novel bin Chapter 270 Its name is Tank!
Chapter 270 Its name is Tank!
If they chase after them, there's a high chance the two of them won't be able to stop the demon leader who's determined to escape.
Usok's life could be in danger at any moment.
If discovered by any sixth-tier demon in the rout of the demon army, the consequences would be unimaginable.
A seventh-tier expert is the pillar of the tribe; the loss of any one of them would be an unbearable blow.
Warwick froze in mid-air.
"Ho... Roar..."
Ursok let out another suppressed roar of pain, unable to hold on any longer, and his body plummeted straight to the ground.
During the landing, his muscles convulsed uncontrollably, and blood seeped from his clenched teeth.
"Damn it!"
Warwick let out a defiant roar as he looked up at the sky.
Talos swooped down and scooped up Ursok's massive body.
Warwick glanced one last time in the direction where the demon leader had disappeared, and squeezed out two words through gritted teeth.
"Let's go back!"
……
When the three returned to the tribal valley, the battle had already come to an end in a magical scene.
The last demon unit that failed to retreat in time was torn to pieces by the enraged orcs.
The shouts, screams, and explosions that had continued for half the night finally stopped.
Quiet returns, enveloping the earth.
The surviving orcs stood in their homeland, littered with wreckage, inhaling the pungent stench of gunpowder, ozone, and blood that filled the air.
Only at this moment did they realize that the war was finally over.
The warriors returning from their expedition and their surviving people looked at each other.
"Awooo—!!!"
Someone let out an uncontrollable roar.
The next second, deafening cheers and wailing echoed throughout the valley.
Countless orcs laid down their weapons and rushed to their loved ones, embracing them tightly and weeping loudly.
The old patriarch, carrying a giant axe, walked through the cheering crowd and approached Warwick step by step.
His steps were slow and heavy.
He looked at Warwick, his lips moving, but no sound came out.
Warwick strode forward and helped the swaying old patriarch to his feet.
"Father, I'm late."
His voice was hoarse, choked with uncontrollable sobs.
The old patriarch stretched out his withered, trembling hand and patted Warwick heavily on the shoulder, then stroked his scarred face.
He opened his mouth, a thousand words welling up, but in the end, they all boiled down to four words.
"...It's good that you're back."
As soon as he finished speaking, this old werewolf, who had never shed a tear in his life, could no longer control himself and hugged Worick tightly, his aged body trembling violently.
Warwick hugged him back, feeling his father's thin, bony back, his eyes reddening.
The surrounding ecstasy and howling gradually subsided, leaving only the nauseating smell of blood in the air.
The old patriarch slowly released his embrace. His cloudy but still sharp eyes swept over the ravaged homeland, his voice hoarse.
"Fellow tribesmen, get moving! Now is not the time to let our guard down!"
"Treat the wounded, count the casualties, and properly collect the remains of the fallen tribesmen!"
"They...are all heroes of the tribe!"
A somber atmosphere once again permeated the air.
But unlike the despair before, a flame was burning in the heart of every orc at this moment.
A spark of hope.
It was all because of those people who returned from their expedition, and the "divine punishment"-like weapons they brought back!
The old chieftain turned around and strode towards Ursok, who was being helped up by several members of his tribe.
As the berserk state subsided, the seventh-tier bear-man warrior's muscles convulsed uncontrollably, cold sweat soaked his fur, and a suppressed, painful roar escaped his throat.
The old patriarch carefully took out a crystal bottle from his bosom.
Inside the bottle was a liquid that emitted a soft glow.
The fountain of life.
This is a precious item that the tribe obtained in exchange for the Elven race.
He uncorked the bottle, and a refreshing, life-giving aroma wafted out.
The old patriarch brought the bottle opening to Ursok's lips, tilting his wrist slightly.
The spring water flowed out slowly.
He had just fed the baby about half when his wrist suddenly jerked, and he quickly removed the bottle.
He glanced at the remaining liquid in the bottle, quickly tightened the stopper, carefully wiped the bottle with a clean piece of animal hide, and then reluctantly tucked it back into the deepest part of his bosom.
The price of the Life Spring Water is too high.
Don't be fooled by the fact that the elves sell the Fountain of Life to the Great Xia for only 1000 gold coins a bottle; that's the cost price!
Its market price is around 5,000 gold coins. One sip of half a bottle costs 2,500 gold coins.
This money is enough to feed hundreds of cubs in the tribe for a month.
too expensive.
We must use it sparingly.
Nourished by the spring of life, Ursok's violent spasms gradually subsided, his painful roars turned into steady breathing, and he fell into a deep sleep.
Originally it would have taken a month to recover, but with the life-giving spring water, it only took a few days to get through the period of weakness.
"It's nothing, you just need to rest for a few days."
The old patriarch gently patted the sleeping Ursok, and his expression softened a little.
Watching Ursok being led away to rest by his people, he turned to Warwick, his eyes turning cold once more.
"Where is that demon leader?"
Warwick shook his head, his voice filled with barely suppressed killing intent.
"We couldn't catch it; it got away."
"Ugh!"
The old patriarch sighed heavily and slammed his fist on the rock beside him.
"They killed so many of our people, and they actually let it get away! How despicable!"
After venting his anger, his gaze was drawn to a huge creature not far behind Warwick.
It was a steel behemoth he had never seen before.
It lay there quietly, its massive body covered with sharp, angular lines, and its black cannon barrel pointing diagonally towards the sky.
The cannon barrels and armor were still covered with the filthy black blood of the demons.
The old clan chief, his mouth slightly agape, couldn't help but walk over.
The tribe's leaders also noticed it and stepped forward to examine this "monster" that had created a miracle with curiosity and awe.
The chieftain stretched out his hand, which was covered in calluses and scars and had touched almost every weapon on Terra.
His hand trembled slightly as he touched the cold, hard armor.
What I felt at my fingertips was the coldness of steel.
He couldn't imagine that such a lifeless steel shell could contain a terrifying power capable of tearing the earth apart.
He walked along the vehicle and came to the large cannon barrel.
He looked up and reached out to touch the muzzle of the cannon.
The lingering warmth of gunpowder and the smell of gunpowder smoke still remain there.
Right here, meteors roared out and blasted the demon army to smithereens.
"Warwick..."
The old clan chief muttered to himself,
"This is what you traded back from the Great Xia people?"
"Yes, Father."
Warwick's voice was filled with pride.
"Its name is tank, and it's one of the weapons of the Great Xia people!"
"Great Xia..."
The old chieftain withdrew his hand, turned around, and his gaze swept over the equally unfamiliar infantry fighting vehicles, box rocket launchers, and self-propelled mortars...
A glance at the tribesmen carrying Gatling guns, heavy machine guns, and carrying boxes on their backs revealed a somewhat incongruous scene.
Finally, his gaze returned to Warwick's face, and he spoke solemnly.
"Warwick, tell us everything you've done with Great Xia!"