Chapter 622: The Difference in races

A sombre echo rang through the training field after Asmodeus lowered Blood Reaver and turned his back. Orcs groaned in the dirt, dragging themselves up, goblins complained through broken teeth and limbs and even the demon knights looked battered beneath their polished armour.

Yet none of them left the circle. Their eyes burned brighter after facing the devastating force of their King.

“Good, you’re finally awake.”

After Asmodeus planted his axe in the dirt and cracked his shoulders, the comfortable ache after a workout filled his body. Sweat dripped down his chest, steam rising where his aura faded, the heat of his skin like molten iron.

Around him, the mixed warriors caught their breath, eyes never leaving his figure.

He appeared taller and immense in their eyes.

“Enough for today’s warm-up,” he said at last, voice carrying through the frozen air. “You fought like wild dogs, and you lost like wild dogs. That’s fine. What matters is you stood back up.”

A faint laugh rippled through the group, half relief, half admiration.

Sariel fluttered down at his side, pink hair tied into a neat side ponytail. Her eyes glimmered with delight. “Master, you looked so cool! I could feel their hearts tremble when you swung Blood Reaver~.”

“My lord.” Riel dropped to the opposite side, her golden eyes carrying the same admiration, and yet she remained calm and settled. “He took three attacks, look there’s blood! My Lord… you push yourself too far.”

Asmodeus only smirked and reached out, ruffling their hair.

“What’s a scratch compared to unity?” He turned back to the crowd, watching them speak and discuss the battle against him together. This sight might not solve all their issues, and the battle will still be difficult, yet… it was enough for now.

Seeds for the future, huh?

“Take a quick break, because the real training will start soon enough, there is no time.”

A low murmur passed through the warriors, uncertain but thoughtful.

Levia strode forward then, her shield strapped tight, voice sharp enough to cut stone. “You heard his majesty! Rest now. At midday, no excuses. We forge soldiers out of children, or corpses out of cowards.”

The warriors grunted, some spitting blood, others pounding their chests. One orc barked, “We’ll break them, King!” Another goblin squeaked, “Or break trying, eh!” Laughter erupted again, and the mood remained high.

He gathered Blood Reaver, slung it across his back, and started toward the stairs.

Sariel and Riel fell into step behind him, Levia already shouting orders to divide barracks space between the mixed groups. When he reached the top platform, Asmodeus glanced back once more. From this height, the training yard looked like chaos.

Deep gouges in the earth from his axe, wounded limped towards the healers, orcs tossed goblins to their tents, while the knights awkwardly straightened their bent and damaged shields.

And yet, in the mess, he saw it: flickers of respect, small bridges built over rivers of old hatred.

That was enough for now.

“There isn’t enough time….”

Asmodeus gripped the stone walls tightly; he knew that most of these orcs and goblins would suffer and die in the battle against Mephisto…

And yet he didn’t have an answer.

***

After a hearty lunch, the clang of steel and roar of orcs echoed across Zar’Kaleth’s yard by midday.

After a few hours of training with the people he requested, Asmodeus stood at the centre, wings folded tight, aura coiled like a serpent under his skin.

He watched lines of warriors shuffle into the dirt square. Orcs stomped, shoulders broad and tusks bared. Goblins chattered, eyes darting, bows slung over narrow frames. Knights moved in neat formations, spears aligned with their shields locked.

And yet, he could easily see the cracks in their teamwork.

One orc shoved a goblin aside to make more space. The goblin hissed and kicked his shin. A knight sneered at them both, muttering about “animals.” The orc’s axe rose in answer.

The tension was sharp enough to snap.

“Silence!”

His voice broke across the yard like a thunderclap.

Yes, this world wasn’t some utopia; discrimination and hatred existed, and Asmodeus didn’t have some grand idea that they would all forget their enmity and feelings so easily. He just needed to keep it contained and aimed at the enemy. Not ally.

Even if he seemed unfair or the bad guy.

“Look at you,” Asmodeus growled, stepping forward. Blood Reaver’s edge scraped across the dirt. “Children. Squabbling. Do you think Mephisto will care what race you are before he rips your soul out? Do you think he’ll ask if you were a demon, orc, goblin, or elf before he wears you like a puppet?”

