Ashen Dragon

"Boom!"

A shell exploded amidst the crowd, sending several Orcs flying, but Giant Mountain endured it with his robust physique and heavy armor.

Shattered shrapnel stabbed into his body, leaving gruesome wounds, yet those wounds visibly healed, with the shrapnel embedding itself into his flesh as scales on his surface.

"Roar—Pointless, Imperial People! You cannot kill me, you only make me stronger!" Giant Mountain swung his Warhammer and let out an enraged roar, stomping on the rolling head of an Orc in front of him without a second thought.

"Giant Mountain!"

"Ahead lies the Imperial People's fortress! Crush them!"

"Rat-a-tat-tat-tat—"

From the bunker windows, rows of gun barrels erupted in fierce flashes of light as soldiers inside uninterruptedly gunned down the incoming Orcs, until the barrels themselves became red-hot.

Yet another wave of Orcs collapsed in succession, their corpses piling into mounds, but the machine guns were no match for the onslaught of Orcs swarming forward. Fearless and relentless, they pressed forth with only the unwavering belief: "I must fight!"

At this moment, Giant Mountain, at the forefront, was within two hundred meters of the bunker. His robust physique and incredible regenerative ability rendered bullets as ineffective as food and drink, causing significant headaches for the Imperial Soldiers.

With the distance between the sides narrowing so much, artillery support could no longer be deployed. The soldiers had to engage in brutal hand-to-hand combat, relying on raw strength to repel the Orcs.

In the eyes of the Imperial Soldiers, these Orcs were crude, weak, and foolish—the soldiers inside the bunkers collectively had already killed more than double the number of Orcs individually.

But the problem was—their numbers were overwhelming, endless. Just among those charging alongside Giant Mountain, there were tens of thousands, a dense green tide threatening to engulf the entire battlefield.

How could these creatures reproduce so quickly?

The thought lingered in the minds of every Imperial Soldier, who also cursed the ancestors of these Orcs in the crudest Empire slang they could muster—only to realize that technically, these green-skin Orcs didn't have ancestors.

The Ogre hoisted a rocket launcher, aiming at Giant Mountain in the distance, and spat angrily: "You damned, disgusting green-skin! You sewer maggot, wall-crack cockroach, I'll roast you into barbecue!"

"Whoosh—"

Accompanied by a trail of white smoke, a rocket shot out, zooming directly toward the Orc Boss.

But Giant Mountain didn't panic. He briefly scanned his surroundings, unable to find a suitable object, then casually grabbed an ordinary Orc, hurling it with tremendous force.

"Aaaagh—"

As the Orc screamed, the rocket exploded in midair, and the unfortunate Orc tragically disintegrated, its blood mist scattering while severed body parts dispersed like a grotesque firework.

Soon after, another rocket approached from afar. Giant Mountain, showing little concern, grabbed yet another unlucky Orc, using it again as a makeshift weapon, prompting another resounding explosion.

After all, finding a usable Orc was much easier than hunting down a loose rock—the Orcs were endless, everywhere, whereas rocks were not.

The Ogre with the rocket launcher stood stunned, gaping at the sight, before angrily spitting: "What the hell? That works too?"

Giant Mountain also eyed the aerial explosions, muttering curses: "Damn these Imperial People! Hey, you! You were a good Orc! I'll avenge you!"

He raised his arms and bellowed: "Brothers, charge with me and avenge our fallen comrades!! Waaaagh!"

"The boss is right!"

"For revenge!"

The Orcs roared with fury, intensifying their charge, though those originally clustered near Giant Mountain prudently slid back, wary of being suddenly grabbed and repurposed as weapons.

To the Imperial officers and soldiers, the Orcs' offensive was chaotic, devoid of tactics, resembling a swarm of brainless locusts.

But they couldn't compete with the Orcs' sheer numbers, who willingly sacrificed lives to plug these gaps. Coordination, cover—none of it mattered!

Finally, at the cost of tens of thousands of deaths and drenching the battlefield in blood, the Orcs neared the bunker, preparing to launch a counterattack against the Imperial People.

At this point, the distance between the sides was no more than a hundred meters.

Amid the roaring gunfire, Giant Mountain advanced unyieldingly with his Warhammer as his shield, smugly yelling: "Imperial People, you are afraid now! You fear us closing in!"

Under his command, the Orcs radiated an increasingly potent Force Field, enveloping the Imperial defense line.

Not only did bullets from machine guns frequently veer unnaturally off course, but several machine guns within the bunker consecutively failed and ceased operation.

"Damn it, what's wrong with these machine guns?"

"The fuel system, ignition system—no issues at all. None of the components are worn either; these are newly delivered heavy machine guns from the factory."

"By Cassius' name… this defies logic!"

The engineers frantically dismantled and inspected the firearms, scrutinizing the fuel pump, ignition modules, and other systems, but found no internal malfunctions within the weapons.

This was the Orcs' innate strength.

—They were born War Machines, forged through the union of Gush and The Abyss. These green-skin Orcs could instantly adapt to any battlefield, becoming the favored children of blood and fire.

"Boom!"

As the Orcs charged forward, dozens of buried mines along the defense line were triggered consecutively, though only half detonated properly. Shards of stone and dirt erupted skyward, while fragments of Orc flesh and blood rained into the Imperial trenches.