The war cries coming from the city’s walls broke the surviving Orcs from their daze.

Lost as to what to do and receiving no commands, the remaining orcs could only stand there, trembling in fear.

A few cowards were already stepping back, wanting to flee.

Sokram immediately cut Savannah's mana supply, no longer needing to keep the shield up with the trebuchets destroyed.

As soon as his mana stopped flowing through her,

Savannah’s body went limp as she crumpled to the snow covering the Arch Mage’s Tower’s roof with a muffled thud, breath mist scattering in the cold air.

She had fallen into a deep, coma-like slumber.

Cecille looked at the elven girl, then in the direction of the battle, and couldn’t help muttering, “I wish I had met that boy before marrying Lycius, sigh…”

Sokram looked around the destruction and the numerous dismembered corpses lying around.

The nine remaining Mud Brothers, after regaining their footing, once again looked at him warily, fearfully even.

Even with the mental toll reduced, Sokram’s body began to complain.

A searing fire coursed through his veins, making his bones feel brittle and his muscles throb with a deep, crushing ache that radiated to every joint. He could feel the fine tremors that ran through his nerves, the strain of using power far beyond his body’s limits.

He gritted his teeth, enduring the pain as he took another two Flawless Chaos Cores from his glove, replacing the ones that had disintegrated after his last attack.

Miralyn looked at him in shock, remembering where those Cores came from, but even more surprised that she had never seen a Runic spell like the one he was using.

She wondered if this was something he had come up with after a whisp of inspiration during this crisis or if it was something premeditated.

Either way, she was impressed and incredibly worried.

A powerful spell like that would have its costs, costs that could be very dire.

The rest of his family also shared her worries.

They also felt ashamed of themselves, even Margiory and Brunhild, who, among their family, were the ones who took Chaos Energy Cultivation with the most seriousness.

The others, especially Kasine and Leona, were impressed by the destructive power of the Killing Blade Technique when truly used with Magi.

Kasine could tell that Sokram's power had been at the level of a Tier 10 Perfect Existence.

But after the last attack, his energy levels dropped dramatically.

Even so, it was still a few Tiers above her own.

The range and destruction of his attack surprised even Sokram.

Even if he was using the absorbed energy from the wildfire, his Elemental Control, Manipulation, and Assimilation, along with Magi and Aura to empower the technique, it was an astonishing result for his current level.

But he also realized that the Chaos Energy in the Exalted-level Core that the other cores were orbiting was lessened by a tenth, weakening the spell exponentially.

Nulk, the Shaman, was the first of the Orcs to recover from the shock.

He struggled to accept the absurd situation he had gotten into by following the Frostaxe King's will.

He looked down at his staff, a gnarled length of petrified wood with an obsidian tip, and saw the jagged, irreparable cut on its handle.

He could no longer feel any mana coursing through it.

His favorite staff had become a useless piece of wood.

The only thing he could think of was retreat.

Enraged, he broke the defective staff in half and threw it away, before summoning a new, weaker one.

Then, Nulk shouted to the surviving orcs, “Retreat! We’ll live to fight another day!”

Nulk’s voice was a desperate, hoarse cry, but Sokram’s voice muffled it. His boyish voice came thundering, a crackle of raw power and wrath that vibrated through the air itself as he vanished in another flash of dark lightning, “Who said you could leave? You came as you wished, but none of you is leaving this place alive!”

Sokram, traveling with his lightning, came from above, reappearing behind the enemy lines.

“Killing Blade Art – Swift Wind: Annihilation Blades of Destruction!”

Sokram swung his blade fifteen times in a couple of seconds.

Each swing of his blade was a blur of motion, creating razor-thin arcs of compressed wind that shot forward with a deadly intent.

They sliced through the air with a sound like tearing silk, cleaving through the lesser orcs in their path with surgical precision.

The arcs of wind tore through their ranks once more.

The archers, mages, acolytes, shaman apprentices, and the remaining orcs, none but the Exalted ones, escaped.

Leaving behind a drifting haze of severed snow, blood mist, and shredded corpses.

Sokram was merciless.

In an instant, the only enemies remaining were nine of the Ten Mud Brothers.

Another Flawless orb cracked and turned into ashes, and Sokram quickly replaced it.

He gasped for air, each breath a painful, ragged rasp.

