I Became My Elf King Character In A Game-Like World
Chapter 69: Ogre Leader Is A Giant

Chapter 69: Ogre Leader Is A Giant

"No, Great Leader!" the elder squeaked, trembling.

"We got it all wrong! The Elves are crazy strong. Their numbers are in Tens of thousands, led by that Elf King, are all around our territory!"

"No way!"

Their Giant leader’s roar shook the stone walls. It had ruled the ogre tribe for years, living right next to the Elves. How could it not know their numbers? When they were practically neighbours, just a few weeks ago they were at war with Kobolds and goblins.

Even if their goddess blessed them and they grew fast, a few thousand would be a lot. But the ogre elder directly stated tens of thousands of elven fighters had stormed its territory.

Was this a trick? Illusion? Or something else?

The Giant leader’s face twisted, red with anger. It snatched the elder up like a tiny bird, lifting it high with one big hand.

"You dare lie and laugh at the great Leader of your race?!"

"No, great leader, I’d never—" The elder’s voice squeaked, high and scared. "It’s real! Their numbers are Tens of thousands! They’ve rushed in and trapped us from all sides. And it’s not just elves—there’s Giant Golems too, all peak super crazy strong in a fight!"

"You’re making it up and lying to me... how dare you!" The Giant leader threw the elder down hard.

The old ogre hit the floor with a thud, coughing up blood, his body shaking. "Great Leader, if you don’t trust me, look outside! The prophet said this war will finish our tribe! Great Leader, please save us!"

That’s when the Giant Leader heard it—screams, loud and wild, bouncing off the mountain from below. Its face changed, eyes narrowing. Could it be true? "Stupid Elves!" it bellowed, voices booming like a storm.

"They dare invade me? They’ll burn to dust under my fury!" With a roar that rattled the air, it stomped out of the hall, its big feet cracking the stone. The elder scrambled up, wincing, and hurried after its great leader, dust trailing behind.

Stepping outside, the Giant leader stopped dead, its breath catching. The whole land was a mess—ogres running everywhere, their yells sharp and panicked, rising from the mountain’s bottom.

It leaned forward, squinting down the slope. The woods below buzzed with quick shapes—too many to count.

Elven archers pulled their bows tight, arrows flying fast like rain. Huntresses on magical panthers swung silver moon blades, the metal flashing cold as they sliced ogres down easily.

The Giant leader’s face went pale, sweat beading on its brow. There were just too many enemies! Just like the elder said—tens of thousands, all trained, all deadly.

The ogre tribe had always been the Forest’s toughest, stronger than the Elves or the dark wolf clan in the forest. But now, it was falling apart under the elven attack.

Ogres ran scared in every direction, their big feet kicking up dirt. Their rough clubs and spears were no good against the elves’ sharp moves.

A few ogre elders tried to fight back, shouting orders, but a wave of arrows hit, and their lines broke like dry twigs.

"Run! Get to the top!"

"Flee! These archers kill too fast!"

"Great Leader, help us!"

The beaten ogres rushed up the mountain, their heavy breathing loud. Every ogre felt fear deep in their bones. Elves surrounded the mountain tight, like a wall of iron—no way out.

The peak, where the Giant Leader stood tall, was their last chance. They believed their leader—a Tenth circle giant with old Titan blood—could push the elves back.

More ogres crowded the peak, their sweaty bodies pressed close. But the ogre elder’s face was dark, his eyes dull with worry.

The tribe once had over 8,000 ogres. Now, only a few thousand stood, panting and bloody. Half had died down the mountain in just minutes, their bodies left in the grass.

Wearing only beast skins, they couldn’t stop the elves’ freakish archers. The huntresses on panthers cut down their best fighters like nothing.

Sometimes, those huntresses threw their silver blades, and each one left fifth-circle ogres bleeding out fast, red soaking the dirt.

This wasn’t a fight—it was a slaughter, one side way stronger than the other. The elder’s voice shook hard. "Great Leader, tell us—how do we stop this mess?"

The Giant Leader turned and marched back into the stone palace, its steps heavy. When it came out, it wore thick battle armor, dark and scratched, and held two huge steel warhammers, one in each hand.

The elder knew what that meant—war. It begged quickly, "Great Leader, why not gather the warriors left? With you leading, we could break through the elves and run. We’ll give them the Forest and find a new home!"

"No giant on the Continent runs without a fight!" The Giant Leader growled, its eyes blazing with fire. It smashed its warhammers together, the bang loud like thunder rolling.

Every ogre on the peak spun to look, their tired faces lifting. In that second, their broken spirits flared back up. They weren’t done—they had the Giant Leader, a Tenth circle warrior with Titan blood running hot.

"G-Great Leader!" A group of ogre fighters pushed an old ogre forward. Its face was wrinkled deep, its hair thin, and it gripped a wooden staff that glowed faint. The Giant Leader gave a sharp nod.

"Prophet!" the elder said, bowing low. Every ogre tribe had a prophet—someone to guide them, someone with magic. But their magic wasn’t normal spells. It was a rare kind, called aura magic.

The prophet’s face was serious but strong. "Your Majesty, the ogre tribe stands with you to fight these rotten Elves race!" It slammed its staff into the ground, the wood cracking the stone. Red energy rippled out, like blood spreading in water, touching every ogre.

Their strength, toughness, speed, and bravery shot up high, their bodies buzzing with power. This was the ogres’ aura magic, like the beast clans’ totem boost.

With it, the ogres on the peak grabbed their weapons tight, clubs, spears, axes, their fear burning away, their will to fight roaring loud.

The Giant Leader stared down the path from the peak, its big hands squeezing the war hammers. A huge group of Elves marched up, steady and sure.

At the front was the Elf King, riding the Unicorn. Holy magic poured from Sylphie, wrapping Renjiro in a bright glow—noble, pure, and strong as sunlight.