Chapter 41

In the midst of cherry blossoms dancing in the wind, Misaki opened the old diary and read the words of promise written there.

The half-orcs roared as they charged towards the injured dragon, using their broken bodies as the most effective weapons against the enemy. The dragon's scales, though tightly packed, could not provide full protection. Its mouth, eyes, and wing roots... the deafening explosions of flesh and blood continuously struck the dragon's vulnerable spots, causing it to howl in pain and roll uncontrollably.

The massive creature's rolling body stirred up clouds of dust.

The half-orcs' dismembered bodies were scattered by the shockwaves, their blood mixing with the dragon's, gradually forming small pools. The relentless suicide attacks never ceased. The half-orcs, based on their positions in the village, age, and family situations, automatically formed a front and rear line. Each time, only ten of them would charge forward, one row after another, in an orderly and dignified manner.

No one directed them; the village elders and the best hunters had already led the first wave of attacks.

And this group of half-orcs, who had no organization, discipline, or commander, did not need anyone to direct them. No one retreated, and no one rushed forward. When it was their turn, they would charge forward with all their might, striving for a chance to die together with the enemy.

If the half-orcs were sacrificing their lives to protect their families, then Sigma was the one who ignited the remains of these true warriors, using their complete annihilation to exchange for a glimmer of hope for victory.

In his previous life, he was born in a traditional and civilized country, with a deep-seated belief in the sanctity of burial. Watching the half-orcs, whom he initially despised but now admired, turn into blossoms of death in his hands, no one could understand the rage and sorrow in his heart. Normally, he wouldn't even touch an unfamiliar corpse, but now he was forced to use necromancy to obliterate a group of people he respected. He had to continue, willing to bear all the consequences. This time, he was willing to make an exception.

The more critical the moment, the less one should be swayed by emotions.

Sigma forced himself to remain calm, controlling the frequency of his spells like a precision instrument. He needed to reserve enough mana to cast Finger of Death at the most opportune moment.

That's right, not now, it's not the right time.

Sigma forcibly suppressed the urge to use Finger of Death. The dragon had not been weakened enough. Casting it now would only wound it, and he wanted to keep this damn bastard alive to honor those who had sacrificed themselves.

Only by killing it would the sacrifices of the elders and others have the greatest meaning.

Still, the half-orcs were filled with passion, charging towards death for the smallest of resolutions.

And Sigma remained as calm as an emotionless killing machine, methodically and steadily releasing the most stable and efficient corpse explosions according to his plan.

The dragon, surrounded by the bloodthirsty half-orcs, was repeatedly pinned down by the precise and vicious corpse explosions.

In the chaotic battlefield, no one noticed that the pool of blood, a mix of dragon and half-orc blood, seemed to be drawn by some mysterious force, forming a thin line that meandered in a certain direction. No one noticed that a unique spiritual resonance was slowly emerging among the half-orcs. They were moved by the sacrifices of their comrades and strengthened by their own fearlessness. Standing together to protect their most precious families, they challenged the seemingly invincible enemy at the cost of their lives.

Their souls resonated with this unique commonality, and in the midst of battle, as they charged towards death together, they felt each other's determination, shared their grief and anger, and their souls' strength grew explosively. It was as if a power was surging from deep within their bodies, their intense emotions causing their bodies to boil, their pure physical strength becoming active, boiling, roaring, and transforming, reaching the brink of eruption...

It was the turn of the younger generation.

Langguduo led the charge.

He seemed to transform into the most ferocious cheetah, leaping agilely onto the dragon's back. No longer silent and solemn, the deaths of his elders and comrades had made his hair stand on end, and he roared in a hoarse voice. His iron fists hammered wildly at the dragon's tough scales, roaring like a leopard, his beastly blood making him bloodthirsty and mad. They were half-orcs, a forbidden blend of human and beast blood, but they also inherited the unique traits of both. The intense emotions of humans and the killing instincts of beasts were gradually forged together in this life-and-death battle. The original intention of the temple was to create a group of bloodthirsty and loyal biological weapons with human intelligence and beastly instincts, but the half-orcs had already transcended the confines of biological weapons through their sacrifices. The soul of a race was fully blossoming in this moment.

Langguduo roared to the sky, and a shadow of a cheetah flashed behind him. At the same time, a colorless energy burst from his body, gathering like water on his iron fists. Raising his hands high, he struck down with a powerful blow, actually making the dragon stagger!

It was Aura! The most primitive Aura!

Sigma's eyes widened as he watched the tragically roaring Langguduo, almost shedding tears.

It was Aura.

In the barbaric age of Noren, when magic and other arts had not yet been mastered by humans, the vast land was fraught with danger, and life for the tribes was very difficult. The elves drew power from the spirits of nature, the dwarves from the earth and lava, the orcs from the totems of mountains and rivers, and the dragons from their memories and heritage. But humans had nothing.

At that time, humans honed their bodies and squeezed out every last bit of dormant potential, channeling their intense emotions into a physical form, bursting with the magical power known as Aura. Whether it was belief, justice, kindness, protection, sacrifice, or anger, despair, madness, brutality, and cruelty, as long as the will was strong enough, Aura would respond, granting the power to fulfill one's beliefs. Without bloodline inheritance or innate talent, humans relied on the complex but intense emotions that gave rise to Aura to gradually stand firm in the perilous barbaric age and establish the first nations.

Now, the cultivation of Aura has gradually become systematized, from the Iron Black level of body training, the Bronze level of potential development, the Silver level of Aura awakening, the Gold level of attributing Aura, the Holy Domain level of externalizing Aura, to the Legendary level of materializing Aura... The six stages of Aura cultivation, detailed by the Northern Sword God, have gradually formed a standardized teaching system, and the training of warriors has become systematic. Sigma originally thought that the scenes of ancient sages awakening Aura in the midst of slaughter and protection had become a thing of the past, but in this small valley, from the protective determination of a group of forbidden hybrid lives, he witnessed the most stunning scene of Aura blossoming due to intense protective will, without a standardized cultivation system.

A second half-orc roared to the sky, a colorful tiger catalyzing a violent red Aura, the beastly nature and intense soul evolving into a unique Beast Aura for the half-orcs.

The third, the fourth.

The spirits of the half-orcs resonated strongly, sharing their determination and emotions. Under this spiritual atmosphere, their souls gradually connected.

The fifth, the sixth.

The half-orcs roared to the sky, weak but beautiful Auras blooming one after another.

All intense emotions, along with the Beast Aura, gathered together, calling out continuously. Sigma stopped casting corpse explosions and began to accumulate mana again, witnessing this stunning moment.

A smile appeared on his lips because he sensed the awakening of a powerful soul.

It's a bit late, but create an opportunity for me.

Sure, leave it to me.

The silent exchange took only an instant. In the direction of the village, a dragon's shadow roared into the sky, the terrifying shockwave overturning all the surrounding houses. Amidst the dust, a man with dragon wings slowly walked out.

He looked at the ravaged valley, at the scene of blood flowing like a river, and suddenly let out a tragic dragon roar.

The half-orcs wept in the wind, their racial will forcing them to awaken, breaking out of their shells.

He looked at the injured and disheveled dragon, spreading his wings, his golden eyes revealing a cold and lethal killing intent.

Next, it was the Dragon War.

***

PS: Yes, please give me a recommendation.