Raising all of humanity: Starting with a backyard pool world

Chapter 41 [Blood Sacrifice for the Champion, Sword Pointed at the Throat!]

The Black Tide Monarch stood atop a newly built mound of skulls.

Beneath my feet lies a small hill made up of hundreds of heads.

His eyes were closed, and the black tide power within his body surged with his heartbeat.

The strength is indeed increasing, but at a slower pace.

He needs to break through the bottleneck.

"Someone come here."

Two guards clad in black leather armor emerged from the shadows and knelt on one knee.

"Bring all prisoners to the center of the camp and assemble all the soldiers."

"I want to be crowned champion."

Half an hour later, thousands of prisoners knelt in the central open space of the Black Tide Tribe's new camp.

These orcs from different tribes had lost their former ferocity; they were all trembling.

The soldiers formed a large circle, trapping them in the middle.

The Black Tide Monarch stepped out of the tent, his gaze sweeping directly over his warriors.

"The Black Tide needs sharper claws." He walked to the front of the line and began to select them personally.

"You were the first to break through the enemy's shield formation in yesterday's battle."

"You personally twisted off the heads of three enemies."

"You, as your companion retreats, press your spear against his back, forcing him to continue forward."

...

He selected a total of ten orcs.

Ten people stood in a row, and under everyone's gaze, some clenched their fists, and some swallowed hard.

"Do you crave greater power?" The Black Tide Monarch looked at them, and at everyone else.

"Desire!" the ten roared in unison.

"Very good." The Black Tide Monarch smiled cruelly, turned around, faced the thousands of prisoners, and raised the totem pole in his hand.

"Today, I'll tell you how to become stronger in the Black Tide Legion."

As soon as he finished speaking, he waved the totem pole and charged into the group of prisoners.

This was a one-sided massacre.

The Black Tide Monarch reaped lives with brute force.

One by one, the corpses fell.

The entire totem pole began to emit a dark red light, and the patterns on it twisted and came to life.

When the last prisoner's head was smashed, the totem pole had become a blood-red pillar.

The Black Tide Monarch slammed the totem pole heavily onto the ground, and the power of the Black Tide within him surged to its peak.

He walked up to the first orc chosen.

"Kneel down and accept my grace."

The orc knelt down on the ground.

The Black Tide Monarch reached out and placed his hand on the top of his head.

The death energy transformed by the totem pole turned into a jet-black force, which violently poured into the orc's body.

"ah--!"

The orc's body convulsed, his blood vessels bulged, his muscles swelled rapidly, and his bones cracked.

Black lines seeped from beneath his skin, forming a ferocious totem on his cheeks and chest.

The orc rolled on the ground, howling in agony, sometimes shrill and sometimes bursting into maniacal laughter.

The surrounding soldiers were horrified and instinctively retreated.

The Black Tide Monarch ignored this.

"Pain is the food of strength."

"The more you suffer, the more you will gain."

"And this pain is my recognition of your loyalty!"

A few minutes later, the orc stopped struggling.

He stood up, clenched his fist, and his knuckles cracked.

His physique was a full size larger than before, and black flames burned in his eyes.

He pounded his chest and roared at the Black Tide Monarch.

"Bravour!"

"Next."

The same ritual was performed on the next nine orcs in turn.

When the ten newly crowned champions stood before everyone.

"They are the Legion's first Black Tide champions!"

The Black Tide Monarch announced, "From today onwards, a new hierarchy will be established within the legion. You ordinary soldiers are at the bottom; above you are the Black Tide Guard, selected based on merit and loyalty; and at the very top are the Black Tide Champions!"

"Every conquest is accompanied by a royal decree ceremony."

"There are quotas for each imperial decree."

"Want a promotion? Want a special favor?"

"Then go and kill! Use the heads of your enemies, use the failures of your cowardly comrades, to exchange for everything you want!"

All the orcs' breathing became heavy, their eyes filled only with greed for power and desire for advancement.

Just as this bloody investiture ceremony came to an end, a new military rank order was just established.

In an attempt to demonstrate his worth before the new king, a newly crowned Black Tide champion presented the Black Tide monarch with a trophy he had looted from the shaman's tent of a defeated tribe.

It was an ancient scroll made from the hide of some kind of giant beast.

The Black Tide Monarch unfolded the animal hide, revealing a huge map, drawn in a rough yet surprisingly exquisite style.

It marks the territories and totem emblems of hundreds of tribes across the entire southern wilderness.

At the very center of the map, in the core area of ​​the wasteland, a huge and ferocious vortex mark was drawn with long-dried dark red paint.

Beside the mark were three words written in an ancient orc language that even the monarch could not decipher.

"Bring that old shaman up here," he ordered.

Soon, the trembling old shaman was dragged up.

When he saw the map in the monarch's hand, his face turned ashen.

"Where is this place?" the monarch asked coldly.

"Great monarch...this...this is the Throat of the Tyrant!" The old shaman's voice trembled with fear. "Legend has it that this is the ruins of the capital of our first orcish empire from ancient times!"

"Go on."

"More importantly,"

The old shaman dared not conceal the truth and quickly explained, "Deep within the Tyrant's Throat stands a throne—the Bloodthirsty Throne! It is a sacred relic used by the first Orc Emperor to command the entire wasteland. Legend has it that whoever can sit on that throne will gain supreme power..."

"What power?"

"Command...command the most primal killing desires deep within the bloodlines of all orcs across the wasteland!"

The annexation of these scattered and weak tribes is of little significance to the Black Tide Monarch.

But if one could control the bloodlust of all orcs... what an unparalleled power that would be!

He discovered his true ambition.

"Very good." The Black Tide Monarch put away the map. "Your honesty saved your life. From today onwards, you are my chief advisor."

"Thank you... thank you, Your Majesty!" The old shaman kowtowed excitedly.

However, neither the Black Tide Monarch nor the old shaman who had miraculously survived knew that this ancient map did not belong to this vanished tribe at all.

Just a few days ago, when the Black Tide Legion's scouts began operating in this area, an arcane probe from the Eastern Forest had already descended upon this place through the omnipresent magical network.

It analyzed the materials of the tribal totem, imitated the style of the oldest orc language, and generated this incredibly realistic map out of thin air on the hide of a giant beast, disguising it as a forgotten relic.

This is a precisely delivered intelligence report, a calculated move by Thea.

Thea knew very well that the best way to deal with an enemy like the Black Tide Monarch, whom she could not confront head-on, was not to stop him, but to guide him toward a new target that was both tempting and full of traps.

The Black Tide Lord was completely unaware of this.

"Follow me!"

"Conquer! Slaughter! Seize the throne that rightfully belongs to us!"

"Marching towards the heart of the empire!"

"roar--!"