As a member of the Orc race, the Jackals were never known for their strength. However, after years of trials in the Dark Valley, they caught the attention of the dark gods. Empowered through the Instrument of Rules, they ascended rapidly. With one upgrade after another, their strength surged.
It's no exaggeration to say that with their current might, they no longer feared any of the orc tribes.
And now, their opponents were nothing more than a swarm of ratmen—the lowest rung of orc society.
Even if these mutated Gold-Eating Ratmen had sharper teeth and claws, there was no comparison when it came to raw power.
Death blanketed the battlefield.
Groups of ratmen collapsed beneath the Jackals' blades, only to be replaced by more, swarming forward in waves.
These ratmen seemed completely unaware of death.
Unlike other creatures, they did not fear it. Not in the slightest.
"If they won't show themselves," Ye Zhan growled, his eyes cold, "then I'll just keep killing until they do. Let's see how many rats there are left to slaughter!"
Fury burned within him as the seemingly endless tide of ratmen surged forward. Still, the mastermind behind them—the Rat King—remained hidden.
And so began the massacre.
The coalition army, with an average strength at the second extraordinary rank, tore through the ratmen, most of whom were nothing more than ordinary creatures. The disparity was overwhelming.
Weapons. Training. Discipline. Formation. These all played into the equation of combat strength.
If one used the system's legion classification, then the ratmen army would be ranked as garbage.
On the other hand, the coalition fielded elite guards and seasoned warriors.
The difference between the two forces was stark. Calling it "mowing grass" wouldn't be an exaggeration.
Yet, oddly enough, the ratmen didn't falter. They kept charging in, unbothered by the deaths around them.
Numbers alone do not determine the victor on a battlefield. In fact, having too many can be a weakness if they cannot be properly commanded.
The ratmen army outnumbered the Night Tribe more than fivefold, but only one-fifth of them could engage at any given time.
Unlike ordinary orcs, who balance humanity and animal instincts, ratmen are driven almost entirely by their primal nature. Expecting them to follow commands or form tactical strategies was futile.
Their battle doctrine was simple: swarm with overwhelming numbers and win through attrition.
Their terrifying reproductive ability exceeded even that of goblins. A single litter could produce several offspring, and they matured quickly. Numbers had always been their weapon.
However, unlike goblins, ratmen could give birth to a "king"—a singular being with extraordinary wisdom and power. Through this Rat King, the ratmen gained a unified command.
This was why they could implement human wave tactics without regard for casualties.
Their warriors did not fear death. Their king didn't care about loss. And combined, they posed a formidable threat to most armies.
But the Night Tribe was different. Hardened through countless battles, their veterans held steady formations. Even though they could easily kill the ratmen, they did not recklessly advance.
Their deliberate defense rendered the ratmen's swarm tactics ineffective.
The battlefield was narrow, and the Night Tribe's formation was so tightly packed that even with efforts to widen the front, the ratmen could only attack two at a time.
Had they allowed a one-on-one fight, it would have devolved into chaos.
In other words, though the ratmen weren't afraid of death, they had to wait for the ones in front of them to die before they could charge into battle.
Their feared human wave tactic was reduced to nothing more than a queue.
With time, corpses piled high. Blood soaked the soil. The battlefield had become a graveyard.
The warriors' armor dripped with blood, stained dark red and black, but their eyes remained sharp. Not wearied, but emboldened.
Suddenly, a terrible roar echoed from behind the rat horde.
Though the lives of ordinary ratmen were considered worthless, even the Rat King could no longer sit idly by after watching thousands fall while the enemy remained nearly untouched.
This had to stop.
The Rat King was far from the mindless masses under his rule. He possessed extraordinary intelligence.
In fact, he was an extraordinary species himself—born with an advanced rank.
"Ahhh!"
At the Rat King's command, more ratmen emerged from the cave behind him.
These were not ordinary fighters. Each was nearly twice the size of the ratmen who had come before.
Tens of thousands of these giant ratmen—each one of them possessing extraordinary power—flooded out and encircled the Rat King protectively.
And still, that was not the end.
On the distant horizon, a swarm of massive red rats appeared, each nearly four meters long, thundering toward the battlefield.
These were the bloodthirsty giant rats, magical beasts tamed by the ratmen.
At the Rat King's order, the newly emerged giant ratmen launched their charge directly at the Night Tribe's front line.
Meanwhile, the bloodthirsty red rats curved around and moved to attack the Night Tribe from the flank.
The Rat King might not have been a seasoned commander, but he was no fool. The front was too congested. Sending the bloodthirsty beasts there would only cause a jam.
Better to strike the side, where the formation might give way.
"So, you've finally shown yourself," Ye Zhan muttered, a cold smile curling on his lips as he observed the flood of elite ratmen and the monstrous red rats.
He turned to the black-robed figure standing beside him, masked and silent.
"God's Messenger… if you would."
The black-robed man gave a slight nod and rose into the sky.
Raising his staff, he spoke softly toward the oncoming rat horde.
"Darkness devours."
At once, a surge of terrifying dark energy exploded from his body. A vortex of shadows, twenty meters wide, formed beside him and began spinning with a horrifying pull.
With a flick of the staff, he hurled the dark vortex straight at the advancing ratmen.
Chaos erupted.
The elite ratmen screamed in panic, scattering in all directions.
Unlike their mindless brethren, these giant ratmen valued their lives. Fear gripped them.
But it was already too late.
The vortex moved too fast, and its range was massive. Escape was impossible.
Boom.
The vortex slammed into their ranks and detonated, sending a shockwave of dark energy spiraling outward.
It was like an eraser dragged across a painting. Everything it touched vanished without a trace.
The giant ratmen charging from behind froze in horror.
"What… is that?!"
Even the Rat King, shielded behind his army, felt fear creeping into his bones. He stared at the floating figure, his mind racing.
Should he retreat?
The black-robed man, sensing the Rat King's fear, looked down and smiled faintly.
He extended his hand to the side, gathering dark energy into a long, spear-like shape.
Divine Art: Dark Gun.
With a single throw, the dark spear streaked through the air.
Whoosh.
The Rat King barely saw the black blur before the spear struck, piercing his skull and exploding it into fragments.
Ye Zhan inhaled sharply, stunned by the sheer power of the Messenger.
With a single motion, he had shifted the entire battlefield.
To the untrained eye, it was just a flash—and then the Rat King was dead.
The ratmen forces fell into disarray. Without their king, chaos spread. Only the pressure from the elite ratmen kept their army from complete collapse.
Meanwhile, the bloodthirsty red rats had reached the flanks.
The black-robed figure remained calm. He unfurled a dark curtain into the sky.
Instantly, the battlefield was consumed in pitch black.
"Dark Knight, with me—crush those giant rats."
"Dark Warriors, break through the elite ratmen in front of me."
"Jackal Warriors, unleash your berserk power. Don't hold back. Kill everything in your path!"
"Sword and Shield Troops, strike with all your might!"
Ye Zhan's voice rang out, firm and commanding. The moment had come.
With full force unleashed, the Night Tribe surged forward, ready to annihilate the rat horde in one decisive blow.