The battle raged in the skies as Volk’s Horde relentlessly pursued the owl people. One by one, their majestic forms descended, driven down not by injury alone but by fear and exhaustion.

At first, the owl people tried to resist, clinging to the last shreds of their pride. They flapped their powerful wings with desperate determination, diving and weaving in intricate patterns to evade the Horde’s relentless onslaught. But it was no use. The Horde, with their crude yet effective flying contraptions, had turned the skies into a battlefield where cunning and sheer tenacity outmatched elegance and tradition.

The owl people’s aerial grace, once unrivaled, now seemed inadequate against the unrelenting pressure of their foes. Each time one attempted to ascend higher, an ogre or a goblin would rise to meet them. Each time they regrouped to strategize, a shadow would pass over them—a hulking ogre or an agile goblin swooping down to scatter them once more.

The goblins were relentless, darting around with surprising agility, their strange new gadgets keeping them aloft. They cackled gleefully as they swooped in and out of formations, their crude weapons glinting in the moonlight. “Down you go!” one goblin shouted, flinging a weighted net at an owl man. The net tangled in the owl’s wings, sending him spiraling to the ground with a panicked squawk.

The ogres, on the other hand, were blunt instruments of terror. They didn’t need speed or finesse. Their sheer size and strength were enough to unnerve even the bravest of the owl people. One ogre grinned wickedly as he grabbed an owl man mid-flight, holding him up as if he weighed nothing. “Think you’re so high and mighty, huh?” the ogre taunted before flinging the owl man downward like a ragdoll.

The owl people began to falter. Their formations broke apart, their once-unified flight patterns devolving into chaotic, desperate attempts to evade capture. The golden-feathered leader shouted commands, his voice sharp and commanding, but his words were drowned out by the cacophony of battle.

Volk watched from below, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. His Horde was winning—not just the fight, but the psychological battle as well. The owl people, once so proud and untouchable, were now grounded in every sense of the word.

“Keep pushing!” Volk roared, his voice echoing across the battlefield. “Break their will! Show them that no one—no one—can stand above the Horde!”

The Horde roared in response, their voices a thunderous chorus of triumph. They surged forward with renewed vigor, their crude flying contraptions buzzing and creaking as they pursued the owl people relentlessly.

One by one, the owl people fell. Some landed hard, their wings crumpled beneath them. Others managed to glide down more gracefully, their expressions etched with defeat. The golden-feathered leader, still aloft, watched in growing horror as his people were brought low.

Below, Volk crossed his arms, his smirk widening. “Look at them,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Once kings of the sky, now groveling in the dirt.” Explore more at My Virtual Library Empire

The golden-feathered leader hovered above the fray, his sharp eyes scanning the battlefield. He gritted his teeth, his talons clenched tightly. “Cowards!” he bellowed at his people. “Stand and fight!” But his words fell on deaf ears.

A young owl woman landed nearby, her wings trembling as she folded them against her body. She looked up at the leader, her eyes filled with shame. “We can’t… We can’t fight them,” she whispered. “They’re… unstoppable.”

The leader’s jaw tightened, his feathers bristling with frustration. He refused to accept this outcome. “Fools!” he shouted, his voice tinged with desperation. “We are the masters of the sky! We cannot—”

“Can’t you?” Volk’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

The golden leader snapped his gaze downward, his eyes locking onto Volk’s. The orc stood tall, his presence commanding even from the ground. “Face it, birdman,” Volk said, his tone dripping with disdain. “Your sky isn’t yours anymore.”

The leader’s feathers fluffed in anger, but before he could respond, another cry echoed from above.

“Leader! It’s no use!”

Another owl man descended, his wings flapping weakly. “They’re… they’re too much. We can’t hold them off!”

The golden-feathered leader’s eyes darted between his people and the encroaching Horde. His pride warred with the reality before him. Slowly, begrudgingly, he began to descend as well, his wings folding as he landed among his defeated kin.

And then, only one remained in the sky—the golden-feathered leader himself. His wings spread wide, he hovered high above, the last remnant of his people’s once-dominant pride.

Volk tilted his head back, his crimson eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Interesting,” he murmured.

The leader stared down at Volk, his sharp eyes filled with defiance. “You may have bested my people,” he called, his voice carrying across the battlefield. “But I will not fall so easily!”

Volk chuckled, a low, menacing sound that sent shivers through those who heard it. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said, his voice calm but laced with something darker. “I wouldn’t want you to.”

Then, as if struck by sudden inspiration, Volk’s expression shifted. His eyes brightened, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Actually…” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “I’ve just had an idea.”

