Chapter 160
Chapter 160
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 160
Chapter Title: 50. Either a Grievous Enmity or Perhaps Fate (2)
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Orcs have short lifespans.
This was because the heaven's mandate granted to them was shorter than that of other races, and at the same time, because their lives were harsh ones filled with struggle and war.
Even their kings were no different.
Their kings, too, were short-lived.
But there was an exception among them, and that was the Overlord.
As far as I could remember, he was the oldest of all orcs and the one who had reigned longer than any other king.
Even when countless orc lords perished in the Great War, he held his position steadfastly.
If he hadn't given in to greed, he would have remained the Great Overlord for much longer afterward.
But the arrogance that had swollen to match the years of his rule led him to ruin.
He coveted the divine throne of a being he should never have touched. In doing so, he yearned to become the god of the orcs.
When I heard that an army of two hundred thousand orcs and ten warlords were marching on the Fire Dragon's lair, I was utterly baffled.
Not long after, news came that the orcs had been annihilated.
It was the outcome I'd expected. Though I hadn't seen it myself, I assumed he had met his end there alongside his legion.
After all, the Fire Dragon was never one to show mercy to intruders in its domain.
But no.
『The enraged master of the Flame Legion, Overlord Bul-daan. That's the name of the enemy you're so curious about.』
He was alive and well, and after an immense span of years since the Great War, he had reemerged into the world.
"How? How on earth did he survive?"
She shook her head at my question.
That wasn't what mattered now.
She was right.
What mattered now wasn't how he had survived his battle with the Fire Dragon.
The only thing that mattered was that the dark green flames that had once swept the world were dreaming of revival once more.
I had to stop him.
Winter Castle wasn't the issue. His greed was far too vast to be sated by toppling a single castle or kingdom.
I turned my head.
I focused all my attention on the perpetually snow-capped Blade Mountains—and in particular, the solitary peak stained red among them.
My heart throbbed sharply from the fierce, ferocious battle spirit unique to orcs.
As I probed deeper, I sensed a sinister energy writhing within.
A blind rage unlike anything felt from ordinary orcs.
It was the deep, profound fury of a king who had sought to ascend to legend himself, only to fail and lose everything.
I berated myself.
His presence was so vivid. I had the dirge of the pitiful avenger who fought to eradicate him and died in the process. The resentment and karma woven into it had whispered ceaselessly of his existence to me.
And yet I had only realized it now.
I must have been too exhilarated from my long-awaited return. Or perhaps the rapidly unfolding crisis had narrowed my vision.
I gathered my thoughts.
Whatever the reason, my task was clear.
Exterminate the invader who dared covet my territory. That was the only thing I needed to do.
"After a warlord, now a great overlord."
This must be what they meant by "one mountain after another."
With my thoughts sorted, I moved to descend the spire and devise countermeasures.
『This is just the beginning.』
Ophelia's dry voice held me back.
『The world always moves one step ahead of your thoughts, so all you can see is a mere glimpse of the looming truth.』
I turned around.
The eerie gaze unique to a high lich stared straight at me.
"I'll keep that in mind."
I simply acknowledged her warning.
No sooner had I left the spire than Agnes approached.
[Strong, aren't they.]
"Of course they are. He was one of the greatest archmages of his lifetime, and after becoming a lich, he's spent centuries honing his magic in solitude."
[I'm not speaking only of the high lich.]
She clarified that her words weren't limited to the Archmage of the White Night.
[I'm speaking of this entire castle.]
There was a note of fresh admiration in her tone.
[Not a single one of those I've met so far feared death. Nor was there any among them ignorant of death's weight.]
She continued.
Brave souls abound, but those who know death's weight and stand firm regardless are rare.
Courage born of ignorance is no true courage.
[Each one has an upright, steadfast heart, their sword intent unblunted. The phrase 'braving the dragon's lair or tiger's den' was made for a place like this.]
The unexpected praise lifted my spirits at once.
"Compared to House Bayern's Iron Blood Legion?"
[They fall short in scale and power, but not in spirit or resolve.]
She added one more remark.
[A splendid army.]
Coming from her, notoriously stingy with praise, this was the highest commendation.
It pleased me greatly.
Winter Castle held deep meaning for me as well.
**
Vincent sought me out the moment I descended the spire.
He'd apparently prepared preliminary countermeasures in my absence.
I listened quietly to his report, then shook my head.
"Start from scratch."
Vincent's face twisted in frustration.
No one would be happy hearing that after all their effort.
I felt a twinge of guilt, but there were no alternatives.
The strategies and tactics devised by Winter Castle's command staff all presupposed an enemy equal to a warlord.
