Red Orcs were a branch of the Orc race, but far more savage and deranged than their original kin. They worshiped blood and war, and because of that, Red Orcs never acted with any thought for consequences, never considered what might follow. Only the hot blood of their enemies washing over their bodies could bring them pleasure. Although Orcs were one of the pillars of the Legion, the Red Orcs were not. They were too foolish to discuss strategy and too arrogant to obey anyone else.

  Even so, no one dared to underestimate them. On the contrary, every race felt fear when facing the Red Orcs. The blood soaked battlefields of Noland had never been without their presence. They were always the vanguard, leading the charge. Their massive, powerful bodies and terrifying regenerative abilities made them living nightmares on the battlefield.

  Mor’got slowly walked into the grand hall, where countless distinguished guests had gathered. They looked at him as if he were a thorn in their eyes. Setting aside the fact that the Legion and the Alliance were sworn enemies, his very presence was itself an act of provocation. Every noble was dressed neatly and formally. Even the barbarians from Break Island had prepared proper trousers. Mor’got and his entourage were the complete opposite, bare chested and wearing only small loincloths to cover their vital parts.

  Their bodies were huge and crude, their yellowed fangs bared, their breath reeking like the stench of corpses. Mor’got strode straight into the center of the hall, sending the seated nobles flying aside and taking their places. He kicked all the items off the table and propped his leg up on it. After finishing all that, he laughed loudly and pointed at a servant carrying a wine jug.

  “You. Bring us the finest wine you have. Hurry.”

  “But sir. I ... I…”

  The servant hesitated in distress. He could feel the murderous gazes of the nobles pressing against his body, as if they would kill him the moment he moved. But if he did not obey… The servant looked again at Mor’got, only to see the Red Orc’s blood red eyes slowly filling with rage.

  “I… I…” The servant trembled, some kind of liquid seeping into his trousers.

  “Bring it to him.”

  Suddenly, a calm voice sounded from behind the servant. The words were like a lifeline. Without waiting another moment, the servant bowed repeatedly in gratitude and rushed off to fetch the wine.

  “My apologies, warriors, for the delay. But I truly do not recall inviting the Red Orc tribe to this ceremony.”

  The one who had arrived was Jacor. He wore a polite smile, yet inwardly he was cursing in anger. Although the invitations bore Hesmor’s name, anyone with sense knew they were Jacor’s doing. He wanted to use this opportunity to expand his connections and business dealings. What would his future partners think if they believed he was associated with Red Orcs?

  When he received news that Red Orc warships had docked at Mornet Bay, he immediately rushed to Fecilitas Palace without hesitation. If he did not personally explain himself, those who had received his invitations would certainly assume the Red Orcs were his guests.

  “Only Battle Kings?” Jacor secretly breathed a sigh of relief. These warriors were fierce, but if they were merely Battle Kings, he could still handle them.

  Jacor sat down beside Mor’got. He was no stranger to the Red Orcs. In fact, he encountered them quite often. Noland was fertile land rich in minerals and resources, and Jacor’s private army controlled a small portion of its territory. Clashes with the natives were unavoidable. The Red Orcs had caused him immense losses in both manpower and material, yet he could do nothing about it. They always struck without warning and then vanished deep into the forests. Jacor could say that he hated them to the bone. Even so, under the gaze of everyone present, he had to present himself as generous and composed.

  Mor’got did not bother responding. He simply sat there in silence. Only after draining countless jugs of exquisite Meli did he finally calm down. He licked his lips and slowly pulled out a small square box from his body.

  “We came here with sincerity and a gift of immense value from the Legion.”

  His gaze swept across the surroundings before stopping at the position of the four great families of Greaton. As expected, they were present. He sneered. News of Hesmor’s consort selection had long caught the Legion’s attention. They were certain that Greaton would make a move. Hesmor had never truly concerned the Legion, unless it went so far as to annex Golden as well.

  Jacor stared suspiciously at the jade box. He had no idea what the Red Orcs were plotting. All he saw was the deathly aura filling their eyes. Wait. Deathly aura? There was something wrong with these Red Orcs.

  Jacor abruptly stood up and retreated backward, shouting an order as fear filled his gaze fixed on the jade box.

  “Guards. Bind these brutes immediately.”

  “Hahaha. Too late.”

  The soldiers standing beside Mor’got committed suicide in unison. They plunged their weapons deep into their own hearts and collapsed to their knees around him.

  The Red Orc opened the jade box. Inside was a heart beating violently, dark red in color, radiating a powerful energy.

  “By Enesur. That is living flesh. They intend to summon a high level Bloodhunt demon. Damn it.”

  Melin could no longer maintain his composure. He instantly recognized the origin of what Mor’got had taken out. The vast Will of an Emperor erupted, engulfing the entire palace as it pressed down toward Mor’got. But just as the Red Orc had said, everything was already too late.

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  Mor’got devoured the heart whole. Flesh like tentacles rapidly wrapped around him, forming a blood cocoon like an egg. Melin’s Will was violently repelled, while the blood from the Red Orc corpses quickly converged toward the cocoon. Within it, a grotesque being slowly rose, stretching out its hands to tear apart the cocoon of blood and flesh.

  It was a small demon, pale skinned and chubby. It had a pair of large, twisted horns and equally small bat wings attached to its back. The demon floated gently in midair as blood and flesh swirled around it, condensing into a dark crimson cloth that covered its sensitive area. At a glance, it looked no different from an adorable sleeping child.

  Melin trembled as he stared at the child floating before him. Though it appeared harmless, it was in truth a high level Bloodhunt demon, a Demi God class existence. Suddenly, the child opened its eyes. A Will many times stronger than Melin’s burst forth, crushing everyone to the ground. No one could resist such power.

