Two mighty orc warriors had started running inside the Metal Forest. With every blow they landed, they were covered with the blood of dead bodies torn apart together with thorns. The broad-bladed sword and the giant hammer were in magnificent harmony; they were also partners like their owners at these moments.
"Come on let's see, I am not finished yet! Sea of Fire."
When Dragan swung another disk appearing in his hand, Leonardo's face watching the struggle from very far away became ugly again. Judging by the flames bursting from the device thrown into the forest consisting of thorns, this was also the master's work.
Flames advancing in waves had surrounded the two orcs in the blink of an eye; what wouldn't the heat melting even metal thorns bursting from the ground do to them?
"Elemental Heart!"
"Elemental Heart!"
Fortunately, the duo wasn't alone; one of the Druid warriors on the surrounding battlefield had cast the spell that would protect them from flame attacks.
When the Commander of the Mercenaries saw the thorns disappearing as a result of the move he used to finish off the enemy, a darkness like his armor covered his inside too. He had to flee immediately.
"Come here!"
Dragan was taking out another device from his hand; the newly appearing tool had a heavy metal body on three legs fixed to the ground. The circle on its upper part was covered with holes, and behind it, a belt extending to the ground was striking the eye.
"Since you don't die with magic, I will riddle you with holes then!"
Seeing his enemies running toward him after escaping the two traps he set, Dragan would operate his new weapon as soon as possible. The area between him and the orcs was filled entirely with metal particles; metals the size of the upper knuckle of a thumb were so many that nothing else was visible.
"Die!"
There was no armor capable of withstanding this attack, or no matter how skillfully he used his weapon, it wasn't possible for a person to block all of them.
"Reflecting Heart!"
"Reflecting Heart!"
There was something the Commander-in-Chief of the Four Civilizations forgot; Orcs and Druids had started watching each other's backs. Countless metal particles were ricocheting by hitting the new shield appearing on the two orcs.
After Wind of Death locked her lineage power on him, whatever he tried wasn't working; surprise attack, elemental attack, physical attack, all three had been repelled.
Dragan was panicking truly for the first time; throughout long years he spent on battlefields, he had succeeded in killing his enemies by using these three methods. He was left defenseless as if he was fighting for the first time; he couldn't find any other remedy but to flee to save his life.
First, he created an attack barrage between him and the two orcs by scattering whatever he hid in his saddlebag, then he would start running without even looking back. Although he would lose fame, reputation, and status, these weren't even worth mentioning beside his life.
He couldn't use the escape crystal in the chaotic war environment; since he would be left defenseless the moment he transformed into a light beam, he had to withdraw to a safe distance first. While two orcs dealt with obstacles in front of them, he was fleeing relying on the Black Hole armor he wore.
"Where are you going!"
When his ear heard two words, Dragan's feet were cut from the ground; he was in the air as a result of the shoulder blow coming from his left side. When he fell to the ground, he scanned his surroundings with panic; it wouldn't be difficult for him to see the person landing a blow on him.
Number Two of the Elite Ten was standing a few steps away from his opponent on the ground. The Commander of the Mercenaries wanted to flee toward the exact opposite side immediately; he had been able to take two steps until the fist landing on his chest.
Although his armor absorbed most of the blow, he suffered pain due to shock waves leaking into his body; apparently, Number Four had completely closed that direction. There were two orcs struggling with traps in front of him, Number Two behind him, and Number Four to his right; Dragan turned to his left as a last resort.
He ran toward where he would feel metal thorns pricking his skin; this was necessary for him to understand that his surroundings were completely surrounded. After tasting the double-thorned whip of Number Seven, he stopped where he was trapped and hit his hand on the ground rapidly.
There was a triangular stone buried in the ground; lights coming out of it would surround Dragan within a second. The mercenary had come to the end of the road in the literal sense of the word; he was playing his last trump card with shield quality knowing full well it would imprison him.
"Do you want to kill me? First, you have to strive for this!"
Although his tail was trembling, Dragan stood tall. He wanted to show the situation he fell into as his own choice, perhaps he wanted to believe it was so.
At the same time, a big explosion rose from right across him; the husband and wife orc warriors had escaped from traps he set with brute force.
"It doesn't matter which hole you entered, death is coming for you today!"
Çekiçdöven, under the effect of lineage power for a long time, raised his broad-bladed weapon into the air and brought it down on the barrier violently. His wife's hammer, Number Seven's whips, Number Two's and Number Four's fists were following him.
"Heirloom, attack!"
Alyon's daughter engaged the obstacle in front of them by releasing her power animal too. Apart from her, Number Two, hanging out alone since the beginning of the war, had also taken action.
"Smash and pass, One Horn!"
When the tattoo on his arm came to life and took shape, a huge animal two orcs high and at least seven steps long would appear beside the Number Two of the Elite Ten.
This creature, possessing a majestic sharp horn at the tip of its big head, moved thirty steps away toward the opposite direction first. It dragged its hind legs on the ground a few times before starting to run; with every step of the creature making its horn a spear by bowing its head forward, the ground was almost trembling.
When it hit, the same situation became valid for the shield; the structure taking a big blow from a single point couldn't help losing its color. Its light symbolizing its vitality had faded a tone; Number Two's power animal was its natural enemy.
The creature, capable of sweeping away even living beings many times bigger than itself when it gained speed, was stretching again; it would make its hit by running once more.
The structure possessing a bright yellow color before had turned brown after the second blow, and Dragan's face was white as a sheet.
His calculation was based on staying alive until representatives of two deep-rooted civilizations found a solution. He would be able to protect his life eventually due to the Hell Realm they were in alliance with; he could think about insults he would experience when he returned later.
Seeing his calculation didn't fit the market at the last moment, he seemed unable to prevent fear from wrapping him; although he used whatever he had in his hand, orc-druid cooperation had pushed him into despair.
As a result of attacks of five orc warriors and their power animals, the barrier was destroyed with the third blow of One Horn. Opposite Dragan, left all alone with swords he grabbed in his hand, there was a small army.
"My commander!"
Members of the Elite Ten bowed their heads and gave their salutes; their job was done. They had left the field to Wind of Death and Çekiçdöven, landing on top of the mercenary by jumping into the air despite his heavy broad-bladed sword.
The hammer hitting the waist of Dragan, meeting the blow landing on his head with difficulty, had wrapped him despite the Black Hole armor. He was thrown a few steps but had no time to relax; the sword of the one gone mad among two enemies using Lineage Power was descending upon him incessantly.
At these moments, the owner of the giant hammer was making a hit from every opening; she was making it impossible for the enemy to defend with movements as if dancing.
Ten seconds later, blood started to leak from the mouth of the Commander-in-Chief of the Army of Four Civilizations; cracks on the latest invention of the Machine Empire had also grown enough to be visible to the eye.
When another ten seconds passed, swords in his hands would break; it was a miracle for them to endure this much against the enemy's broad-bladed weapon anyway. Dragan remaining defenseless was an open target for the husband and wife orc warriors; heavy blows were landing on his body every second.
When Wind of Death hit his back with her hammer, the mercenary bent with pain; a moment later, Çekiçdöven's sword was entering from his head and coming out from between his two legs.
Two orcs caught the piece falling to their share from Dragan with the tips of their weapons; when they roared by raising them into the air, their comrades on the entire battlefield would see the torn corpse of the enemy commander.