Chapter 166
Chapter 166
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 166
Chapter Title: 51. Roaring Lions of the North (5)
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"The monsters are fleeing!"
The knights' shouts echoed from afar.
I looked around.
The monster horde that had blanketed the snowfield was now scrambling back toward the mountains.
Their footsteps thundered like an avalanche, and the chaotic trampling and shoving among their own ranks was a scene straight out of hell.
The legion that had besieged Winter Castle was no more.
All that remained were monsters driven by base instinct.
But amid them, some groups still clung to their original discipline to the bitter end.
It was the orc war legion, gathered beneath their tattered and broken banners.
They had endured relentless assaults from both dwarves and knights, inside and out, yet fought to the last without flinching.
Watching them, rage boiled up inside me.
This was the culprit who had rallied monsters from the mountains into a single legion and led them to Winter Castle—the one responsible for the blood spilled by countless soldiers and knights.
And now, it dared to surrender.
Just to save its own wretched skin.
"Though we have been defeated, my tribe's valiant warriors do not cling to victory or defeat. They will fight until their final moments, inflicting damage upon you that will be far from insignificant. But if you accept me as your prisoner of war, I promise no more meaningless bloodshed."
It was staking the lives of these brave souls to bargain for its own survival.
The initial bewilderment I felt had long since turned into seething fury.
Kwak.
Unconsciously, my grip tightened on my sword.
"If you wish, I can stop them even now!"
The Overlord, reading my mood, cried out desperately.
I suppressed my surging rage and killing intent, glaring at it.
It was no longer the great warlord of the dark-green tribe I remembered. Not even a warrior. Not an orc at all.
Just the pathetic remnant of whatever it once had been.
Clang.
I sheathed my sword.
"A wisdom befitting your lofty prowess and spirit!"
The thing brightened and let out a mighty roar.
The battle lust filling the orc ranks ahead vanished as if by magic.
The clash of metal, shouts, and screams faded away in moments.
"We need to know what's going on here."
Ilai scowled, eyeing my expression. He had a thousand questions, but my murderous glare kept him silent.
"If you tell us to return to the mountains, we shall. If you bid us stand beneath your banner, we obey. For my tribe, following one stronger is no disgrace, but an honor. You need not fear our betrayal."
The Overlord prattled on.
"Speak your desire! Whatever it may be, we shall gladly..."
"Nothing's decided yet. So shut your mouth."
I cut it off before I yanked my sword out again.
"If you value your life."
I hadn't decided its fate. And truthfully, it wasn't my call to make.
Someone else would determine whether it lived or died.
"Fetch the castellan."
Ilai started to ask something but shut his mouth and vanished toward the front lines.
"What the hell? Why did the orcs suddenly stop fighting?!"
He soon returned with Vincent.
I stared straight at him.
A knight drenched head to toe in the blood of the dark-green war legion.
The reincarnation of a pitiful man who had lost everything yet failed to complete his vengeance.
The current head of House Ballerhard, whose eternal feud was war against the dark-green tribe.
"You decide. Whether to let it live or kill it."
The Overlord's life or death rested with Winter Castle's castellan.
* * *
After hearing the full explanation, Vincent fell silent for a long while.
Finally, he spoke in a voice strained as if squeezed from him.
"If we spare it, what do we gain?"
I tamped down my emotions and laid out the benefits of accepting the monstrous creature's surrender as objectively as possible.
"We avoid casualties from the remaining orc war legion. With proper chains, we could even conscript them as soldiers. House Ballerhard might finally break free from its ancient curse."
Vincent's face was rigid as stone as he asked about the alternative.
"We fight and win, mourn the dead. And face the harsh winters that come year after year."
Just as Winter Castle always had—and would, for ages to come.
Vincent had no reply. He couldn't decide easily, just gnawing his lip.
It was only natural.
Fighting when there was no choice was something anyone could do.
But choosing to fight even when peace was possible? That was hard.
Forgiving old grudges and halting the bloodshed? Far from easy.
Nothing was simple. Nothing was light.
One word here could mean hundreds, thousands living or dying today.
One word could doom or save thousands, tens of thousands tomorrow.
The weight was immense.
His deliberation matched it.
I waited silently for Vincent to speak. The other knights wore complex expressions, waiting too.
Everyone knew one word from him could reignite this horrific war—or turn them into corpses on the snowfield.
Hmm.
Meister Surka's lips twitched. He had much to say.
But he held back, not wanting to burden Vincent further.
We all waited like that.
"You've bent the enemy king to your will—that's a victory beyond price! You are the victors! Revel in the glory due conquerors!"
Only the old orc pressed on fervently.
Time passed.
Night fell. Our sweat- and blood-soaked bodies cooled, chill seeping in.
The knights pulled their cloaks and furs tight. No one complained of the cold.
Fresh white snow began to fall.
