The blacksmith had only run a few hundred feet, and after not feeling anyone's presence, he looked up at the location of the galaxy and turned back without hesitation. Pen ~ fun ~ pavilion www.biquge.info

――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

The dwarf orc sniffed all the way, and he was the only one in the ranks, and the other orcs, because of their sheer size, preferred to run on their own feet than on a poor pony - they ran as fast as any horse, and consider that they had relied entirely on a pair of clawed feet when they hunted horned deer and argali. Sometimes, they also bend their bodies and run on all fours, unlike humans, their arms are almost the same length as their legs, and their hands and feet have hard skin and flexible joints, and they run like a giant ape, with their heads stretched forward and their eyes twinkling dangerously yellow in the dark.

There were two priests in the ranks, and as Gersh had ordered, they were tired of playing tricks with humans, and the priests crouched on the shoulders of the samurai (yes, their mounts were orc samurai) fumbling for their skins, barrels, and metal boxes, all filled with evil and vicious creatures or spells.

"They're on the run!" The dwarf orc shouted, "We're going to catch up at once." ”

The orc warriors and priests spat in unison, among the orcs, short enough to be called disabled, and the crippled orcs, like the wounded and unhealed, or the old orcs, can only be used to consume the enemy's arrows and fill traps, but from them they have a rather admiring human mind, they say, the cunning and shameless queen of the orcs like a human, all the talents of this dwarf orc- That is, more keenly than the orcs, than the priests, the worms sensed Gersh's favor, and he was perhaps set up in tents between the warriors and slaves, and he could also get a bowl of rich, sometimes salted and spiced meat, than the truly useless orcs.

But this does not mean that he is qualified to compete with the samurai, on the contrary, he is like a badger or a jackal trying to blend in with the wolves, always being intimidated or persecuted.

Such an almost carried away performance would have earned him a good beating-if it weren't for the stupid clown who was on his back in front of the suddenly rising wall of flames, and the orc warriors wouldn't even bother to roll to the ground, covered in flames and wailing in pain. He was repeatedly crushed and trampled by hundreds of pounds, his bones shattered, his death small and swift, more of a prelude than a node, the battle between the orcs and the humans, or more accurately, the battle with the ugly chicken alone.

She knew that she was destined to die like this as early as the moment she crawled out of the orcs' "sheepfold" with her hands and siblings, and if there was any regret, it was that she could not see the day when the orcs were completely expelled from the Whisking Plains - but vaguely, no longer the ugly chicken seven years ago who knew nothing but weaving, plowing and grazing, could also feel that this wish might never be fulfilled - not everyone wanted the orcs to disappear completely, because ...... All sorts of reasons, to be more precise, selfish desires. Three years earlier, her actions had begun to be under control, first by the tax collectors sent by the ministers who had asked for a thorough investigation of their troops' finances, then by the queen who repeatedly begged her to stay in the Norman capital, and she had heard of proposals to cut the useless expenses of Thundercastle - the vast majority of the Ugly Chickens' supplies were obtained from the lords of Thundercastle, and their attrition and pensions were heavier than the regular defensive army.

It must be because of the gold, precious stones, and pyroxene that are indispensable to the nobles, and the killing of the ugly chicken and others destroyed the scattered tribes of countless orcs, as well as the trade routes, and the merchants were either unable to find the tribes with whom they were still trading slaves, salt, wheat and wine the last winter, or were refused to trade by the tribes - they regarded all humans as enemies, and they were lucky to be driven away, and more were killed or used as slaves.

The behavior of the orcs is simply a little more terrible than the lockdown of the silver-crowned dense forest, and the gold and gems may be produced elsewhere, but the pyroxene, no matter what, it is impossible to get it from somewhere else, and the merchants are very unhappy, even if some people say that if the orcs can be expelled, the humans can rule the entire Wuthering Plains, and they don't want to, can the war end in a year? If they can't, why should they give up the giant tree for a seedling that they don't know if it will grow, they have been trading with the orcs for more than a thousand years, and of course they can after that, and even if they change to humans, can they take the pyroxene for nothing? Since they can't, then it is better to keep it as it is.

And the orcs also have their god Kawula.

"Are we going to die...... said one of the human slaves, his voice was so low, the axe thrown by the orcs had cut off part of his skull, and the blood had washed away the powder, which was now better than nothing, and he sat down beside the ugly chicken, and when the ugly chicken had repelled another wave of orc attacks behind the humble fortress, and then lowered his head to look at him, he was already dead.

The strange thing is that before the orcs arrived, the human slaves were full of hatred for the ugly chicken, but when they actually faced the hideous enemy, threw their spears or threw their short axes, they calmed down, after all, at this time, no matter how much they cursed and cried, they were useless, and when the orcs were weakened, fell and unable to move because of the magic that the ugly chicken prayed for, they could be killed just like humans. Of course, there are also relationships between the slaves who have become stronger and more powerful because of the Ugly Chicken's magic skills, and even the weak girl can swing a spear and stab an orc who tries to leap onto the stone wall.

But there was always an end to it, and everyone knew that in the dark fluffy grass, with the flickering bright spots in a row, and they heard the wolves crying one after another, thinking that they were expecting a delicious meal, but alas, the maiden thought, they and the orcs were going to be disappointed, and at last a fire would be kindled in the fortress, and all the corpses would be melted away.

When an orc finally jumped into the fortress, grabbed the girl by the neck, and lifted her into the air, the girl knew that her time was coming to an end, and she saw the ugly moving her lips, hoping that it would be a powerful spell that would destroy her and the orcs behind her. And in the next moment, the orc's fingers suddenly relaxed, he fell, and the girl fell on top of him.