  The child began to cry. Its wailing was shrill and horribly distorted, like laughter twisted into screams, echoing from the depths of darkness. It was hungry.

  The blood within everyone present began to surge violently, heating until it burned. The weaker ones clutched their heads and screamed as agonizing burns erupted from within their bodies, driving them to the brink of madness. The shrill cries of pain blended with the eerie wailing of the child, forming a symphony of hell.

  “It is Babi. We are truly fortunate. Among the nine high level demons, it is the most gentle one. It is only hungry. Everyone, endure it. The Orcs cannot sustain its summoning for long. It will return to hell.”

  Melin shouted to steady the crowd, more precisely to steady the powerful ones. Those whose bodies were too weak were certain to die. At the very least, one needed to reach the Battle King level to have any chance of survival. One by one, people collapsed as the blood within their bodies slithered out like pythons, crawling toward Babi.

  The grand hall was flooded with corpses and chaos. Those who remained alive were all members of major powers, yet even they were far from unscathed.

  The two other Emperors of the Divilight and StromBlade families finally revealed themselves to protect their bloodlines. The Divilight side was perhaps the safest place. A holy barrier enveloped them as the Divilight members prayed in unison. The holy power seemed to restrain Babi’s authority.

  On the StromBlade side stood a middle aged man clad in black armor, his gaze stern and unwavering. He created a Domain to protect those within. Unlike Melin, he appeared calm and unstrained.

  “Nor? I did not expect Hestor to send you,” Melin frowned.

  The old man had not anticipated such decisiveness from Hestor, dispatching one of the four great war generals of Greaton to protect the delegation. This confirmed how seriously Hestor regarded this event. Perhaps they had not come merely to observe. They truly intended to claim the position of Hesmor’s queen.

  “Wishful thinking. When it comes to magic alone, SpellSpeaker has never feared StromBlade.” Melin sneered. He did not know what Hesmor was plotting, but the champion of this competition would certainly belong to SpellSpeaker.

  The screams and wails gradually diminished. The number of dead continued to rise, and the pool of blood gathered before Babi grew larger and larger. Jacor, too, was reaching his limit. Blood began to seep from his eyes, little by little, being drawn out.

  The closer Jacor came to death, the clearer his mind became. He could not understand how the Red Orcs had entered so easily. It was as though some hidden plot was targeting him, someone who knew for certain that he would come and would try to stop the Red Orcs.

  “Who is it?” Jacor trembled. He was nearing his limit, his body unable to recover fast enough from the severe internal burns. Was he truly going to die here?

  “Glug glug glug.”

  Babi’s crying suddenly stopped. The hot pool of blood before it slowly flowed into its mouth like warm milk. Babi drank greedily, and when the last drop slid down its throat, it let out a loud belch. Satisfied, it fell back into a deep sleep, its body beginning to fade away.

  Jacor collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath. He had survived. Not only him, but also the four great families of Greaton, the delegations from Eversand and Break Island, and others were still alive. They were all gravely injured, but alive.

  Jacor began to analyze and piece everything together. How had the Red Orcs passed through the guard lines so easily? Why had he been the target? If he died, who would benefit the most?

  Jacor scanned the surroundings, searching for someone. Then, as if a realization struck him, his pupils shrank. Rage surged forth as the merchant clenched his fists, muttering under his breath.

  “Well done. Truly a brilliant scheme. Well done, Aster.”

  Aster had slipped away as soon as he heard from the guards that a Red Orc delegation had arrived. The disappearance of a key figure like him would surely arouse suspicion, but survival came first.

  “What a pity. It was Babi. Jacor is truly lucky,” Valen sighed. This plan had been orchestrated by her. The reason the Red Orcs could pass the guards so easily was simple. They carried Jacor’s invitation.

  The moment Valen recognized what was inside the blood cocoon, she immediately withdrew her Will. She was extremely cautious. To attract the attention of a Demi God class monster meant death.

  “Damn it. One out of nine. The odds were one in nine. If Gore had appeared, all of them would have died,” Aster growled.

  Babi was not the weakest among them, but as Melin had said, among the nine high level Bloodhunt demons, it was the most gentle. As long as no one provoked it, it would leave once its hunger was satisfied.

  “How did you manage to make contact with the Legion?” Aster asked Valen with curiosity.

  “This plan was originally the Legion’s. They simply do not want Greaton to cooperate with Hesmor. That would complicate the Marcasnis front greatly. I merely helped them make it a little easier,” Valen replied calmly.

  “No. I mean actual contact. A real meeting and exchange.”

  Valen stared at Aster in silence for a long moment. She naturally understood what he was implying.

  “You do not truly think the master would grant the power of the Page to you alone, do you?”

  Aster was startled. That was right. Exitus could easily cooperate with others through the Page. It seemed Exitus’s shadow network was far larger than he had imagined. There were even agents within the Legion. If that was the case, then there would certainly be agents within the Alliance as well.

  “There are countless people like you in this world, Aster. Weaklings who crave power and are willing to do anything for it.”

  Valen looked at Aster with open contempt. They were not comrades. In her eyes, Aster was nothing more than a pawn. Only because he still had value was he alive. Otherwise, he would already be a dried corpse lying dead in the grand hall.

  “You know where you stand, do you not, Aster?”

  “I understand, my lady,” Aster said in fear. He felt a crushing pressure bearing down on his body. Being intelligent, he knew he was being warned for asking too many questions. Aster abandoned all resistance, allowing the pressure to force him down to the ground.

  Valen nodded in satisfaction. His reaction was acceptable. He knew his mistake and corrected it.

  “Jacor surviving will be a major nuisance. But it does not matter. Let him live a little longer.”

  Valen laughed coldly. Luck would not save him a second time. Next time, Jacor would certainly die.