But our foe was no warlord.
He was every bit as savage and mighty—yet far more insidious besides.
This was nothing like the previous warlord.
That one had been a mere young warrior, frenzied with zeal for forging his kingdom: fight, trample, press on.
The Overlord, however, was battle-hardened from countless wars in the Great War.
Unlike the warlord slaughtered namelessly, he was a monster whose infamy had shaken the world.
I couldn't even recall how many elven cities or human fortresses his Enraged Flame Legion had crushed.
And now such a creature targeted Winter Castle.
Simply fortifying the walls and sealing the gates as before wouldn't suffice.
"An orc like that in the world..."
Vincent scowled deeply at my words before sighing.
"Ugh. I've never regretted heeding Your Highness. Understood, then."
He grumbled that we'd be in countermeasures meetings all day again.
"Good. Keep up the good work."
I gave him a glance and turned to leave, only to halt.
"Vincent."
"Yes?"
He shot me a look amid his muttering.
As time wore on, his features increasingly mirrored his father's—overlapping with the face of that old knight who had faded away in some nameless wilderness.
I couldn't tell.
Whether he truly was the avenger reincarnated, or merely shared a name.
If he was, whether the enemy's leader being the very Overlord who shattered his past life was mere coincidence.
Or if it had been fated from the start.
I had no certainty.
"Be careful."
I could only hope he wouldn't fade as vainly as in his past life.
"War's hardly a novelty after all these years."
Vincent replied nonchalantly, but my expression made him stiffen.
"Why the grim face? You're creeping me out."
He strode over, feigning casualness, and clapped my shoulder.
"Don't worry. Whose fault is it that I'm buried in work and haven't touched a sword in ages? They tell me to fight up front now, and I couldn't if I tried."
Vincent's face drew near.
"So drop that anxious look. Unlike my father, I don't plan on dying before I see Your Highness on the throne."
He chuckled and pulled away.
"Grown in body only—the kid inside's the same. A kid."
He left those irreverent yet heartfelt words behind as he vanished into the distance.
"May he fulfill that unfinished grudge this time."
I hoped.
The avenger who perished battling orcs in his past life; now, the castellan holding the fortress against an orc legion.
May the karma and resentment carried from that past life finally find completion.
**
That evening passed peacefully.
The monsters driven back into the mountains showed themselves no more.
Yet the Overlord's energy pulsing from beyond the crimson peak remained fixed on Winter Castle.
A day slipped by in tension akin to the calm before the storm.
Then the reinforcements from the capital arrived at Winter Castle.
"Whoa."
"How did they make it all the way up here to the north?"
The rangers and Winter Castle knights murmured at the sight of the troops.
It was understandable.
The resplendent golden armor filing through the south gate belonged to the royal knights, who seldom strayed from the palace.
And the soldiers trailing them—what of them?
The lofty banners they bore were those of the kingdom's finest, the 2nd Central Army safeguarding the capital.
Leading them at the fore was a white-haired old knight.
Captain of the Royal Knight Order and the king's own guard knight, Count Schurmhilde Shutgart.
"Welcome to the fortress, Elder."
Vincent hurried out without a word of excuse to greet the old knight.
"My respects to the blood and sweat of House Ballerhard soaked into this land."
The old knight raised his sword in elegant salute.
"When my late father lived, he ensured your respects were etched indelibly."
"He was the kingdom's finest knight, as I knew him. Duty kept me from his funeral, my old sword-brother's, but pray understand and forgive."
"Your words are far too gracious. In these dire straits, we are grateful merely that you came to our aid without hesitation."
I'd wondered at his excessive deference for a border count; it seemed my uncle had shared a deep bond with the old knight in life.
As I snickered at Vincent's earnest display, the old knight approached me.
Sighing before me, he spoke.
"Your Highness. Pray grant this humble servant leave to fulfill his duty."
The veteran rangers and several knights tittered softly.
No doubt ribbing that he'd broken ahead alone and galloped to the castle.
But their mirth was short-lived.
Clack!
The old knight dropped to one knee before me abruptly.
Clack clack.
A hundred Royal Knights knelt in his wake.
"Captain of the Royal Knight Order, Schurmhilde Shutgart. The 1st Royal Knight Order—one hundred strong—has just arrived!"
The Royal Knights knelt as one before me.
"Wha? Huh."
I scowled at the sudden excess of ceremony, glancing about.
Vincent gaped. The rangers froze solid. The knights stared in shock.
Now it dawned on them.
The old knight was the king's first guard knight; the 1st Royal Knight Order served the king alone.
They bowed and paid homage to none but the king.
Or to the one who would become king.