More than a dozen orc warriors charged through the snow, all armed with heavy but deadly weapons, and even the one-horned ice rhinoceros, known for its thick skin and rough flesh, would fall to the ground wailing under the blows of a dozen heavy weapons. Thick brown fur peeked out of the unprotected area of leather armor, and these orc warriors squandered their strength and ran wildly through the snow. Although it was just a chaotic rush of brains, Riga who was on the front still felt the suffocating pressure.

"You still have time to escape. Somewhat nervously shaking the mace in his hand, Riga looked at the dozen orc warriors opposite him who were not inferior to him and whispered to himself, "They still have marksmen, this is an impossible battle to win." ”

"No!" Glancing back at the empty snow, Riga had a gut feeling that the female warrior was roaming the orcs, ready to harvest their lives. "How could I have such an idea of running away without a fight! I also have the heart that the 'Fury Man' forged for me with courage!"

The anger quickly affected his body, and the brutal force of the previous one erupted from the hunter's body again, and the terrifying flush of red moss quickly crawled all over his body. This time, Riga took the initiative to use the power of madness.

In the light of the red moon, the hunter's flushed skin was not conspicuous at all.

An orc archer first shot arrows from the bowstring at the mad Riga, and the stone arrows flew towards Riga's chest with a spiral of air, before being knocked away by the hammer in his hand. Not to be outdone, the other three orc archers shot their arrows, and the weak wooden bow made them not too fast, at least the hunter could easily distinguish their trajectory. But it seems that the god of luck played a joke on Riga, and the blowing north wind suddenly blew the arrow off. One arrow lightly touched the tail feathers of the other, causing it to deviate from its course. In Rigga's surprised eyes, it stabbed him in the shoulder.

Fortunately, the power of the arrow had almost been exhausted by the impact, and the hunter's shoulder twitched slightly under the resistance of the wolf's skin coat, and then he randomly pulled out the arrow and threw it on the ground. And the wound, which was not half an inch deep, was quickly closed under the powerful restoring power brought by the madness.

Seeing that the bow and arrow were no longer of much use to Riga, a group of orc warriors immediately strode up to surround him. At the front was an orc with a short spear in each hand, and unlike the other warriors, this orc was short and athletic. Two short spears stabbed out quickly in his hands, and in a moment, a dark curtain composed of black spear shafts was formed.

But for Riga, these apparitions were of no use, for his strength was simply not something that this orc warrior could parry. He swung his heavy hammer in his hand, ignoring the shadows of spears stabbing him in the chest. With a screech of squeezing air, the bronze hammer head slammed into two short spears crossed together. The phantoms vanished instantly, leaving only the orc warrior holding the broken short spear in his hand, stepping back step by step, blood flowing down from his front, and the fragments of the broken spear shaft had all been rolled back and inserted into his body, causing countless wounds.

The horrific sight of the short-spear warriors frightened the orc warriors for a short time, but two screams quickly shattered the peace between them. The two orc shooters who are left behind are always looking for an opportunity to inflict damage on Riga, but they forget the horrors of the night.

A vague figure was quietly approaching through the dim red, and when it was close enough, the black shadow finally couldn't bear it anymore and jumped up. The sharp scimitar reflected a bloodthirsty dark red light beneath the red moon, slashing through the neck of an archer without hindrance.

The orc archer clutched his neck with difficulty, and fell to the ground weakly with the "gurgling" sound of blood pouring into the trachea. Before the other archer could react, a cyan scimitar flashed, severing the bowstring and stopping at his throat. "Please don't .........," the archer pleaded, his body shaking so hard that although the scimitar didn't move, there was still a small cut in his throat. "You can't kill me, I have a bunch of children to feed......"

His words stopped abruptly, and there was a gurgling sound in his throat. The female warrior's face emerges from the darkness and she slices the orc shooter's throat while stomping on his back, kicking him face down to the ground. "Then you should choose to be a farmer. ”

The death of the two archers made the orc even more panicked, and an orc warrior with a two-handed battle axe in his hand rushed towards Riga with a roar to dispel the fear in his heart. His stump-like arms controlled the tomahawk, which could cut boars in half, and slashed at the hunter, but he had picked the wrong opponent. The hunter raised the mace with one hand and flung it from his right side, striking the face of the tomahawk. The violent impact immediately caused the smooth and thick pine axe shaft in the orc warrior's hand to break in half, and the uncontrollable axe surface spun haphazardly and flew into the snow in the distance.

The orc warrior who had lost his weapon froze in place, as if he did not expect that someone would be able to destroy the tomahawk in his hand. Any momentary pause in battle was fatal, and the orc warrior quickly realized how true this phrase came from the old warrior's mouth. The hunter's wrist twisted with force, causing the hard bronze hammer head to pull a graceful arc through the air and smash into the orc's head. As if breaking a fragile egg, the orc warrior's head shattered with a bang, and blood, scrap of flesh, and scattered bones splattered everywhere.

