Chương 281: 281：The Awakening of the Oppressed

"Yeah... we're cowards. We're lowly scum," Bart muttered softly under his breath. Quiet as a ghost, his hand slipped backward, his fingers securely wrapping around the hilt of a small, concealed self-defense dagger tucked into his waistband. He thought of the endless days and nights he had spent groveling and kowtowing to these animals just to survive. He thought of the gruesome, bloody mess that was the old carpenter's corpse.

He thought of the human civilians who rightfully cursed him and spat on his back every single day.

"But I, Bart... am still human!" In a fraction of a second, completely defying everyone's expectations— Bart unleashed a harrowing, blood-curdling shriek! He didn't reach for the conspicuous iron spear. Instead, he lunged like a rabid beast directly at the tumor-faced Orc who was currently reveling in his own sadistic arrogance! SQUELCH! Without a microsecond of hesitation or pause, Bart poured ten years of suffocating humiliation and volcanic wrath entirely into the small dagger.

With flawless, lethal precision, he thrust the blade upward, driving it straight through the Orc's unprotected throat! A massive fountain of dark crimson blood erupted, violently splashing across Bart's entire face and head. The tumor-faced Orc's eyes bulged to an impossible size in sheer, unadulterated disbelief. A wet, grotesque gurgling sound rattled in his severed windpipe before his colossal frame crashed heavily to the muck.

"Captain!" The seven slave soldiers standing behind him were absolutely paralyzed by the sight. But the unspoken, ride-or-die synchronization they had forged over years of hovering on the brink of death kicked in. Amidst their terror, a primal, deeply buried spark of human bloodlust violently ignited.

"Fuck it! Kill the bastard!" No further words were needed. Before the second Orc—who was currently trying to rip the woman's clothes off—could even react, seven rusted iron spears thrust viciously into his massive body from every direction. THWACK! SQUELCH! SQUELCH! The sickening sound of cold iron repeatedly piercing flesh and grinding against bone echoed rapidly through the narrow alley. The Orc didn't even have the chance to draw his machete.

In a matter of seconds, he was violently turned into a bloody sieve by the very human slaves he abused and beat for fun on a daily basis. Two massive Orc corpses now lay in a rapidly expanding pool of hot blood. The alley plunged into a deathly silence, broken only by the heavy, ragged panting of the human soldiers. Up on the roof, Lyra watched, utterly dumbfounded. She couldn't believe her eyes.

These slave soldiers, whom she had entirely dismissed as spineless cowards, actually had the sheer guts to slaughter Orcs in cold blood! Down in the alley, however, the momentary adrenaline rush of hot-blooded defiance was instantly followed by a crushing, paralyzing wave of terror. A young slave soldier stared blankly at the corpses. His legs turned to jelly, and he collapsed onto his rear in the mud, his spear clattering aside.

"We're dead... Captain, we just killed pure-blood Orcs. When the Overseers investigate this, they'll skin us alive! They'll throw our entire families into vats of boiling oil!" Bart's entire body was trembling violently. He gripped the blood-stained dagger tightly, his mind racing at lightspeed under the suffocating pressure of impending death.

"We don't admit to it... We absolutely cannot take the fall for this! Grab the girl! We retreat, now!" Bart forcefully hauled the traumatized, shivering woman to her feet, his eyes locked dead onto the exit of the alley. Under the crushing weight of absolute survival, the gritty, street-smart ingenuity of a bottom-tier survivor erupted from Bart. He violently kicked over a nearby wooden trash barrel. Utilizing the Orc's dropped machete, he viciously hacked several chaotic, aggressive slashes into the brick wall.

Then, he tore his throat open, using every ounce of strength in his lungs to unleash a desperate, frantic scream:"Help! Guards!"

"We found the assassin! It's the fugitive, Felix!"

"Felix killed them! He's running toward the East District! After him!" Barking orders for his men to scramble and retreat out of the alley, Bart continued to roar with desperate, hysterical urgency. It was a stroke of absolute, desperate brilliance. By weaponizing the name of the wanted assassin, he flawlessly washed their hands of the murders. Simultaneously, he perfectly disguised his squad as loyal soldiers frantically attempting to pursue a highly dangerous criminal!

Hell, if they were lucky, the Orc high command might even reward them for their "bravery" in engaging Felix!

"Fascinating. The desperate ingenuity born from facing an absolute dead end. That is a survival instinct you can only forge by rolling in the mud." Up on the roof, Soren revealed a highly appreciative smile. The unexpected, brilliant twist in this street drama had actually managed to impress him. However, just as the slave soldiers scrambled out of the alley, frantically screaming "Catch Felix!" An even more breathtaking scene unfolded.

Deep in the absolute darkest corner of the alley, from behind a pile of rotting, abandoned wooden crates... A tall, unyielding silhouette stepped silently out of the shadows. It was a man. He was draped in a tattered, threadbare linen cloak that had long lost its original color. His cheeks were gaunt and sunken, and his jaw was covered in thick stubble—he had clearly been starving for many days. The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Yet, the hand gripping his sword was astoundingly, terrifyingly steady. It was a two-handed knight's greatsword. The steel edge was heavily chipped, and the weighted pommel at the base of the hilt had completely broken off. On his chest, beneath the tattered cloak, one could faintly make out the remnants of a noble house crest embroidered in fading gold thread: a roaring lion. He was the assassin whose very name struck terror into the hearts of the Blood Province Overseers.

A knight born of an orthodox noble lineage—Felix himself! It turned out he had been hiding in these ruins the entire time. In fact, just moments ago, when the two Orcs were attempting to assault the woman, he had likely been preparing to strike, only for the slave squad to beat him to the punch. Now, Felix stood tall beside the two Orc corpses. Hearing the slave soldiers shamelessly frame him, he didn't display a single ounce of anger, nor did he frantically attempt to flee the scene.

Instead, this destitute, starving knight looked down at the Orc with the severed throat and actually let out a booming, hearty roar of laughter.

"Hahahahaha!" Felix's voice was robust and powerful. Though he was speaking to empty air, his fearless, death-defying bravado seemed to pierce straight through the oppressive clouds above.

"Well fucking done! That was a clean, ruthless stab!" Felix generously raised his chipped knight's sword and thrust it violently into the mud beside the corpses. He threw his arms wide open, letting the freezing wind whip his tattered cloak around his gaunt frame. Looking in the direction the slave soldiers had fled, his tone contained absolutely zero blame. Instead, it was brimming with profound admiration for the awakened bloodlust of his kin:"I'll take the blame for this one!"

"You men forced to wear the skin of dogs... if you have the guts to draw your blades and slaughter Orcs today, then you are Felix's brothers!"

"Let loose and do it! From now on, in Abysswater Keep, any Orc you kill, feel free to pin it on my name! My head is already worth a hundred pure gold coins; I don't give a damn if I carry a few more animal carcasses on my tab!" These words contained not a shred of pretension. It was the magnificent, unadulterated heroism of a man entirely willing to shoulder the sins of his kin! In the shadows on the roof, Soren's hands involuntarily clenched.

Hearing this breathtaking declaration, a deep, resonant ripple surged through his eyes.

"An unbreakable spine. Absolutely fearless in the face of death. He even accepts a frame-up from his own people with a roaring laugh..."

"This... this is exactly the man I need." Soren made his definitive evaluation. Felix's personal character and capabilities astronomically exceeded that measly one-hundred-gold bounty. Soren turned his head, looking at Lyra beside him. The silver-haired girl was still entirely caught in the profound shock of the moment, unable to calm down.

"Do you understand now, Lyra?" Soren's words carried a piercing, enlightening weight. He was imparting to his young personal guard the macro-strategic vision that a true supreme commander must possess.

"Just moments ago, you viewed those slave soldiers as the lowest form of scum, as absolute cowards. But did you see it? When pushed past their absolute breaking point, the speed at which they drew their blades was more decisive than many regular armies." Soren pointed down at the alleyway, which was now dyed completely red with Orc blood. His tone was exceptionally profound:"This is human nature. This is the complexity of a chaotic era. Not every human serving the Orcs is a hopeless, irredeemable traitor."

"More than half of them only endure this suffocating humiliation because life forces their hand—because they need their elderly mothers and starving children to survive."

"But deep in their marrow, they still maintain their fundamental baseline as human beings. They still harbor that tiny, dormant spark of rebellion that can ignite at any moment." Soren displayed the boundless, magnificent charisma of an emperor:"As a commander, if we only look at the surface and entirely condemn them, we are essentially pushing an immeasurable, potential military asset straight into the arms of the enemy."

"Slave soldiers like Bart. Heroes like Felix who are willing to shoulder the blame for them."

"As long as we provide them with the right catalyst... as long as we offer them a sanctuary where they no longer have to live in paralyzing fear... these so-called 'slave armies' will, at the critical moment, transform into lethal daggers that tear the Orc defensive lines apart from the inside!" This masterful, high-level instruction on political unity and psychological warfare profoundly shook Lyra's heart.

"I understand now, My Lord." Lyra bowed her head with absolute reverence.

"Should we move in and recruit him now?" Soren looked up at the sky. Deep night had fully fallen. Heavy, oppressive black clouds blanketed the fortress. In the distant streets, massive squads of Orc guards were rapidly congregating, raising blazing torches. They had clearly been drawn by Bart's frantic screams.

"No. Now is not the time." Soren shook his head decisively, his mind operating with flawless, ice-cold rationality.