Ragon and his men had already reached the armory and successfully planted explosives at critical points. Their disguises as orcs worked perfectly, raising no suspicion among the actual orc guards. Whenever they were seen, the orcs simply assumed they were part of the regular patrol. This clever strategy provided Ragon's forces with a significant advantage in the battle.
Ragon had instructed his men to wait for his signal before cutting the ropes holding up the orc tents. These tents were strategically surrounded by gunpowder trails, carefully laid out to ensure maximum destruction. On his command, the ropes would be severed, and the gunpowder ignited, setting the entire camp ablaze and plunging it into chaos.
Meanwhile, the decoy team had successfully eliminated the fifty orcs sent to investigate the earlier fires. Using mines and firearms developed by Andrew and the village blacksmith, the decoy team executed their mission with precision. Thankfully, the dispatched orcs were not high-ranking warriors, as dealing with stronger, five-star-ranked orcs would have been significantly more challenging. Orc warriors above that rank had immense physical resilience, making conventional weapons less effective against them.
To maintain the element of surprise, Ragon's men had silently taken out all the sentries. With no orc lookouts remaining, Ragon's disguised troops assumed the roles of guards, further ensuring their deception went unnoticed.
Now, Ragon stood outside the central tent—the leader's quarters. Gunpowder was already in place, but this time, Ragon decided against using flames to eliminate the orc leader. He wanted to confront him face-to-face. From the immense aura radiating from within the tent, Ragon deduced that the orc leader was at least a two-star warrior, if not higher.
Ragon scanned the area, signaling to his men with a swift wave of his hand. A subtle slicing gesture followed, indicating it was time to sever the tent ropes.
"Go," he whispered in a low tone.
The coordinated plan was already in motion. Ragon was confident in his men's abilities. Even if he failed to defeat the orc leader, they had already decimated more than half of the orc forces, which numbered over ten thousand. This could show the carefully laid out plan by Ragon.
As Ragon approached the leader's tent, the oppressive aura became almost suffocating. It was unmistakably the energy of a three-star warrior, a match for Ragon himself. With steady breaths, he entered the tent.
Inside, the orc leader sat on a massive, throne-like chair made of bones and animal hides. His glowing yellow eyes stared directly at Ragon, and a sly grin spread across his face. It was as if he had been expecting this moment all along.
"So," the orc leader rumbled, his deep voice reverberating through the room. "The little half-blood dares to step into my lair." he added.
"I don't see how it was possible for you to defeat my brother. A little wretch like you doesn't look capable enough to perform that trick." The orc stood up, his massive frame looming large. Despite Ragon's resemblance to orcs, there was a noticeable height difference between them.
"Whoa! I never thought you were this big," Ragon said in surprise, staring from head to toe in disbelief. He felt like an ant standing in front of an elephant.
"Let's get on with this. I would love to feed you to my men as the spoil of war. A human would surely taste good, and you smell like a half-elf and human. I would love to taste that," Grel'thak laughed, licking his lips in a gesture of what he meant.
He immediately zoomed off, and in the next second, he had Ragon by the neck, flinging him away. Ragon quickly tore through the tent they were in.
As he landed outside, he spun and tried to regain his balance, sliding backward a bit.
He wiped his mouth, a bit of blood visible at the right corner of his lips. "Not bad, old man," Ragon said casually, treating the hit like it was nothing.
Grel'thak was furious. He rushed toward Ragon and delivered an uppercut that shook the ground, the intense weight of Grel'thak impacting the environment.
Ragon's men watched in shock as he flew back, not expecting their king to struggle against the orc leader.
Despite the pain, Ragon managed a desperate smile as he landed on the ground like a log, bouncing lifelessly. He was bleeding heavily and bruised badly.
"You weakling! You can't even take one hit from me. Pathetic king," Grel'thak sneered, walking forward. This time, he clenched his fist, and something in the tent began to shake. A green aura enveloped his hand as his club weapon appeared, ready to strike Ragon with immense force. If it touched Ragon, he would surely die.
Ragon's men, the only living souls in the orc camp, stared at him in fear. Despite the heavy bleeding, Ragon shook his head sideways, silently telling them not to come for him. He wanted them to leave him to his fate.
Grel'thak moved slowly, savoring every moment of his impending victory. Ragon, bleeding from every part of his body, smiled at his men with bulging eyes as blood trickled down his arms.
They all stared at their king with tears in their eyes. He had been a source of courage and hope, the one who saw the good in them and never deemed anyone useless. But now, that man lay still on the ground.
Ragon lifted both arms and faced sideways. "Who is a mortal in the face of God?" he shouted, his voice echoing through the air like a thunderclap.
Immediately, a silver spark burst forth from his outstretched hands, spreading out like ripples on a still pond. The light danced as if it illuminated the darkened landscape. As the spark expanded, it enveloped his surroundings, and the energy burst caused Grel'thak and all present to shudder beneath the pressure.