Ember Dragon Chapter 581: The Old Shaman’s Revenge

Chapter 581: Chapter 581: The Old Shaman’s Revenge

Chapter 581: The Old Shaman’s Revenge

"Filthy, foolhardy orcs!

Who gave you the courage and confidence—to challenge a Gold Dragon!"

Under countless gazes, Titus spread his vast, undulating wings that extended to the tip of his tail. From his massive draconic body, an unimaginable surge of magical power erupted.

In an instant, a storm surged, and a tremendous tide of spell energy swept out.

The Gold Dragon raised a massive claw, and the sky was torn apart by raging tongues of flame. Several meteors burst forth, streaking across the sky toward the direction of the Blood Spear.

The elven mage Seymour looked up, the firelight reflected in his silver-white eyes. He muttered, "By Mystra, the level of this spell, this casting speed...

A Legendary Caster—this Gold Dragon is a Legendary Caster!"

This was Feiansuo Continent, not the Northern Lands. Here, no one deliberately suppresses knowledge of magic. Even high-circle spells were not uncommon in this land.

Many elven and dwarven casters on the scene even recognized the spell the Gold Dragon was casting at a glance.

It was the renowned Ninth-Circle spell: [Meteor Swarm].

The blazing fire meteors tore through the air, screeching violently as their terrifying speed intensified and they collided directly with the Blood Spear.

"Boom!"

A massive explosion erupted in the sky, fire and smoke flashing everywhere. The spreading shockwave radiated for kilometers, and everyone present felt a wave of scorching heat rush at them.

But just then—

"Whoosh!"

The whistling of wind-breaking rang out again. The sharp Blood Spear tore through the smoke with unstoppable momentum, charging forward like a master assassin, catching everyone off guard.

But Cassius had long prepared to endure the follow-up attack. He knew that even a Ninth-Circle spell couldn’t completely block a Blood Spear blessed by Gruumsh—it could only weaken it slightly.

The Gold Dragon opened its maw again, unleashing a thunderous roar.

Sparks flew, and the air twisted under the extreme heat. A scorching hurricane swept through.

Several vortexes of surging flames appeared before the Gold Dragon, blocking the Blood Spear’s inevitable path. They interlinked, gradually forming a massive curtain of fire.

That was a Seventh-Circle spell: [Flame Storm].

More explosions followed in quick succession, sparks flying and thick smoke billowing through the sky. The Blood Spear finally pierced through the surging flames.

At this point, its momentum was no longer unstoppable. It had significantly weakened.

Yet still, the divine glow of Gruumsh’s power clung to its sharp tip, piercing through everything in its path.

The Gold Dragon watched the approaching Blood Spear, grinned, and raised its massive claw. A subtle green ray shot from its claw tip.

Eighth-Circle spell: [Disjunction].

The green ray touched the spear, instantly dissolving the blood glow on its surface. Immediately, cracks appeared on the ebony shaft.

"Crack."

With a crisp sound, the overburdened Blood Spear suddenly dimmed and shattered.

Seymour gazed up at the scattering fragments, jaw dropped, and said incredulously, "Greater Dispel? No, this seems like some more ancient, superior form of magic—is it Draconic Magic? To cast it at such speed and with such effect as Greater Dispel... Truly a Legendary Caster!"

"Dawn Dragon!"

"These orcs cannot defeat Lord Titus!"

On the city wall, Seymour was awestruck. The dwarves and elves cheered fervently. On the battlefield’s other end, the orcs’ eyes were filled with fear, and Batu’s face turned ashen.

Gritting his teeth, he looked even more terrible: "This Gold Dragon actually possesses such casting ability? This is no coincidence!

It’s Bahamut. He must’ve been sent by the Platinum Dragon King! The gods of Mount Celestia likely already know our plan!

If the metallic dragon reinforcements arrive too, even my orc army won’t be able to take Avenderdan."

