Chapter 165
Chapter 165
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 165
Chapter Title: 51. Roaring Lions of the North (4)
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Vincent knew better than anyone that his talents fell short of his father's.
But he wasn't disappointed.
He was a castellan, not a knight—and a castellan had duties befitting the role.
He considered that enough.
The urge to grab a sword and charge into the fray with the monsters? He simply tamped it down.
It wasn't easy, but he'd managed to adapt to his responsibilities.
Lately, though, that resolve had started to waver.
"Am I just pent up?"
At some point, his heart had begun pounding like mad. Heat surged inside him like a roaring blaze. His hand kept drifting to his sword hilt.
He wanted nothing more than to snatch up his blade and bolt out there right now.
It was too intense to chalk up to some lingering knightly instinct he hadn't fully purged.
He suppressed it all, keeping any sign from showing.
Instead of a sword, he gripped the command baton, staying true to his station.
Even when the signal to advance went out—bolstered by the dwarves' arrival and the central army's stunning exploits—he had solid grounds as castellan.
They couldn't leverage the walls until those towering monster corpse piles were cleared. They had to blunt the enemy's momentum before their own casualties mounted. And the prince had said ending the enemy's leader swiftly would wrap up the war that much sooner.
To him, now was precisely the moment all those reasons aligned.
So he switched to the offensive without a second thought.
He figured it was a perfectly rational, sound call.
But apparently not.
The prince's shouts for retreat echoed from afar, over and over.
His adjutant reported that Northern Union Army troops had fallen into chaos from orcs bursting out of the ground—and that their retreat was cut off.
"We'll smash the enemy's main force and head back after!"
Most of the monsters were already turning tail. What blocked them now was just a fraction: orc war legions.
A rare shot to obliterate the enemy's core.
He resolved to scatter them first, then withdraw with the Northern Union Army—rather than crumble alongside his men.
But that proved another miscalculation.
"Vincent!"
The prince finally appeared on the battlefield, his face uncharacteristically frantic.
He leaped high and raised his sword, but there was no trace of his usual composure.
A massive arm erupted from beneath his feet.
Vincent poured every ounce of energy into his swing, but the blade's glow scattered helplessly before the red aura cloaking the arm.
In the face of that savage energy, Vincent finally faced reality.
All those "rational" judgments he'd clung to? Just excuses.
Sending out the troops. A castellan like him leaping into battle. All because of this ferocious aura.
It had lured him here.
And only now did he realize it.
No time to stew in regret.
Thud.
Someone shoved him aside.
Flash.
As he tumbled back, he caught a glimpse of golden sword light.
A woman stood within it, radiating lights of varying hues.
Whoosh.
Red malice swallowed her whole.
Grind.
In that instant, a grinding roar echoed from the sky, followed by a blinding bolt of lightning crashing down.
Boom!
The explosion rocked everything.
It all happened so fast.
Even rolling across the ground, he couldn't immediately grasp what had gone down.
By the time he snapped to, he was sprawled out, staring at someone's back shielding him.
"My heart nearly stopped."
An angry voice drilled into his ear.
"Once is plenty for a pointless death."
The prince's reprimand jolted him fully awake.
Only then did he realize he'd stumbled into an enemy trap—and the prince had just saved his skin by the hair of it.
"Don't beat yourself up."
"Who could've guessed an orc king was lurking under the snow?" As self-recrimination over his string of blunders swelled, the prince cut in.
"And thanks to you, we flushed out the bastard hiding in there. Leave the rest to me."
A colossal orc rose beyond the prince.
Its half-melted bulk was grotesquely hideous—the very orc king the prince had warned about time and again, sly as they come.
"Go command the knights. Sword's out, so let's crush them thoroughly."
Before he could respond, the prince shoved his back.
"Hurry up!"
Vincent hesitated.
His feet refused to budge.
Whether from worry for the prince or that relentless, inexplicable goading aura—he couldn't tell.
He just clenched his jaw and obeyed the order.
"I'll be right back! Just hold on a bit!"
With those words, he forced his reluctant legs to move.
Once I confirmed Vincent had pulled back, I let out a sigh of relief.
My heart was still hammering away.
Fear of losing Vincent like my uncle.
Of something happening to my dear Adelia.
Of all these northern men gathered here dropping dead for nothing.
I'd been so rattled, it felt like every drop of blood had drained from my body.
But Vincent lived. Adelia had been flung far, but she looked unscathed.
The Northern Union Army in the rear was swiftly regaining order, thanks to the old knight and the heavy infantry company.
Relief washed over me. And that relief curdled into uncontainable fury.
"Pulling every damn trick in the book, you orc bastard."
Never dreamed an orc king would bury himself in the snow for an ambush.
Even one who'd fled the fire dragon—I figured any orc warrior had to have a shred of pride.
But this thing? Nothing.
No warrior's honor. No king's dignity.
Just a coward who'd clung to life far too long.
Grrr.
The bastard was glaring down at me with brazen arrogance.
Snow blanketed its shoulders and head, as if proclaiming where it'd been hiding.