Silence.

The sound of over a thousand men swallowing echoed.

He saw the orcs lowering their tusks, goblins shrinking behind them, and the knights clenching their fists and biting their tongues.

This wasn’t an ideal situation, but this was the only method to win.

“Good. Then listen.” He swung the axe up, pointing to the sky. “From this moment, there are no races in this yard. No tribes. No noble lines. Only warriors. Your strength is worthless if the one beside you fails. You live or die as one.”

Asmodeus snapped his fingertips, and the bloody threads in his fingertips

The crimson thread formed a small bundle of blood, which then etched in each of their chests, seeping into their flesh, forming a blood-red number.

Two people shared the same number.

“If your partner fails, suffers or dies then you will suffer the same fate.”

A ripple of panic shot through the yard. Orcs pawed at their chests, goblins shrieked, and knights staggered as the glowing numbers pulsed faintly beneath their armour.

“What is this trick!?” one orc bellowed, clawing at the red mark burned into his flesh.

“My chest—burns!” a goblin hissed, baring his fangs at the knight across from him. “What have you done, King!?”

Asmodeus flapped his wings once, a heavy gust of wind blowing most of the people back a step.

“Silence.”

“I told you already, from now on, you live or die as one. Your partner’s pain is yours. Their wound, yours. Their death… yours.” His crimson eyes swept the yard, sharp enough to cut stone. “You will learn what it means to guard the life beside you, even if you hate them. Because if you cannot, then you are already dead.”

The silence remained for a while longer before he smiled at them.

“However… there is a benefit of course, can’t you feel the strength pumping through your veins?” He watched the orcs and goblins tilting their heads, but the Demon knights all understood, because it was his blood; this wasn’t something new to them. “The longer you maintain your pair, the more power you will obtain!”

A white lie.

‘They will fight less if all of them take in my blood, then they’ll hold a tiny amount of kinship to the others, this is the best I can manage.’

“Levia!”

She stepped forward elegantly before kneeling before Asmodeus.

“I will do your will, My lord.”

She slammed her shield against the ground with a thunderous crack. “You heard him! Pair by numbers—NOW!”

The warriors shuffled into pairs, grumbling curses and insults under their breath.

An orc towered over a goblin no higher than his waist. The goblin spat to the side, glaring up with open contempt.

“This runt? You insult me, King!” the orc yelled.

The goblin jeered back. “And I’ll be dragged to the grave with you, tusk-bastard. Keep your fat hide out of trouble!”

Their voices drew jeers, but Asmodeus only smiled faintly. Already the blood-bond tugged at them, and when the orc shoved the goblin, his own chest burned in retaliation, sending his body flying with the same force.

“Exactly,” Asmodeus replied.

Elsewhere, a demon knight scowled as she found herself tied to a muscular orc woman. “Ugh… how can you smell like this as a woman?”

The orc woman exposed her tusks, snarling in her face. But when she raised a fist, the knight gasped, her own chest burning. Both froze, glaring, but neither struck again.

“Get used to it,” Asmodeus said, his tone carrying across the yard. “Mephisto’s possession does not care for your pride. Either you hold the line together… or you’ll break and die together.”

***

With that, the drills began.

At first, it was chaos.

Shield formations cracked within moments, goblins darting free of their orc partners only to collapse when the bond punished them. Knights tried to push ahead without covering their slower allies and doubled over as the bond forced fatigue onto them.

The yard filled with snarls, curses, and groans of shared pain.

“Pathetic,” Asmodeus said, watching from the platform. He snapped his fingers, threads of crimson coiling tighter around their numbers. “Again.”

Levia bellowed orders, voice slicing through the din. “Lock shields! Cover your partner or suffer!”

Slowly and painfully, the lesson sank in.

The goblin, who had mocked his orc partner, found himself shielding the brute’s flank with sharp arrows, each one sparing them both another jolt of agony. The knight and orc woman grudgingly began to move in step, the knight’s spear covering overhead while her axe carved wide arcs at their feet.

By the third drill, they succeeded.

Soaked in sweat, covered in wounds, the army held ground and survived.