Batu’s expression changed drastically, his face grave: "We can’t wait any longer!"

The old shaman approached him, coughing softly, then rasped, "Lord Batu, I... can hold off the Gold Dragon."

Batu raised an eyebrow, making no effort to hide the disdain in his eyes: "You?"

He did respect the old shaman, reputed to be over two hundred years old, but only because he knew much of orc history and rites and could commune with the Father God.

Without his shamanic status, this crippled old orc would’ve long been exiled from the tribe, left to be scavenged by vultures of the steppe.

This was the orc’s law of survival: the strong gain everything, the weak lose everything—including life. The disabled, elderly, and cowardly were mercilessly cast out—even their god Gruumsh approved.

The elderly, faltering orc shaman before him clearly couldn’t defeat a mighty Gold Dragon.

Had he gone senile?

The old shaman ignored Batu’s scornful gaze, simply chuckled lightly: "Lord Batu, you know I have lived two hundred years.

In those two centuries, I have watched many tribes of the Ugo Grasslands wage bloody war over pitiful resources. Hunting grounds, streams, even a worthless sheep—these have been cause enough for clans to bathe each other in blood.

Heh, my son was killed by one such clan—just for poaching a rabbit. Years later, I personally killed that clan’s chieftain and slaughtered his kin, but I felt no hatred, no vengeance fulfilled.

It was just another day in orc society, like eagles hunting rabbits or wolves chasing goats.

As I looked at my blood-stained hands and gazed at the stars, I couldn’t help but wonder—why?

Why are such vast numbers of orcs fated to own only barren land? Why must hundreds of thousands of us kill each other for scraps of resource?"

He turned to gaze at the majestic Avenderdan in the distance, extending a trembling finger: "While the dwarves, humans, and elves of the south enjoy fertile land in peace—why?"

Finally, the old shaman turned back and stared at Batu Skullcrusher. In his usually lifeless, clouded eyes, a rare glint of orcish greed and savagery appeared.

For a moment, Batu was stunned. He seemed to see a young, ambitious orc chieftain standing before him—like himself.

The old shaman’s voice grew more impassioned: "So I pursued the ruins of the ancient Orc Empire. I discovered that all this was a test from our great Father God Gruumsh.

The scarce resources, the harsh environment, the ferocious beasts—these were to make our orc race stronger, tougher, to seize what should be ours from other races.

But I was already too old then, too old to lift a spear. Only the strongest can rise from the bloodshed and lead orcs to conquer the world—that is—"

His trembling finger pointed straight at Batu Skullcrusher.

"You."

The old shaman continued: "My old life is of little worth. To burn my last spark of usefulness—that is my wish.

And you, Lord Batu, your body still surges with Gruumsh’s blood. You will lead orcs to a new future."

Batu Skullcrusher was both shocked and confused—shocked by the shaman’s hidden past, and puzzled by his words of "last spark."

But the old shaman merely chuckled darkly—and reached into his chest, pulling out his still-beating, bloody heart.

"I will stall the Gold Dragon. Lord Batu, go! Lead the orcs to seize Avenderdan and fulfill our Father God’s will.

Conquer the land that is rightfully ours—this is true vengeance!"

The heart still throbbed in his hand. Blood poured from his chest, rising into the sky and forming a single eye in the heavens.

Batu raised his blood-colored battle axe and looked at the massive eye symbol above. With a hoarse voice, he roared: "Attack!

Be it the lowly dwarves, those fragile pointy ears, or the golden-scaled lizard in the sky—none can stop the orcs’ conquest!

Attack! We orcs have no way back!"

"Oooooh—"

The horn made of thighbone blew again. Its long sound echoed across the battlefield. Under the call of the eye symbol, the orc onslaught intensified.

"The great Father God grants us power!"

"Every orc is entitled to pursue glory and blood—this is our Father God’s highest gift!"

Under the blood barrier created by shamans, the orc army advanced steadily through elven and dwarven bombardments, reaching Avenderdan’s walls.

