Nella's Concern (1)
The rugged mountain path winding up the Decastras Mountains. Midway along that treacherous route stood Stony Fortress, a stronghold carved into a sheer cliff face. Within that impregnable stone citadel—the home of the Orcs—intense training drills were underway. The fierce battle cries of the soldiers echoed off the surrounding walls and carried all the way to the Caboni Forest beyond.
Even the mountain goats scaling the cliffs and the kites hunting for prey would startle and veer away whenever those threatening sounds reached them from the fortress. Meanwhile, the soldiers standing watch atop the walls sighed and sipped from their canteens.
“Ugh… It tastes even sourer now that I’m older.”
“Quit complaining. The lads down there would gladly drink even the quenching water from the forge, let alone Plumade.”
“Who said I was complaining? I’m just saying!”
Plumade was made by slicing sour plums and steeping them in water—a refreshing drink that quenched thirst effectively. Though not sweet enough to be considered a fine beverage, it remained the most common and beloved drink among the physically demanding Orc soldiers.
“Whew. Thank goodness our shift today is guard duty. If we’d been assigned to training, we’d be the ones half-dead and rolling around in the training yard right now.”
“You’re telling me. Normally the training squad would’ve finished their basic conditioning and sparring early. Honestly, with both the Lord and the Captain so busy lately, we haven’t even had proper mock battles, have we?”
The soldiers the wall guards pitied were currently undergoing training in the yard below. Ever since Stony Fortress had come under Demon Lord Neromeltia’s command, Lord Beriberi’s workload had more than doubled, keeping him confined to his office. It was telling that the noble, who normally insisted on dining in the hall out of respect for etiquette, now took his meals at his desk.
Even Nella, the second-in-command of the army, had been too occupied with the reconstruction of Demon Lord Castle to pay much attention to Stony Fortress’s affairs. Though she held the specific title of Engineer Captain, no one in the army outranked her; in truth, she was the overall commander. Because the Orc forces were not particularly large, she paid little heed to titles and continued to be called by her primary role as Engineer Captain.
The problem was that both the Lord and the Engineer Captain were buried in their respective duties, leaving the Orc army’s schedule extremely simple. They stood guard three times a week, trained twice, and rested once. The remaining day was spent as construction labor at Demon Lord Castle. Training and construction were both grueling, so even a single day of rest left their bodies exhausted; thus their duties had been adjusted accordingly.
On guard duty days, they avoided long-range patrols and simply kept watch from the walls or towers, allowing their bodies to recover. Training was kept light—enough to maintain discipline and prevent skill from dulling—before ending early so they could rest. That was why the soldiers scheduled for training today had been so excited the previous evening, talking about dates and trying foods they had never eaten before.
What they had overlooked, however, was that Nella—who had rarely been seen at the Orc barracks due to her duties at Demon Lord Castle—had suddenly appeared today. After a long absence, she gathered the training squad and personally oversaw their drills, driving them mercilessly. A grueling session that stripped them of their very souls had begun.
“We’ve been slacking off quite a bit lately… I mean, the reconstruction work is exhausting, so we’ve been taking it easy…”
“Oh? So you’ve been going easy on your training, have you?”
The two wall guards had been leisurely watching the yard like spectators when a familiar voice spoke behind them. They spun around in shock. The voice was refined, archaic, and deeply familiar.
“L-Lord Beriberi!!!”
“I did instruct you to keep the training schedule relaxed, but it seems it was too lenient for the likes of you. I apologize.”
“N-No, that’s not what we meant—”
“How fortunate, then! My sister is currently putting them through the rigorous training they deserve down below. This is a fine opportunity, wouldn’t you say? I’ll personally instruct the guard captain to handle the watch here, so join the training without worry.”
Lord Beriberi, who had been holed up in his office, had been standing behind them the entire time, witnessing every word. The two guards swallowed whatever excuses they might have offered and began descending the wall with pale, despairing faces. They looked like cattle being led to slaughter, their steps heavy on the stairs. Though Beriberi had spoken kindly, he had clearly reprimanded and punished them. The iron rule of a soldier was that even relaxed training must never be taken lightly—and they had broken it, leaving them no room for further excuses.
“Is that all you’ve got? Squad leader! What kind of enemy could threaten Her Majesty the Demon Lord’s safety? A pack of wolves, perhaps?”
“A single powerful foe, ma’am!”
“Exactly! If even I cannot be brought to my knees, how will you protect Her Majesty when a true powerhouse appears? Next squad, prepare yourselves!!”
Nella, embodying the strict demeanor of a soldier, was single-handedly facing entire squads of Orcs. Armed only with a single bastard sword, she prevented the Orcs—wielding every manner of weapon—from even approaching her properly. Though they surrounded her without gaps, none could properly react to her blade before being thoroughly neutralized one by one.