To me, it looked just like a king's crown and mantle.
A fleeting one that'd melt away in rain or harsh sun.
『You're no king.』
I denied its very existence aloud—while envisioning an empty throne in my mind.
『No lofty perch, no sacred throne beyond my grasp.』
『None I cannot claim and sit upon.』
The Tyrant's Chant resounded in my head.
With it, the fury and presence I'd bottled up poured into the world.
The great overlord Urdhu turned to me.
At first, mere curiosity flickered in its eyes.
Wondering where this human had popped up from—nothing more.
But curiosity turned to doubt, doubt to mistrust.
And finally, to shock.
『Curious, isn't it?』
Lazing my words out as I eyed its face.
『Whether you've grown weaker since back then... or I've gotten stronger.』
Its overlord presence had felt so overwhelming from afar.
Yet facing it head-on now, the energy within fell short of expectations.
『The latter would thrill me to no end... but it's probably the former.』
I sneered at it.
An overlord that had fled the fire dragon and dumped its lofty spirit in the muck.
Just an old orc that had stubbornly outlived its time.
I raised my sword.
『Even a hero's elegy is too good for the likes of you.』
A mere unfinished strain from some pitiful avenger would suffice.
Blue flames clung to the blade in the gloaming.
I regripped it two-handed and twisted at the waist.
Hummm.
Then unleashed my slash before it could react.
Swoosh!
A blue arc streaked before my eyes.
It staggered back, dodging the cut.
『Dodging again?』
My mocking words drew a sly spear aim from it.
But its gaze wasn't on me.
Those bloodshot eyes scanned every direction.
Figuring it for another cheap ploy, I closed in fast—but it leaped back.
And bolted away without a backward glance, pounding the ground.
I was floored.
Never saw it turning tail outright.
But soon a grin twisted my lips.
My masters, sensing my skyrocketing presence, were racing here.
The old knight from the rear, wrapping up orcs. Arwen and Ilai from the flanks. And right on its heels, Adelia shrugging off the first clash, her sword light blazing as she pursued.
Masters on all sides.
Nowhere left to run.
Boom! Boom!
Explosions erupted where it vanished. Golden radiance flooded the area.
I headed that way.
Adelia was unleashing slash after slash at the overlord.
The overlord whipped its spear.
Even rotten, it packed a punch—Adelia flew back.
But who was she?
Once she tasted blood, the madwoman never stopped.
She kicked off the ground again, lunging at the overlord. And while she pinned its ankle, the masters arrived.
"Bag this bastard and this damned war's over!"
Ilai hurled crescent sword arcs as he charged.
"I'll join the fray."
Arwen poured forth radiant beams like starlight, striking at it.
"Joint assaults aren't my style, but if it breaks my stubborn heart and saves a thousand men, what have I to fear?"
The old knight gathered blinding white light and barreled in.
Rawr!
The overlord bellowed, flailing its spear wildly. Red malice rose like ramparts, encircling it.
The masters' sword lights hammered the crimson wall indiscriminately.
But though its spirit lay in the gutter, its innate might and malice endured—the wall refused to crumble.
Then the true fortress arrived.
"Chance to stain my axe with the moss-green blood of a king? Old Turka'd stomp the dirt in envy!"
The dwarf in iron plate he'd forged himself—like living battlements—Meister Surka.
Surka bellowed a laugh and boldly body-slammed the red malice.
Boom!
The explosion made the malice roil.
The overlord stumbled back from the dwarf's charge—so short it barely reached its knee.
"The tougher, the better to smash!"
Surka regripped his axe and smashed down on the malice.
The masters loosed their strikes in unison.
Crack.
A fissure split the sturdy wall.
The barrage shattered it moments later.
Rawr!
The overlord roared, whipping its spear every which way.
But it couldn't force a single one of them back.
Thud.
Arwen, pauldron torn free, slammed her sword down.
Thud.
Ilai, breastplate shattered, slashed left to right.
Boom.
Adelia, hair in wild disarray, leaped high and swept her blade upward.
"Taste dwarf axe!"
Surka rolled forward and stomped down on its instep.
Slice, slice, stab, crunch.
A cacophony of impacts rang out.
The overlord's body was drenched scarlet in seconds.
It bellowed savagely, shoving back the masters and dwarf.
The wounded beast's desperate thrash sent even them retreating, wary.
Grrr.
The bloodied overlord rumbled low in its throat.
It hurled its spear aside.
Then crouched low, knees nearly kissing snow—as if coiling to spring.
Hands braced on the ground, dynamic as a charge...
But it neither pushed off nor lunged.
Thump.
Its knees hit the snow.
And in that pose, it stared at me and bellowed.
『Brave knights of humanity!』
Its red eyes blazed. Its lipless maw twisted grotesquely.
『I salute your valor! I, Urdhu—Legion Lord of the Furious Flame Legion, Great Overlord spanning twenty-three tribes—hereby concede defeat!』
And just like that, it surrendered with gusto.
『Knights of such noble pride! Surely you know how to treat a general who yields!』
I was utterly flabbergasted.