

The battle lasted less than the time it takes to eat a meal.

Although the Great Shaman was the highest-ranking person in the Orc Kingdom, his combat strength was still inferior to that of the Orc King Kasor. Even if he gritted his teeth and activated [Ancestral Spirit Protection] to summon the power of the ancestral spirits to empower himself, he was still no match for the king.

The king didn't even use his full strength; he simply threw out the [Fire Dragon] spell, which forced his opponent into a retreat.

The orc soldiers who hadn't run far turned around and saw their most revered high shaman being beaten down by the human king, and they immediately began to wail in despair.

Then, they made a foolish decision.

They stopped running.

They turned around and rushed back.

"Great Shaman! We've come to save you!"

"Let's fight humans!"

"We'll die together!"

The high shaman panicked and yelled at the top of his lungs, "Run! All of you run! Don't worry about me!"

Nobody listens to him.

The orc soldiers, their eyes bloodshot, charged back, only to be slaughtered one by one by Ares's Royal Guard. Not a single one returned alive.

The great shaman's eyes reddened as he looked at the young faces that had fallen while trying to save him.

He spoke again, his voice pleading: "Human King, I beg you—"

"Pleading is useless," the king interrupted him, throwing fireballs one after another. "Today, none of them will leave."

The high shaman closed his eyes.

When she opened her eyes again, only resolute determination remained.

He began to glow.

The light shone from beneath his skin, growing brighter and brighter—his final trump card: self-destruction.

He possesses a faint dragon bloodline, and once this bloodline is detonated, its power is comparable to the fiery breath of a red dragon.

He was willing to trade his old life for the life of the human king.

If they can kill the strongest one, the remaining orcs will have a chance to survive.

The king saw the other party glowing, and his pupils suddenly contracted.

Even with his strength, he would be seriously injured if he tried to withstand that power.

He should have dodged, but he didn't.

He suddenly thought of something.

So he just stood there and watched as the great shaman, glowing brightly, charged toward him without moving an inch.

The great shaman rushed to within three zhang of the king, his body already on the verge of exploding.

Then-

A flash of light appeared.

The blade flashed as fast as lightning, like an illusion, as if it had come from another world.

The great shaman's charge came to an abrupt halt.

His body was broken in two at the waist.

The unexploded force of the self-destruction went out of control, rampaging through his body, and finally turned into a muffled roar, blasting his upper body to pieces.

A figure in a gray robe emerged from the air.

A pure white mask, dark golden pupils, and two long swords held in his hands.

1 number.

He didn't look at the king, nor at the terrified soldiers; he simply turned his head to look at the orcs who were still scattering and fleeing.

Then, a huge black sun unfolded behind him.

What happened next was something the human soldiers present never forgot for many years.

After the black sun unfolded, Number 1's figure moved across the battlefield like a black lightning bolt. Wherever his blade passed, orcs fell like wheat in swathes.

Those orcs who were originally trying to escape were pulled in by the gravitational field of the black sun and could not escape. Their bodies disintegrated and shattered in the light of the black sun and finally turned into nothingness.

No. 1 stopped.

He charged straight into the orc capital.

The black sun followed him inside.

Then, a series of loud rumbling sounds were heard, and buildings in the capital collapsed one after another. The screams of the orcs rose and fell, but soon they disappeared.

About the time it takes to eat a meal, Number 1 emerged from the capital.

His sword was sheathed, and the dark sun behind him gradually faded away.

The entire orc capital city is now a ruin; all the surviving orcs within have vanished.

The king watched this scene, his Adam's apple bobbing.

He knew this gray-robed expert was strong, but he didn't expect him to be this strong.

A royal capital, slaughtered without a second thought?

He was about to say something when he noticed that Number 1's figure was starting to fade and was about to disappear.

"etc!"

The king quickly called out to him.

Number 1 paused for a moment, but did not stop.

The king grew impatient and blurted out, "If you don't answer me, I'll put my sword to my own neck!"

Number 1's figure froze instantly.

He turned his head, a rare hint of bewilderment flashing in his dark golden pupils.

What's going on?

The surrounding soldiers were stunned. Ares rushed forward, repeatedly urging, "Your Majesty! Please don't be impulsive! Let's talk this out!"

The king waved his hand, signaling him to step down.

He looked directly into those dark golden eyes and said in a deep voice, "You've followed us all this way and secretly helped us several times. I appreciate that, but I need to know why you helped us? What do you want from us?"

The king knew that his question might offend the powerful man before him, but he couldn't rest easy if he knew nothing.

Number 1 remained silent.

He just stood there, motionless.

He was merely a dead servant; Leylin's orders to him were to protect the king and eliminate threats. Answering such questions was not within his scope of duties.

He didn't know how to answer.

Just as the atmosphere was becoming increasingly tense.

A cloud drifted by in the sky.

The cloud slowly descended, and a figure jumped down from the cloud, landing in front of the king.

It was Leylin.

"Father," Leylin said, "Don't make things difficult for Number One. I'll answer your question."