Separated by the girl and the dead orc, the ugly chicken and the blacksmith's eyes were opposite, the ugly chicken didn't say anything, after all, at this time, even a call seemed too extravagant, she threw the prepared magic to another orc who came to the impact, and the blacksmith took the girl's original position, he was already a mature warrior, the battle between the ugly chicken and the others and the orcs briefly entered a balance, but soon, as the priests threw their poisonous insects and curses, this balance was broken again.

The ugly chicken and the blacksmith were back to back, only three humans had not yet fallen, while the others had fallen into a dangerous heat and festering, the orcs became calm, and in the brightening daylight, the priests shook their staffs and chanted a eulogy to the orc Kawuha—they could shoot the ugly chicken with arrows, but the priest wanted a living priest as a sacrifice, and a priest of a good god would make the great Kawuha, better than one elf, nay, three elves.

"Merciful Ilmot...... "The blacksmith heard the ugly chicken whispering a prayer — Ilmot is a familiar name to the poor, and although there are those who tremble or fear because of the penance of their priests, when they are sick, the priests of Ilmot will give them herbs and nurse them, and when they die, when they are empty-handed, and they cannot even take out a decent sacrifice, the priests of Ilmot are willing to send them the blessings of the god of suffering, but the blacksmith only deeply understands Ilmot's tolerance and charity after becoming the companion of the ugly chicken. Ilmot's priest, in theory, should pray to Ilmote six times a day, but this is something that the ugly chicken cannot do, not because she is unwilling, but on the dangerous Wuthering Plains, which can only be a luxury. But Ilmot never hesitated to give her strength and favor, her magic was both powerful and varied, and her body was never weakened by the harsh conditions of the Wuthering Plains, and she was almost like a tough tree planted by Ilmoth on the Wuthering Plains, and she not only stood here in the violent wind and snow, but also gave the other weak a wide and warm shelter.

These orcs are here for the ugly chicken, the blacksmith knows very well, compared to the ugly chicken who was splashed with the blood and flesh of the baby, how many human slaves have been affected, he and other companions are almost not contaminated with that terrible aura, it is not the first time they have encountered the orcs, let alone the first time they have dispersed, they can return to Thundercastle, maybe this is also the last time they will gather together, the orcs have a sense of vigilance, just as the lord of Thundercastle hopes, they should hand over the rest to the real soldiers, they should go back, with honor and gold, continue to be a baker, a tailor, or a mercenary, never return to Wuthering Plains again.

The blacksmith had also imagined that when he was a slave to the orcs, he imagined running away with his wife and son, even if he became an outcast, he was a blacksmith with great skill, and no lord or lord would be happy to accept him, and after the death of his wife and children, he no longer wanted to go back, he just wanted to find an opportunity to break the heads of the chiefs and priests. Later, when he saw Ugly Chicken, his imagination changed, if Ugly Chicken was willing to be his wife, then they might have two or three strong children, and he even selfishly thought that if Ugly Chicken could get her husband and children again, would she give up her revenge?

But just now, when he heard the firm and clear prayer of the Ugly Chicken, even if he was not a priest, as a close person who had been with the Ugly Chicken for several years, the blacksmith could understand what kind of magic she was praying for—he suddenly understood that she would never give up, that she would never have any more children, nor would she have a husband, nor would there be anything beautiful, no, perhaps it should be said, that there was nothing more to look forward to than the same, but this was the Ugly Chicken, the woman he liked and loved the most.

So, it's a very good ending - they live together except for the children, and they die together, and the flames will burn them into white ashes, you and me.

The orc priest looked viciously at the tall woman in the crowd who looked like an orc warrior, and they stood up from the orc warrior's shoulder and waved their staff.

The samurai, who was bearing the weight of the orc priest, wrinkled his whole face unhappily, he did not dare to let the priest fall, but he also hated the stench of the priest and the flesh that wriggled against his face, yes, even among the orcs, the strange smell of the priest was just as unbearable, especially since the priest was still dancing on his shoulders - and the moment his attention was slightly away, the priest fell headlong.

The orc warrior stupidly lifted the priest's legs, at first he thought the priest had just accidentally lost his balance, but then he realized that the priest had lost his precious head. The priest on the orc warrior at the other end suddenly fell to one side, and there was a huge hole in his chest that could see the scenery behind him.

"Elves!" a orc warrior screamed.

Hardly need to be reminded, most of the orcs have seen the elves quietly coming out of the fluffy grass, the leader of the man is wearing a delicate forehead crown, with pale golden hair like the morning light, and eyes like a clear sky and blue sea, even in such a dim light, he still exudes a soft light like the bright moon, and the elven warriors around him are like stars around the bright moon, each elf in his hand, surrounded by a triangular bow, the arrows on the bowstring with a bluish white flash. Then, as if at the sound of a silent command, arrows rained down on the heads of the orcs, all of whom were strong and fierce warriors, all dressed in heavy bison skin armor or steel armor, but as fragile as blades of grass when faced with Mithril or Adamantite arrowheads, swirling arrows tearing flesh and shattering bones and piercing their necks or chests.

Some of the orcs frantically lunged at the elves, but the elves simply turned their longbows back on their backs and drew their swords or daggers, as light as birds in the midst of the beasts, each whirling took away a filthy life.

An orc attempted to fulfill the king's order before the elves could notice the humans, but before the ugly chicken could fight back, a long, sharp knife pierced the back of his head and went straight through his mouth, bringing out a puddle of foul blood and a tongue that was still shaking.