Volk’s crimson eyes gleamed with mischief as he observed the golden-feathered leader hovering in the sky, defiant yet helpless. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, a grin spreading across his face. His Horde, now fully grounded and gathered, awaited his command, their eager expressions a mix of excitement and curiosity.

“Alright, listen up!” Volk bellowed, his booming voice silencing the chatter of the goblins and ogres alike. “I have a plan, but it’s not going to be about swords or flying. No, no. We’re going to… uh, let’s just say, teach this bird a lesson in humility. Grab him!”

The Horde erupted into motion. Goblins with their newfound aerial skills darted upward, their movements clumsy but effective. The golden-feathered leader squawked in indignation as he tried to dodge, his wings flapping furiously. But the goblins, grinning wickedly, worked together like a swarm of hornets, corralling him until an ogre leapt impossibly high, his massive hands closing around the leader’s flailing form.

The ogre landed with a resounding thud, holding the owl man aloft like a prized trophy. “Got ‘im!” the ogre declared, his grin splitting his face.

The leader squirmed in the ogre’s grasp, his golden feathers ruffled and his pride thoroughly dented. “Unhand me, you brutes!” he screeched, but his protests fell on deaf ears.

Volk smirked, stepping forward and pointing at the golden-feathered leader. “Good! Now, we’re going to play a little game. No weapons, no magic, just… teamwork. Toss him here!”

“Toss him?” the ogre repeated, scratching his head.

“Yes, toss him! Think of it as practice!” Volk barked. “And don’t let him touch the ground, or you’ll be running laps until your legs fall off!”

The ogre grinned, seemingly excited by the new task. With a mighty swing, he launched the golden-feathered leader into the air. The owl man squawked in alarm as he soared upward, his wings flapping uselessly against the momentum.

“Catch him!” Volk shouted, pointing at a group of goblins.

The goblins, quick to obey, scrambled to position themselves. One goblin leapt into the air, his small hands outstretched. He managed to intercept the owl leader mid-flight, his body jerking from the force of the catch. “Gotcha!” the goblin crowed triumphantly, only to realize he was now falling with the owl man in tow.

“Don’t you dare hit the ground!” Volk yelled, his voice carrying a tone of mock seriousness.

Another goblin darted forward, leaping into the air to intercept his comrade. With a deft swipe, he batted the owl leader upward, sending him soaring again. The Horde erupted into laughter, their voices mingling with the golden leader’s indignant cries.

“What is this madness?!” the owl man screeched, his wings flailing uselessly as he was batted from one goblin to another like a makeshift ball.

“It’s training!” Volk declared, crossing his arms and watching with satisfaction. “Now, ogres! Your turn!”

An ogre, eager to join in, bounded forward. His massive hand swept upward, swatting the owl leader with surprising precision. The force sent the unfortunate leader flying across the field, where another ogre was already waiting.

“Nice hit!” the second ogre said, catching the leader in his giant hands. He tossed him upward, and a nearby group of goblins scrambled to intercept.

The game continued, growing more chaotic and hilarious with each passing moment. The owl leader’s protests devolved into incoherent squawks, his pride long since battered into submission.

The goblins, always inventive, began adding their own flair to the game. One goblin performed a spinning leap before striking the owl leader with his foot, sending him into a high arc. Another attempted a backflip, though he missed entirely and landed face-first in the dirt.

“Keep him in the air!” Volk shouted, his laughter booming across the battlefield.

The ogres, not to be outdone, started competing to see who could throw the owl leader the farthest. One particularly enthusiastic ogre launched him so high that for a moment, it seemed he might escape entirely. But a swift-flying goblin intercepted him, flapping his wings madly as he guided the leader back toward the ground.

“Impressive catch!” Volk called, nodding in approval.

The Horde, despite their rough coordination, were clearly having the time of their lives. Laughter echoed through the field as goblins and ogres alike stumbled, collided, and occasionally missed their target altogether. Even the grim-faced orcs cracked the occasional smile as they watched the spectacle unfold.

Volk stood at the center of it all, his arms crossed and his grin wide. “This,” he said to himself, “is exactly what we needed. Training and morale-building. I’m a genius.”

The owl leader, now thoroughly humiliated, could do little more than squawk weakly as he was passed from one member of the Horde to another. His golden feathers were ruffled beyond recognition, and his once-proud demeanor had been replaced with sheer resignation.

“Don’t drop him yet!” Volk called out, his voice carrying a mischievous edge. “We’re just getting started!”

The Horde roared in agreement, their laughter and cheers blending into a cacophony of joy. Volk watched the scene with a rare moment of unguarded mirth, throwing his head back and laughing until his sides hurt.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep