Raising all of humanity: Starting with a backyard pool world

Chapter 35 [The Rise of the Black Tide Legion]

The southern wilderness, on scorched black earth.

Death, no, now the Black Tide Monarch, stood atop a giant rock at the highest point of the tribal camp.

The setting sun cast a long shadow over his people, who were silenced by his brutality.

The orcs ended their brief but bloody celebration of victory, and now they were like frightened lambs, cowering in their tents or corners, only daring to steal glances at that silent figure with awe.

They were afraid of him.

The Black Tide Monarch could sense that fear through the Black Tide, but he was not satisfied.

During the war, he led a group of desperate men through a hail of bullets for nearly ten years.

He knew better than anyone that pure fear could not forge an invincible army.

The cold of a three-foot-thick layer of ice is not formed in a single day.

Fear only brings temporary obedience, but also insincere compliance and the potential for backlash.

Only faith and fanaticism can create the twisted loyalty that makes these simple-minded fighting beasts willingly give everything for him.

"A tribe? Too primitive." He leaped off the giant rock, his heavy body landing on the ground with a dull thud that sent a chill down the spines of every orc who noticed his movement.

"Gather together." That was the power bestowed upon the new king by the totem pole, and all the people of the tribe obeyed.

A few minutes later, all the tribe members, still panting, regardless of age or gender, gathered tremblingly in the open space in the center of the camp.

"From today onwards, the name 'Black Tooth Tribe' will become history."

The Black Tide Monarch surveyed the terrified faces below, "We are no longer a loosely organized race bound by blood."

"Here, there are no fathers and sons, no brothers, and no so-called family honor."

He slammed the massive totem pole heavily onto the ground; the dried blood and brain matter on it had turned black.

There is only one organization—'Kuroshio'.

"There is only one leader—me."

As soon as he finished speaking, he walked into the crowd and began to make his selections.

He chose those warriors who were most fearless in battle and whose eyes still held a bloodthirsty glint.

They were the oddballs who, instead of fear, showed a hint of excitement and longing in their eyes when he purged his "brothers".

He selected a total of twenty of the strongest and most insane orcs.

They stood in a row before the Black Tide Monarch, both nervous and secretly expectant.

"You are my first guards."

"Forget all your previous fighting styles; those chaotic charges were the wails of the weak."

He personally demonstrated to them, using his experience as a mercenary in his previous life to instill in them the most basic and effective concepts of discipline and formation.

It wasn't a complicated tactic, just some simple commands.

"Forward!" "Stop!" "Left!" "Right!" "Kill!"

These instructions, which are so basic to human soldiers, are like a foreign language to these orcs who revere individual bravery.

The training process is bloody but highly efficient.

An orc, trying to break out of the ranks out of habit, had his shinbone shattered by a single blow and fell to the ground screaming in agony.

Another orc, confused about left and right, had his shoulder pierced by the end of a totem pole, pinning him to the spot and unable to move.

The Black Tide Monarch shows no mercy.

The birth of an iron army must be nurtured with blood and pain.

He wanted to use this most primal violence to etch absolute obedience deep into their bones.

In just a few days, these twenty selected soldiers underwent a complete transformation.

They may not yet understand tactics, but they have already learned to obey.

This is not enough.

In a public "drill," the Black Tide Monarch gathered all the members of the tribe once again, allowing them to witness the nascent Black Tide Guard.

During the drill, he deliberately found a mistake, using the excuse that a member of the guard was a beat too slow, and swung the totem pole.

"Snap!"

A crisp cracking sound echoed throughout the area. The guard's leg twisted, and he endured the excruciating pain, kneeling on one knee and ceasing his cries of agony.

The surrounding beastmen stirred, thinking that another brutal execution was about to take place.

However, the Black Tide Lord did not kill him.

He waved his hand indifferently, and two warriors immediately dragged forward a prisoner from an enemy tribe who was bound hand and foot and had a rag stuffed in his mouth.

Under the horrified and bewildered gaze of all his people, he raised the totem pole high in his hand.

Without a word, with a swift movement, the prisoner's head exploded.

A thick, visible black mist rose from the corpse and was greedily sucked in by the beast head at the top of the totem pole.

The ancient patterns on the totem pole emitted a dark red light, from which the power of the Black Tide surged forth and entered the body of the legless guard member.

At the site of the broken leg bone of the guard, the flesh and blood at the wound site were rapidly wriggling, growing, and healing!

In just over ten seconds, the previously completely severed lower leg was miraculously restored to its original condition.

The guard was initially shocked, but then, feeling the immense power within him that far surpassed anything he had ever experienced before, the pain on his face was replaced by an extreme, fanatical worship.

He stood up, and with all his might, raised his weapon high above his head, knelt on one knee before the Black Tide Monarch, and roared from the depths of his soul: "Monarch!"

miracle!

This is a divine miracle that only legendary ancestral spirits and deities can possess—the power to control life and death and bestow strength!

Their leader was not only a powerful warrior, but also a living god who could control life and death!

"monarch!"

"monarch!"

The frenzied shouts, like a tsunami, engulfed the entire camp.

At this moment, all the orcs prostrated themselves on the ground, offering their most devout faith to their new king.

Fear, at this moment, is transformed into fanatical worship.

The Black Tide Monarch looked at the scene before him with satisfaction. An army of absolute loyalty, yearning for both slaughter and favor, had taken shape.

One month after the internal integration was completed.

The Black Tide Monarch stood at the highest point of the camp, below whom his nascent "Black Tide Legion," which had expanded to a hundred men, stood in neat formation.

It's no longer the noisy and chaotic place it used to be.

All the members had only fanaticism for their leader and a thirst for war in their eyes.

They were clad in uniform black leather armor crudely made from the hides of fallen enemies, and their weapons were sharpened to a greater degree.

A cold, murderous aura emanated from this army, which differed from traditional orc warbands.

The Lord of the Black Tide did not issue any pre-battle mobilization notice.

He simply raised the huge totem pole in his hand slowly and pointed it eastward, towards the territory belonging to another small neighboring tribe.

Devour, assimilate, grow stronger.

He transformed all the forces that could be conquered into part of his black wave that swept across the wasteland.

Legion, set off.

The heavy, synchronized footsteps converged into an unstoppable torrent.

Under the personal leadership of the Black Tide Monarch, this army, with its terrifyingly strict discipline, launched its first expedition into the depths of the wasteland.