Normally, training and mock battles used wooden weapons to avoid injury. Yet Nella had insisted on real metal weapons, claiming it would sharpen their sense of live combat. Her height of two hundred mentols was considerable even among Demanians. Neromeltia, already tall at one hundred eighty mentols, meant most ordinary Demanians had to look up at Nella. Among the Orcs, who averaged two hundred fifty mentols, however, she was considered small-framed—which, ironically, made it easier for the larger Orc soldiers to try overpowering her with sheer size.
Even if they had been using wooden weapons, a full-powered strike would likely have shattered them. With real metal arms, they could exert their full strength. Yet not a single Orc had managed to overwhelm Nella through brute force. The gap in ability was simply too vast.
Nella’s agile, fluid movements ensured none of their weapons so much as brushed her clothes. Her highly refined combat techniques were nearly impossible to follow with the naked eye. Her thoroughly trained strength sent even massive Orc soldiers sprawling whenever their weapons clashed. Given their larger muscles and frames, the Orcs should have won through raw power alone. When skill or experience was the deciding factor, they could accept falling short—but losing in strength despite such a clear physical advantage was difficult to comprehend.
No matter what approach they tried, they could find no way to harm her.
CLAAAANG!!!
“If you give up now, you’ll remain nothing but a rabble! Is that what you want?!”
“No, ma’am!!!”
“If strength fails, use technique! If technique fails, use strategy! The Orc army does not choose its methods!!”
Nella instantly hauled the neutralized squad members back to their feet. At her command, the Orc soldiers reignited their fighting spirit and charged once more. The Orcs were a proud people, and Nella’s words were like fuel to their pride. Yet her commands were not solely meant to inspire them—they were also words she directed at herself.
‘How can I possibly…’
Orc physiques were not particularly strong compared to other races. Trolls were larger than Orcs and possessed immense regenerative power; unless their tough necks were completely severed, they would revive endlessly. Ogres stood twice the height of Orcs and possessed bodies of such volume that comparison was meaningless—their monstrous strength was nearly impossible for an Orc to withstand. Anima, beastkin who wielded the power of animals, had clear specialties and superior physical abilities rooted in their wild nature. Elves, Dwarves, spirits, and most other races were formidable, while giants and vampires were so overwhelmingly powerful they need not even be mentioned.
That was why Orcs had cultivated their strength through artificial means—martial arts, strategy, and technique—building collective power. Yet the events of the previous day had been deeply shocking to Nella.
In her duel with Crawford, her sword had been severed far too easily. Crawford was a Demanian older even than Demon Lord Neromeltia and was known as Hemonigent’s Sword Master; there was nothing strange or shameful about Nella losing to him. She had not fought to win in the first place—she had merely wanted to vent her anger in a proper manner. Knowing she could not defeat him through pure swordsmanship alone, she had even prepared a massive kite shield to neutralize his technique. Up until the midpoint of the duel, she had successfully countered every one of Crawford’s attacks, so she had believed her calculations had been at least partially correct.
But she had been mistaken. If Crawford had used his Mana Sword from the very beginning, Nella would have been disarmed instantly and forced to concede. The reason he had struggled so much against her shield strategy was because he had refrained from using the Mana Sword to avoid injuring her. Crawford, who had not even brought his armor or shield because he wanted to avoid the duel altogether, had simply been worried that Nella might get hurt.
All of these facts were shocking and heartbreaking to Nella. Even she, the strongest swordsman in the Orc army, would have to discard her weapons and equipment before a Mana Sword. She had heard that not only Crawford but all skilled senior Black Knights could use the Mana Sword. Though the current Black Knights were not at the level of a thousand years ago—meaning more members could not use it—the important reality remained that ordinary weapons were helpless against the Mana Sword.
Even during the Humian assault a thousand years ago that led to Hemonigent’s fall, Crawford had recalled being quite powerless. He had been protecting refugees and thus could not properly engage the enemy, but the fact that Beatrice had achieved far greater military accomplishments only made the reality more dismal. Even Crawford, who had displayed overwhelming martial prowess the previous day, had been forced to watch helplessly as the flames of destruction consumed everything. If even Crawford’s strike could not be stopped without losing one’s weapon, then Nella herself would be utterly useless.
Beatrice, who had achieved even greater feats than Crawford, had been unable to turn the tide of war and had instead sealed herself beneath Demon Lord Castle. If Nella could not even block a single sword strike from Crawford, how could she possibly protect the Demon Lord and her people? She could find no answer.
Though she, the so-called strongest swordsman, was this powerless, she believed she could at least avoid being powerless in large-scale group battles. Currently, the reconstruction of Demon Lord Castle was the highest priority, and Nella had no desire to disrupt that work with overly harsh training. However, if there were those who had grown lax due to the relaxed schedule, she wanted to restore discipline through today’s training at the very least—so that even with reduced training, they might maintain their passion for steady growth.
And just as Nella had intended, the Orc army’s fighting spirit and morale began to blaze once more.