A pounding hammer inside his skull threatened to split it open, and the crushing pain in his limbs made his knees feel weak, threatening to buckle.

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His body was far from being capable of withstanding that level of power; he knew he couldn’t dally.

The Shaman saw that Sokram was tired and seized his chance to act, but once he looked around for his son, Madulk, he saw his body cut to pieces in the sea of corpses.

“Madulk! Nooo! My son! You dammed dragon, I swear I won’t leave this land until I see you dead!!”

Seeing that the fight would finish among the powerhouses, the other orcs also moved to aid Nulk.

Kasine was quickly surrounded by the other three orcs from before.

The ninth brother attacked Miralyn, and the sixth went back to fight Lazar.

Margiory ordered Alain to go aid Sokram, but he could only apologize, as Sokram’s orders still held power over him.

Nulk waved his staff and raised his hand toward Sokram.

Seeing him move, Sokram didn’t stay idle either, and using One Step, One Stride, he shortened the distance between them in an instant.

Just as Sokram swung his katana, aiming to cleave the Shaman from shoulder to hip.

He sensed the mana beneath him bend and shift like a sleeping serpent. As he rolled to the right, thick, gnarled vines erupted from the ground with a wet, tearing sound, flinging clods of damp soil into the air as their thorns scraped against each other like rasping metal, their wicked thorns glistening like hungry teeth.

“Murdering Vines! Seek and Destroy my enemy!” Nulk shouted more than chanted, but his rage and desire to kill Sokram fed his focus and empowered his spell.

Sokram flashed away using One Step, appearing a few meters away from the Shaman, aiming to escape the vines that writhed like tentacles, seeking to entrap and kill him.

While he was distracted by the vines, the Fifth and Seventh brothers tried to ambush him.

Sokram had just rolled away from another charging vine when he sensed them approaching.

Instead of attacking him, they aimed for the Cores, swinging their weapons at two of them with all their might.

Sokram dodged another incoming vine and had no time to protect the Cores.

Nulk thought Sokram would despair now that the source of his power was about to be destroyed.

But his eyes widened in panic, and his blood turned to ice when his gaze met Sokram’s.

The young dragon’s face split into a grin, a predatory baring of teeth, a look that promised a cruel, inevitable death to his attackers.

He wanted to warn his brothers, but it was already too late.

The moment the orcs' weapons made contact, the cores didn't just explode; they detonated in twin bursts of concentrated energy.

A blinding, searing white light shot out as bolts of lightning, appearing more like focused laser beams, ripped through the air and into the orcs' chests.

When the two Exalted orcs fell to the ground, their upper chest and lower waist were intact, but the rest in between was disintegrated.

“Brothers!!” The Sixth of the orc brothers, who was now facing Lazar, shouted and tried to rush toward Sokram, but this time it was Lazar who didn’t let him go.

With his spear, Lazar used any chance and opening to stab the orc.

The Ninth was occupied with Miralyn, while Kasine continued her bout with the second, third, and tenth of the Mud Brothers.

Sokram alone took out three Exalted orcs, but the strength of his Runic Body Spell was dwindling faster than he liked, and the Shaman saw that as an opportunity.

Yet his heart froze when Sokram drew out another two cores from his glove.

The Eighth brother shouted, enraged as he rushed to stand by his elder brother's side, “How many of these cores does that fucking lizard have?”

“These must be the last ones. Besides, the spell this lizard is using is taking its toll on his body. I don’t think he can use it for much longer.”

Yet, Nulk’s answer lacked confidence, because despite Sokram’s tired appearance, he couldn’t know that for sure.

He could only hope that the kid in front of him didn’t create some infinite power boost spell.

“Scared, little blue bitches?” Sokram knew his power had weakened from the pinnacle of the Semi-Perfect level to the first tier.

Right now, he was as strong as Kasine.

The others around him could sense it too, so he defaulted to the basics once more.

‘After diminishing their numbers, taunt, mock, torture their minds, cause them fear.’

Leona’s voice resounded in his mind as it always did during his time of crisis.

But this time it wasn’t the Leona of this timeline, standing by the city gates.

It was the one he lost in his previous timeline.

‘Never again!’

Sokram shouted to himself in his mind after hearing his beloved Master’s voice.

Strengthening his resolve, Sokram tightened his grip on his sword handle, assumed an offensive stance, and dashed toward the two orcs.

