Raising all of humanity: Starting with a backyard pool world

Chapter 32 [The Black Tide Monarch]

The Middle East, an unknown battlefield.

Gunshots.

Explosion sound.

Dust and choking gunpowder smoke pierced through eardrums.

The mercenary codenamed Death's consciousness remained frozen in the last moment of his life.

A tearing, excruciating pain shot through my heart.

He turned his head with difficulty and saw the face of his most trusted comrade-in-arms, the one he had entrusted his back to countless times.

The brotherhood of the past was gone from that face; only naked greed and a twisted smile remained.

Why?

Endless anger and resentment burned his soul into a dark, cold, and resentful spark.

Then, his consciousness seemed to fall into an abyss where time and space ceased to exist, until he saw that one and only light.

Death reached out and grasped...

……

The Grim Reaper opened his eyes.

The unfamiliar environment, the explosive sense of power, all stemmed from the excruciating pain in every inch of my body.

He found himself inside an unusually strong body.

As far as the eye could see, there was a pair of disproportionately large green hands covered with thick calluses.

All around were the deafening war drums and the wild howls of countless similar bodies filled with bloodlust.

A hunt for the defeated has only just begun.

As memories flooded in, Death learned everything.

The original owner of this body was the son of the old chieftain of this orc tribe. He was supposed to inherit his father's will and become the new leader after the battle just now.

But he died.

He was ambushed and killed by a cold arrow from behind.

How similar their fates were to mine.

There's no time for confusion or sadness.

His combat instincts, honed over decades of fighting in the hail of bullets in his previous life, told him that survival was the top priority.

In his field of vision, several remnants of a defeated tribe were being driven around by a group of fanatical orc warriors, as if playing a cat-and-mouse game.

One of the defeated men, seemingly unwilling to accept his fate, picked up a stone and, with his last ounce of strength, hurled it at a young orc from his own tribe.

"Roar—!" The newly born Grim Reaper roared angrily from the depths of his chest.

He grabbed the enormous totem pole next to him, which was stuck in the ground and was taller than him.

The totem pole was made of some kind of wood and the bones of a giant beast. It was incredibly heavy and covered with primitive and rough war scenes. At the top was a ferocious beast head.

This was originally a symbol of the tribal chief.

At this moment, however, it became the most handy weapon in his hands.

With an indomitable and fierce momentum, he charged towards the chaotic hunting ground.

He stared at the enemy tribe warrior who had just successfully launched a sneak attack and was about to end the life of the young orc.

"Die!" A strange syllable, yet uttered with practiced ease from his throat.

He swung the totem pole in his hand, turning it into a giant black windmill, and slammed it down with a whooshing sound.

The opposing soldier who tried to resist didn't even have time to react.

His head, along with the crude weapon in his hand, exploded in front of the totem pole.

Red and white substances splattered everywhere like watermelon juice.

When an enemy dies, an invisible mist is absorbed by the totem from the corpse, and then another black mist surges out from the totem and flows into the body of the Grim Reaper.

It is domineering and efficient.

It cleared the silt from Death's body and repaired its defects, along with... its power was also enhanced.

"I see..." Killing can make the Grim Reaper stronger; that's his understanding based on the current situation.

Each life lost transforms into nourishment for a stream called the Black Tide, sustaining his power, healing his wounds, and making him stronger and more indestructible.

"Hahaha...hahahaha!" Uncontrollable wild laughter erupted from his chest.

The surrounding orcs, victors and vanquished alike, were stunned by the sudden scene and the maniacal laughter.

They saw that the new king, who should have been enthroned surrounded by his people, now stood alone beside the headless corpse like a true ancient beast, exuding a chilling aura of savagery.

Death stopped laughing maniacally, and his crimson eyes swept over every living being present.

He slammed the totem pole, stained with blood and brain matter, heavily onto the ground.

"Thump!" The earth trembled.

He charged into the midst of the terrified, defeated soldiers.

Not content with simple killing, he began to display combat skills far beyond the comprehension of this era, skills belonging to top mercenaries.

Waving a totem pole can always cause the greatest destruction with the least amount of force.

Each dodge involved anticipating the opponent's attack route, causing those futile attacks to graze past his body.

The battlefield became their own slaughterhouse.

As the totem pole swept across, three or four enemies were broken in half at the waist.

The totem pole was cleaved vertically, pinning a fleeing enemy to the ground and killing him instantly.

When the last defeated man was pierced through the chest with the top of a totem pole and held high, he was lifted up.

All the orcs of their tribe looked at this being, who should have become their new king, with the eyes of someone looking at a monster.

He was too powerful, and too brutal.

The combat style overturned the orcs' simplistic view of war, which only knew how to use brute force to clash.

The battle is over.

This is not enough.

Turning around, Death's crimson gaze fell upon his people, who were now filled with fear.

Behind the crowd were several equally robust tribal leaders, their eyes revealing resentment and jealousy.

They were the old chief's other, more prestigious sons, and his biggest rivals in the path to succession.

That look in his eyes—Death knew it all too well.

In my past life, I ended up like that because I ignored that look in my eyes.

This time, I won't make the same mistake again.

He carried the totem pole, took heavy steps, walked through the crowd, and went straight to those brothers with unfriendly eyes.

The orcs instinctively took a step back, gripped their weapons tightly, and their faces were filled with vigilance and a show of bravado masking their fear.

"What do you think you're doing?!" one of them shouted, mustering his courage. "The battle is over!"

Death did not answer, but its actions heralded the arrival of a new era.

The totem pole was swung, and the orc who had just spoken didn't even have time to react before his kneecap was shattered by the blow.

"Crack!" The crisp sound of bones breaking, accompanied by a piercing scream, echoed throughout the entire arena.

Under the horrified gaze of all the tribesmen, "Death" walked up to the kneeling "brother" and raised the totem pole high in his hand.

The most primal violence smashed that head, filled with defiance and resentment, into the mud.

One strike, two strikes, three strikes...

Until it was no longer possible to tell that a head had ever been there.

Then, he turned his head and swept his cold gaze over the remaining few troublemakers who were already pale and trembling like leaves.

"Thump." They dropped their weapons, knelt down, pressed their foreheads to the ground, and dared not show the slightest disrespect.

At that moment, the entire tribe prostrated themselves at his feet.

They feared him more than they respected him.

The newly born orc king stood atop the mountain of corpses and casually tossed away the totem pole.

At this moment, he deliberately abandoned and forgot the name "Grim Reaper," along with everything from his past life.

Those things are no longer important.

Feel the surging power of the "Black Tide" within him, which was growing stronger through slaughter.

Bathed in the gazes of all his people, a mixture of awe and fear.

He spread his arms wide, looked up to the sky, and let out a roar that shook the mountains and fields, announcing his arrival.

A demon king who believes in pure power and whose only doctrine is conquest and devouring.

— "Kuroshio Monarch".

It was born at this moment.