The Record of Orc Civilization

Chapter 461: The Heart of the Maelstrom

Old Battlefield Headquarters, Bitter Maja.

If the New Battlefield Headquarters in Progenitor City operated with a cold, tactical silence and clinical order, the Old Battlefield Headquarters in Bitter Maja was its absolute antithesis. This place breathed, bled, and roared like a monster in the throes of a frenzy. Stepping into this massive command cavern felt like plunging headlong into the very heart of the conflict.

The air within was heavy, hot, and humid—thick enough to be felt at the base of the tongue, choking the throat. One’s nostrils were immediately assaulted by the metallic tang of fresh blood mingling with the acrid scent of sweat from Asuras recently pulled from the front lines.

Returning warriors marched in with ragged, heavy breaths. Every footfall made the stone floor shudder. Their Orichalcum armor was cracked, and some bore open wounds that continued to drip viscous fluid onto the floor. They wasted no time resting. Broken serrated swords and axes were tossed carelessly into corners—creating a deafening clang of metal—while unit captains pushed forward to bark out their verbal reports with raw, unrefined urgency.

The moment a report concluded, the captain would turn and exit without waiting for a reply. Within seconds, another captain would take the spot, shouting the status of their unit without needing an invitation. Outside the chamber, a line of other captains waited in orderly ranks, ready to enter and "vomit" their information into the command room.

In the center, this chaos merged into a guttural chorus. The strategic team huddled around crude tables fashioned from the bones of behemoths. The veins in their necks bulged as they screamed at one another until hoarse, debating fiercely over logistical flows and unit movements. Their massive fingers pointed roughly at maps of hide stained with blood and soil, creating a cacophony of overlapping, raspy voices that never ceased.

Yet, in the eye of this storm of aggression, there was a single current that moved with a lethal serenity.

On a raised stone dais stood Swa. The Intelligence Director’s dark eyes swept across the room like an eagle monitoring a tempest. His ears caught dozens of new reports brought by scouts, but he allowed none of that raw information to touch the primary combat simulation without first being filtered.

The air around Swa hummed with a cold breeze. His fingertips emitted threads of deep red Dragon Prana, tethering him to the neural network of the biological table before him. He was purifying the data. Every shout, every casualty report, and every rumor of human supply movements was absorbed, stripped, and cross-examined in his mind before being translated into pulses of light on the organic holographic map. Swa acted as a massive filter, transmuting the hysteria of the battlefield into rows of factual, precise data.

Ultimately, every stream of information flowed toward a single point at the end of the room.

Standing as solid as a mountain of basalt before the main strategic projection was Goku. The Commander of the Old Battlefield did not join the shouting. He did not move with panic. His mere existence served as a gravitational anchor, holding the room together so it wouldn’t explode from within.

The red light from the map illuminated his hardened jaw and towering frame. His hands, covered in the scars of a thousand battles, rested firmly on the edge of the stone table. Though Asura regeneration could erase any blemish, for Goku, every scar was a mark of honor—a sign that he had survived and a tribute to enemies strong enough to wound him. Thus, Goku always halted his regeneration just before a scar could fully vanish.

When Swa transmitted the final, confirmed data, Goku’s red eyes narrowed sharply. He raised a single hand, and instinctively, the entire cacophony of the strategy room fell into an abrupt, dead silence.

"Dispatch a demolition unit to the southern valley. Pincer the human left flank and crush the approaching supply lines," Goku’s voice echoed, low and absolute—an edict that brooked no hesitation.

Like his brother on the New Battlefield, Goku chose not to withdraw his troops despite the escalating madness of the enemy’s Genesis Pills. He knew Bitter Maja was their final bastion. Although the capital was filled with lethal labyrinthine traps, Goku felt it was not yet time to utilize them. They could still hold the line. Moreover, reports regarding the effectiveness of the Fire Shield Formation were beginning to arrive, offering a glimmer of hope that the Asura were beginning to adapt.

Goku was about to let out a breath of relief, but the peace lasted only a moment. The next captain to enter the command room was Diru.

Diru swept his gaze across the room. As usual, his presence didn’t spark much interest; here, it was Swa who processed the world. However, the information Diru carried was so heavy that he hesitated, unsure whether to report in broad strokes or in meticulous detail. Ultimately, Diru chose the standard reporting format, confident that Swa would be able to pull the hidden details from him.

"I am Captain Diru. Our unit was tasked with attacking Human Alliance reinforcements in the Bog Forest three days ago. Engagement occurred at seven this morning. Battle concluded at noon; two Asuras martyred, the rest suffered minor injuries. We looted the supply caravan and withdrew. However, during the journey back, I received a dark premonition. I altered our route toward one of the main battlefronts of the Humans and Demons. There, we found millions of corpses lying untended—consisting of both Demons and Humans. I sensed an anomaly..."

Diru stopped. The command room, previously a hive of noise, went utterly silent. Every eye was now fixed on him. Goku and Swa stared at him with an intensity so sharp that a cold sweat began to soak Diru’s back.

"Continue, young Asura," Goku’s voice rumbled deeply.

"Sir! I ordered my troops to spread out and investigate the state of the battlefield. After we reconvened, one of my soldiers found—"

"Wait!" Swa interrupted suddenly. His face looked incredibly grim. Diru could have sworn he saw a rare flicker of fear in the Intelligence Director’s eyes.

"Goku, I want this report continued in a closed chamber. Only us," Swa said coldly.

Goku and Swa exchanged a look in the tense silence, as if communicating through thought alone. Finally, Goku nodded and looked back at Diru. "Follow me to the private quarters."

The anxiety in Diru’s heart reached its peak. "Yes, Sir!"