Yet even divine magic had limits. A moment’s lapse would see their barriers destroyed by light arrows, spells, and dwarven explosive barrels—none behind them would survive.

But even if the front ranks were annihilated, those behind would rush forward, stepping over their warm, bleeding comrades without pause.

"Death is not the end!"

"The Father God watches us from Nishak’s realm!"

Half-orc giants and ogres kept battering Avenderdan’s heavy gates, enduring a hail of arrows, spears, and flame spells from the walls.

Should they break through and unleash hundreds of thousands of orcs into Avenderdan, the consequences would be unthinkable.

Edd looked grim. Gazing at the orcs crowding below and the eye symbol in the sky, he said, "What is that? But there’s no time to worry. The half-orc giants and ogres are smashing the gate. The dwarves are starting to falter."

Edd drew the bow from his back and effortlessly shot through a half-orc giant’s skull.

The giant collapsed, and the Dwarf King immediately shouted: "Lord Titus!"

A scorching gale swept across. The golden dragon appeared once more in the sky, casting a giant shadow, causing countless orcs to look up in terror.

"Orcs, your endless greed disgusts me! Avenderdan will never be your domain. The Feiansuo Continent shall be ruled by kind and orderly races. I shall bring you—fire and death!"

"Boom—"

The Gold Dragon soared above the walls, unleashing torrents of blazing breath. In an instant, hundreds of orcs were engulfed.

Within moments, the orcs below were reduced to charred flesh, emitting thick gray smoke.

Orc arrows and spears were useless against the enormous Gold Dragon, while its scorching breath brought certain death.

The dragon beat its wings, stirring searing winds as it climbed higher, preparing to dive.

But just then, a roar came from afar.

"Gold Dragon—"

A massive, blurry orcish giant covered in rotting green flesh appeared in the sky.

Countless dead orcs’ souls and bodies were trapped within, forming this grotesque mass.

The Spirit of the Orcs.

An ancient secret art, using the power of the orc death god Idros, to gather fallen warriors into a fearsome killing monster.

Atop the Spirit of the Orcs’ head sat the old shaman, curled up in this stitched body, eyes red with frenzied fervor.

"Gold Dragon, after millennia of barrenness and blood, the orcs deserve the world!

We have passed the Father God’s test—none can stop the orcs’ glorious conquest!"

The rotting orc rose with black smoke, slowly flying into the air, confronting the Gold Dragon from afar.

Cassius declared righteously: "Orcs, this stitched mass of broken souls—this is your trump card? Disgusting, hideous thing!"

Flames surged, but the massive decaying orc raised a pale hand, spraying toxic fog that shrouded the sky and briefly blocked the dreadful breath.

Then, the Spirit of the Orcs howled skyward and charged toward the distant dragon: "I am the incarnation of countless orcs’ will over millennia!"

"Awooo—"

Terrible howls and roars echoed from the dark mist, mixed with thunderous booms.

The dwarves, elves, and orcs on the ground could only see massive shadows wrestling and twisting in the sky.

Truly, this monster of souls and corpses was difficult to deal with. But Cassius deliberately tangled with it to create the illusion of a life-or-death struggle.

After all, he didn’t know what Gruumsh’s backup plan was. If he acted rashly and drew a god’s gaze, he might lose his dragon-blood avatar—an unacceptable loss.

And on the ground, without the threat of the Gold Dragon, the orc assault grew fiercer. They threw themselves at the walls, wave after wave.

At King Edd’s command, elite dwarven and elven warriors fought back with all their might. Hammers and blades danced, and orc blood painted the walls.

Just then, the ground trembled again. Land Wyverns galloped over the plains, and the chieftain of the Red-Fang Tribe—Batu Skullcrusher—charged with his battle axe, roaring:

"Crush these weak dwarves and elves! Seize their cities! Plunder everything! Take revenge!"