When warm blood mixed with minced flesh and broken bones spilled on the other orc warriors, their courage immediately receded like a tidal wave. This two-handed battle axe warrior was one of the most powerful of them all, and even some orc captains with third-level strength were not necessarily opponents of his brute strength. But it was this strong warrior who was broken by a hammer from a Quaid two circles younger than him, and then smashed his head with a hammer. Thinking of the enemy who had ruthlessly harvested the lives of the two shooters behind him just now, the remaining seven or eight orc warriors immediately chose to retreat. When a group of people choose to retreat at the same time, then their next action can only be to escape.

Remembering in his heart that his madness was not allowed to exist for too long, Riga certainly wouldn't let these orcs go. Otherwise, once he falls into weakness, these orcs will easily tear him apart. In addition, for Monica, a female warrior who talks a lot but is extremely ruthless in battle, Riga has not yet trusted herself to give her protection.

Resembling a snow leopard ready to hunt, Riga stretched and contracted his muscles, allowing him to move at an alarming speed through the snow. The orcs quickly caught up with him, handing the heavy mace to his left in his right hand, and the hunter removing the scarlet one-handed axe. He glanced at the emaciated orc running at the front, and threw it out without mercy. The finely crafted one-handed axe didn't experience the slightest unnecessary resistance in the air, and with a smooth tumble, it pierced through the gaps between the other orcs' bodies in the blink of an eye, and stabbed into the orc warrior's body.

The orc warrior, complacent at being at the front, felt a pain in his chest, and then looked down to see the scarlet tip of the one-handed axe peeking out of his chest. "Well, damn it!" the orc could barely whisper in his mind, and then a cramp from his chest knocked him unconscious.

The death of the orc warrior made the rest suddenly realize that escaping would not allow them to get rid of the Quaid warrior behind them. The two archers were the first to counterattack, as they ran forward, they took off their wooden bows and arrows, turned around and took aim slightly, and then shot them as their feet ran off the ground, as this would minimize the impact of the bow and arrows from the shock during the run.

The two arrows whistled towards the hunter who was running forward at a rapid pace, unlike in the previous situation where the trajectory of the arrows could be accurately spotted. The boiling snowflakes blurred his vision, and the sound of the wind as he ran interfered with his judgment of the direction of the arrows. One of the higher-flying arrows was easily knocked away by the hunter with his mace, while another wooden arrow broke through his defenses, pierced through the snowflakes, and landed on Riga's waist.

A howl of pain came from the hunter's mouth, and he threw the mace in his hand in anger and force, watching it arc beautifully, knocking down an orc who was attracted by the howl and looked back. Just as the remaining orc warriors were surging with hope in their hearts, the ghostly female warrior Monica reappeared from the darkness again. The two orc archers who were at the back of the archery were targeted by her. As they were about to shoot a second arrow, a dark figure suddenly rose from the snow behind them, and two sharp bronze scimitars stabbed through the unprotected backs of their necks like barbs, and then cut off their spines and stabbed them into their ribcages without hindrance.

Nodding gently to Riga with her hands on her waist, the female warrior returned to her expressionless state. With no difficulty pulling out the scimitar, her figure once again disappeared into the shadows of the snow and black stones, and even the hunter stared wide-eyed for a long time without realizing where she was hiding.

The remaining five orcs looked at each other as they ran, their eyes rolling as if they were secretly thinking of a way to escape. The atmosphere lasted less than two breaths, and they separated neatly and fled in their chosen direction, as if the most well-trained soldiers had received orders.

The female warrior Monica emerged from Riga like a ghost, and after coldly saying "I'll chase it", she disappeared into the darkness again. Seeing her vague figure quickly chase after an orc warrior who was swaying his feet like a duck in the snow, Rigi immediately sat down and let out a long breath. The time for the frenzy was over, and with several incomplete exertions, the heat flow in his body had been consumed. Now there is no need to talk about fighting, even an underage snow badger can pounce on him.

With great difficulty, he plucked the pouch containing the ale from his waist, and the hunter shook it vigorously, and when he was sure that there was still some remnant of it, he took a large sip and then put it in his mouth. Gritting his teeth, he pulled out the arrow from his waist, and when the triangular stone arrow was pulled out of the wound, it immediately tore some of the previously healed wounds, and dark red blood and pale yellow mucus with a foul smell spurted out. "Ahh

Rinsing off the dirt and blood from the wound with ale with suspended matter, the hunter carefully tore off the dry and warm feet of his linen shirt, pressed it tightly against the cracked bloody hole, and bandaged it tightly a few times.

The cold wind continued to pour in from all directions, making Riga feel like he was frozen into ice around his waist.