As it blanketed the battlefield's horrors,
"I..."
Vincent finally spoke.
"I..."
Hesitating, over and over.
"It..."
Still tormented.
"Castellan."
Before he could continue, the one-eyed cavalry captain spoke up.
"Quean Lichtheim has never feared death, nor deemed it fleeting."
The captain tossed his black eyepatch to the ground.
"Even if I lose my remaining eye, I won't scheme for a cowardly life."
That sparked it.
"Even if my spear shatters and my body tears, I pray my unyielding soul endures."
"We are not a burden for you to bear, Castellan—we are the sword and spear you wield."
The Black Spear Cavalry thumped their spears against their chests in unison.
"When you stand before our late castellan, I don't want to hear that your son broke your spirit!"
"Fight a hundred years if commanded, a thousand—and even as souls, we'll gladly charge!"
The knights stomped their feet.
"Do not waver before victory!"
"We crave triumph through battle, not peace bought from cowards!"
The rangers bellowed.
Not one voice called for compromise.
"Iron that bends easily straightens just as well. I cannot trust the pledge of a beast that betrayed its kin to save itself."
"Better to root them out entirely, leave no future threat."
"House Giern stands with the others."
The northern allied lords, barely surviving the orc uprising from the earth, voiced their agreement eagerly.
"Northern men aren't like the southerners carousing in warm summers!"
A spirited northern lord declared, prompting the old knight to clear his throat and step forward.
"Warm summers don't mean gentle rains and typhoons. Can't agree there."
The lord winced, starting to retort, but the old knight added,
"But on the whole, I concur. The Royal Knight Order and Royal Heavy Cavalry came here to fight, and that hasn't changed."
Vincent's face twisted.
A mix of smile and grimace.
"We could end this endless war by just closing our eyes and sparing it."
The knights and soldiers replied as one.
"We'll fight eyes wide open rather than buy peace blind."
His expression cleared, resolute.
"This battle's end may claim many lives."
"If someone must die, let it be me."
The men's answer remained firm.
Vincent looked to me.
I shrugged.
As you will, Castellan.
He steeled himself. Doubt vanished.
"W-Wait a moment!"
The Overlord sensed the shift and cried out in panic.
"I reject the surrender of this honorless beast!"
But Vincent declared first.
"Death to the orcs!"
"Only death for the invaders!"
The knights roared. Rangers and northern allies clashed weapons, howling.
Then someone began singing Winter Castle's war song.
Snow-covered peaks, frozen valleys, blood-soaked walls stand silent.
Only the dawn bugle of the advance echoes through.
One voice swelled to thousands.
Blizzard winter, wandering for warmth.
Only dark-green pyres to thaw our bones.
We stand before them, awaiting spring as our embers fade.
The winter anthem, awaiting spring after the brutal cold.
The moment the messages hit my mind, I understood.
What a [War Poem] was.
Different from Martial Odes. Not mere resonance of rings and hearts.
It was the song of longing: one yet many, many yet one.
The words weren't mine—they came from Winter Castle's men.
I merely wove them into one.
The melody echoed in my head.
Birds that fled against the biting winds return.
The fortress, its icy shroud worn thin, awakens at last and stretches.
My lips moved on their own.
"Birds that fled against the biting winds return. The fortress, its icy shroud worn thin, awakens at last and stretches."
Thousands of wills and prayers sang of spring through my voice.
As my heart pounded wildly,
A miracle occurred.
Strange waves erupted from all directions.
None alike, all utterly new.
They were new [Martial Odes].
The seeds I'd sown in the north—knights who'd amassed mana in their hearts—were finally telling their own tales.
Flash.
A faint light emanated from Vincent's body.
Subtle, but unmistakable—the harbinger of awakening.
Oblivious to the change in himself, he raised his sword toward the enemy.
"All forces! Prepare for battle!"
"Yes, sir!"
Thousands replied as one to his command.
"Charge!"
Knights roared and surged toward the war legion. Northern allies followed.
Royal Knights and Heavy Cavalry broke from formation, slamming into the legion's flank.
"Fools!"
The kneeling old orc rose.
As it opened its maw,
I swung my sword down with full force.
Before its ugly roar could emerge,
Before it could defile this war once more with false dignity.
Soul-flame crashed onto its massive form.
Blue fire leaped onto the grotesque flesh half-melted by the fire dragon's breath.
Kraaaaaaaa!
It screamed, flailing wildly.
The ground exploded under gushing battle lust.
Toward the terrified, rampaging old orc charged the man.
His blade gathered surging green flashes.
The pitiful avenger reborn, robbed of all by the Overlord, yet denied completion.
And now, at last fulfilled—the kingdom's ninth silver knight.
"For Ballerhard!"
Vincent Ballerhard bellowed fiercely.
"For Ballerhard!"
Knights and soldiers roared together.