“…Swift Wind: Two Steps.”

Sokram, who had decided not to hold back any longer, one after the other, began using the Killing Blade Art techniques he had created, improved, and mastered in his past life.

Techniques that could be used under Nhiria’s watchful gaze and would be effective no matter the user’s Level of Existence.

In the first step of his Two Steps, Sokram appeared beside the Shaman, his katana once again aimed to strike, the arc of its edge promising to split him in half.

But the Eighth brother was expecting this.

And so was the Shaman, who blinked away.

Replacing him was his spell “Thorny Spears!”

If it were only the usual One Step, Sokram would be forced to fall back where the eight brothers' great axe was already swinging to kill him, but it wasn’t.

Sokram disappeared right in the moment the great axe was about to reach him, and the axe hit nothing, getting entangled with thorny vine spikes.

The Eighth brother rushed to free his weapon as the dreadful feeling of death's cold touch, a knot of pure dread, tightened in his gut.

It was a premonition, a cold certainty that told him his life was about to end.

But his body, entangled and helpless, could do nothing to escape.

Sokram appeared right behind him, swinging his blade, aiming for his neck.

“Shring!”

Another orc head was sent flying away, just like that.

This time didn’t even cost an orb.

Sokram was forced to stop chasing the Shaman as the throbbing in his head had become too much to bear.

He, struggling to breathe, knelt using his sword as support while pressing a hand to his left temple, casting a healing spell straight into his brain.

Seeing the Eighth brother’s head rolling to the ground, Visumk’s eyes widened in shock, “Brother!!! NOO!!”

Visumk, the second brother, who was fighting Kasine with his warhammer in hand, rushed toward the kneeling Sokram.

Milank and Salumb blocked Kasine from getting in his way, but the Milank knew they would not last long against her without Visumk’s support.

Looking at his other two brothers, he saw the Ninth in a death match, slowly but surely being overpowered by Miralyn’s dual-wielding and overwhelming force.

While the sixth was trying to survive against Lazar’s furious spear.

Their army was utterly annihilated, while the surviving orcs were either agonizing or were crippled.

This was a bitter defeat.

Not just a defeat, it was utter humiliation.

The strongest orc army in Frostaxe was defeated by a dragon too young to be even counted as a threat.

Yet, Sokram was a nightmare.

While Salumb defended against Kasine’s flurry of attacks, struggling against her superior strength, Milank’s eyes darted left and right, losing the will to fight with each breath, and trying to figure out an escape route.

Then a loud “Clang!” reached his ears, and he saw his nephew's great axe flying toward him with his arm still holding it.

“Salumb! No!”

Milank gritted his teeth, ashamed of his cowardice, which cost his nephew not only his arm but his life.

Because, following the cutting of Milank’s weapon arm, Kasine slashed the orc in half.

Visumk, who had just reached Sokram, didn’t dare to take his eyes from him.

Even though he heard his nephew being killed by the same woman who killed his father, he couldn’t let the opportunity to crush an enemy that would grow to become the worst threat the Northern Continent had ever seen slip away.

Besides, who else would support Nulk while he faced Sokram?

He couldn’t let Sokram kill Nulk.

Without their Shaman and First brother, their legacy would be forever lost.

Without Nulk, the Mud brothers of the Blue Orc Tribe of Frostaxe would cease to exist.

But just as Visumk raised his hammer to crush Sokram, he heard Nulk’s voice filled with desperation and grief.

“Brother, it’s a trap!”

Visumk tried to step away from Sokram as fast as he could.

He did it, just in time to dodge the bolt of dark lightning that shot from the ground.

Yet, the lightning bolt still left a deep gash on his chest and collarbone.

‘He was aiming for my heart?!’ Visumk realized in shock.

Once his gaze met Sokram’s, his heart froze.

The most bone-chilling and menacing grin he had ever seen was spread across the young dragon’s face.

“Shit, I missed, haha.”

Sokram’s lament resounded as he vanished.

Visumk dashed backward using all his strength in a simple dash, trying to escape whatever the next attack could be, no longer thinking straight and overtaken by fear.

In the momentum of his backwards dash, he passed right beside Kasine.

Just in time to see her blade flash once, spraying a crimson arc across the snow.

Steam hissed where the blood struck the ice as Milank’s head flew, rolling in the air and hitting the snowy ground with a muffled thud.