The maid squad is too strong, what use is there for me, the Demon King?

The black-robed attendants, having retreated in time, suffered no losses, but the orcs...

The flames continued to ripple as they swept across the defensive line formed by the orc warriors.

The massive obsidian tower shield of Gotan, imbued with earthy yellow battle aura, instantly turned white and crumbled at the edges swept by the ripples, like a snowdrift melting in an instant under the blazing sun.

At the center of the shield, where the sun symbol was engraved, a huge hole was directly melted out.

Gotan let out a painful roar, a terrible burning pain shooting through his shield-wielding arm, as if his bones were being burned.

Several orc warriors who were unable to dodge or were engaged in combat with cultists were directly struck by the ripples. There was no explosion, no fire.

The parts of their bodies that came into contact with the ripples—whether it was tough leather armor, bulging muscles, or hard bones—lost all color and vitality in an instant, silently turning into fine, grayish-white dust that drifted away with the wind.

Only the dull thuds of their weapons hitting the sand and a few wisps of smoke quickly dissipating remained. Not even a scream could be uttered.

Brock roared and tried to unleash "Earthshattering Hammer" again to smash into Morris, but the earthy yellow battle aura he had gathered became violently disordered and dissipated when it approached the pale ripples.

The massive stone hammer's surface rapidly cracked with white lines, as if it were about to disintegrate at any moment. Brock was violently pushed away by an invisible, scorching repulsive force, a trickle of blood spilling from the corner of his mouth.

“Bishop Maurice!” The grey-robed bishop’s maniacal grin widened. “Purify the minions and stubborn rocks of these shadows!”

Maurice did not respond to Kuro's fervor. His burning eyes coldly swept over the orcish lines, which were briefly thrown into chaos and suffered heavy casualties by the retreat of the black-robed men and the impact of the Ash Nova. His withered fingers rose again, this time pointing to the churning fountain of blood.

“The fountain of blasphemy shall also be burned to ashes,” he declared coldly.

The grey-robed bishop immediately understood. He raised his hands, and the sun symbol on his chest burst forth with an unprecedentedly dazzling light. He began to chant a more urgent and fervent prayer.

As if summoned, the surviving grey-robed cultists pressed their palms to the ground or the rocks around them, frantically pouring their remaining magic and demonic power into the ground.

"Touch of the Blazing Sun - Burning Spring!" The voices of the two bishops, one fanatical and the other icy, resonated terrifyingly at this moment!

Centered on the two bishops, countless pale fire lines, condensed to the point of being almost tangible, shot out from the ground like venomous snakes, ignoring the obstruction of the remaining orc warriors (any weapon or limb that attempted to block them turned to ashes upon contact), and pounced precisely and greedily toward the ochre-red spring that exuded the breath of life.

"No!!!" Gotan's eyes widened in horror. Ignoring the burns on his arm and the damage to his shield, he used his body to block a line of fire! His rock armor emitted a piercing wail upon contact, quickly turning white and cracking.

Brock roared and charged forward, trying to break the fire with his stone hammer, but the hammer began to disintegrate as it got close.

More soldiers roared and charged forward, using their flesh and blood to form the final barrier.

But it was in vain.

The pale flames pierced their defenses easily, like red-hot needles into butter. The instant the flames touched the churning surface of the blood fountain—

"boom!!!"

It wasn't an explosion, but a muffled sound, like a mournful cry from the depths of the earth.

The blood spring water did not evaporate; instead, under the erosion of the pale flames, it quickly lost its life-giving ochre-red color, becoming turbid and gray.

The water surface churned violently, bubbling up large amounts of grayish-white bubbles, emitting a strong smell of rust and burnt iron, and a sense of despair... of life being forcibly ripped away and burned away.

The precious spring water is being transformed into boiling ash mud.

An eighth-tier cult bishop is clearly not someone that ordinary orc warriors or servants can handle.

However, it's not only the cultists who possess high-level professional combat capabilities!

Soldiers against soldiers, against generals.

If one side's general is eliminated, will the general on your side stand by and watch your people be slaughtered?

The blood pool no longer churned with the ochre red of life, but with the gray mud of despair. The pungent smell of burnt and rust mixed with the stench of life being forcibly burned away, permeating the entire valley.

The orc warriors' eyes were bloodshot as they watched the sacred spring being desecrated and their comrades turn to ashes in the pale flames. Despair choked them like cold sand.

The grey-robed bishop's face was contorted with morbid fanaticism and a triumphant grin, while the Emberbringer Morris remained cold, as if he had merely completed a trivial cleanup task.

The pale flames greedily sucked up the remaining life force of the blood spring, wanting to completely turn this vein of earth into lifeless ashes.

And just as the Blood Spring was being destroyed—

"Roar--!!!"

A roar, not from the mouth of an orc but as if the earth itself were being torn apart, exploded from the deepest rock wall of Bloodspring Valley!

The voice, filled with boundless, soul-crushing rage, instantly drowned out all the fighting and wailing on the battlefield.

The entire valley was trembling, and rocks rained down from the top of the cliff.

Two figures, as if breaking free from a sleeping black mountain range, descended upon the collapsing defense line with overwhelming pressure.

The one on the left is exceptionally burly, far exceeding the size of ordinary orc warriors. He wears heavy plate armor, which is not made of metal or leather, but carved from a single piece of black mountain rock. The armor is covered with ancient, natural patterns that resemble the veins of the earth.

His face was like weathered granite, deeply lined with wrinkles, and his eyes, burning with a molten, crimson-gold light, were fixed intently on the churning, decaying blood fountain. He was Elder Baturu, an eighth-tier orc warrior, known as the "Heart of Rock."

The one on the right has a relatively wiry build, but the aura he exudes is more concentrated and deadly.

He was bare-chested with a bronze physique, his skin covered with a layer of fine, strange crystals, like obsidian fragments, that shimmered with a dark luster with his breath.

He had no weapon in his hand, but his fingernails, like polished black diamonds, gleamed with a chilling light.

His gaze, like the sharpest chisel, pierced Bishop Maurice in an instant, his eyes filled with a chilling killing intent that even ten thousand years of frozen ice could not match. He was Elder Gomur, the "Claw of the Earth."

Elder Baturu's gaze swept over the blood spring that had been replaced by gray mud, and his lava-like crimson-gold pupils suddenly contracted, then erupted with raging flames powerful enough to incinerate steel.

The source of life that their clan had guarded for hundreds of years, the very foundation of Shad Mountain's existence, had been so corrupted by these blasphemers!

The lingering aura of despair in the air, emanating from the forced incineration of the blood spring, was like the most vicious curse, piercing his soul that was connected to the earth.