Chapter 40
Chapter 40
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 40
Chapter Title: 14. A Song for the Big and Beautiful Green Lump (2)
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Vincent and the commanders recoiled in horror at the orc-shaped statue I lifted like a toy, immediately voicing their opposition.
"If things go wrong, it could jeopardize the rangers' entire operation," they argued. "Better to call in the Black Spear Cavalry stationed at the outpost and let them handle the orcs."
"Uncle?"
I ignored them and turned to my uncle.
"The orcs of the Blade Mountains are different from regular ones. Some of the tougher ones can take on ten soldiers single-handedly."
I didn't reply. I simply stared at him with the same expression as before.
"Vincent, report the confirmed orc numbers and forces."
Vincent shot me a dirty look before rattling off the details.
"From what we've confirmed so far, a maximum of twenty. No confirmed orc warriors or orc shamans, but we can't rule them out entirely."
"I see."
My uncle spat out the curt words and fixed his gaze on me.
"Still confident?"
"Father!"
"Commander, sir!"
After a long silence, my uncle finally spoke, prompting cries of alarm from Vincent and the Winter Fortress commanders.
"Orc warriors and orc shamans—neither is a pushover! In the worst case, we might face both!"
"We'll summon the Black Spear Cavalry! They could handle twenty orc warriors no problem!"
The commanders clamored noisily.
"If the retreat is blocked, the rangers might not make it back in time! Hell, we might not even be able to start the operation!"
Listening to them treat my failure as a foregone conclusion, I couldn't help but chuckle.
"Three guides, right?"
Vincent shot to his feet to protest, but my uncle raised a hand to silence him first.
"Anything else you need?"
"Swap out gear for my guys. It looks decent but feels flimsy. Just match it to your fortress soldiers' standard. Oh, and lend us some crossbows if you've got 'em."
"Not a tall order."
The Winter Fortress brass gaped, alternating glances between me and my uncle.
When they looked at me, it was like staring at a madman marching to his death. At my uncle, their faces twisted in confusion at his incomprehensible decision.
"Commander—Father!"
Vincent jumped up, pleading his case.
He laid out the costs if the op failed—the toll on the rangers, the political fallout for House Ballerhard if anything happened to me. His arguments were surprisingly logical.
Damn, they raised him smart.
If it weren't about me, I'd have applauded.
"Trust him and let him go."
No sooner had my uncle spoken than groans and sighs erupted from all around.
I grinned in satisfaction.
Yeah. This makes leaving the palace worth it.
**
"We're deploying."
My abrupt words left the royal soldiers blinking blankly.
"What do you mean, Your Highness?"
"Didn't you hear? Deploying."
Hansdeck, the officer in charge of the thirty royal infantrymen dispatched from the palace, stepped forward for clarification.
"We've been assigned an orc subjugation mission. Enemy count: twenty. Possible presence of orc warriors or shamans—maybe, maybe not."
"Your Highness, with the 3rd Legion right here, why us...? Our duty is your protection."
"Perfect. You'll have to come along anyway if you want to guard me."
Hansdeck blinked in bewilderment.
He clearly couldn't fathom why a prince would be stirring things up instead of relying on the solid 3rd Legion—or grasp the situation at all.
"Anyway. You'll get word from the 3rd Legion today. Go collect your gear, report back to me geared up. Full kit."
I clicked my tongue at Hansdeck and his reluctant soldiers mumbling assent.
Part of me wanted to send the lot packing, but I couldn't.
These greenhorns were my one and only assigned force right now.
The king had handed me their lives to command—good, bad, or ugly, I planned to mold them into loyal limbs.
Still, they weren't in bad shape.
They'd looked shaky in the blizzard, but these were royal elites, handpicked.
No slouches in professional soldiering.
Take Hansdeck: C-grade sword aptitude, with traits like [Standard Issue], [Fortress Defense], [Infantry Phalanx].
A case of honing acquired skills into group combat specialties.
He dabbled in archery and sundry soldier crafts too. Most of the others were similar.
Ripened career soldiers, through and through.
All but one.
I eyed the soldier at the back.
The one who'd leaned on my shoulder in the blizzard. Unlike the rest, he lacked their standard traits. Instead, he had [Interrogation] and [Disguise].
Spook. Spy.
The king's watchdog on me, no doubt.
[Joseph]
I memorized his name and stood.
* *
Hansdeck and the soldiers had ditched their royal chainmail for leather armor. Wrapped in mystery furs and cloaks, armed with swords, small shields, shortbows—they now resembled 3rd Legion infantry.
I dumped them all on the 3rd Legion instructors. Arwen too.
One week to deployment. I tasked them with drilling orc combat doctrine, mountain marching, and essentials.
I didn't expect 3rd Legion ranger level in that time. Just no stragglers.
They'd learn the rest in the field.
Turning, I caught Adelia watching me, her face etched with anxiety—[Timid] flaring again.
"Tch."
I ruffled her scared head lightly.
"You're sitting this out. No worries."
I'd benched her for this mission. Her skill was nearing Sword Expert, but those traits...
Monsters' killing intent was denser, fiercer than humans'.
Odds were, Adelia would react to the orcs' malice.
No telling if [Slaughterer] or [War Maniac] bloomed first, but neither was welcome yet. She wasn't mentally mature enough to distinguish friend from foe with traits unlocked.
Even if she withstood the intent, one casualty's blood scent would send her feral.
Friendly fire was bad enough; her bolting deep into the mountains worse. Losing an S-grade genius there? Eternal regret.
"Nicoloro?"
"Lord Marciadek left with the 3rd Legion commander this morning."
Tch. Said he'd write a book, but off gathering material. Insisted he'd be useful, then vanished—that irritating geezer.
"Your Highness."
As I watched Arwen and the soldiers train under 3rd Legion instructors, Vincent approached.
"Yeah? What?"
His dislike was obvious from first sight, so my tone sharpened naturally.
"Aren't you joining them, Your Highness?"
The soldiers were drilling hard—why are you lounging? That's what his eyes said.
"Nah, I'm good."
I'd hiked mountains endlessly hunting the light dragon. Not on foot, mind.
Vincent's face screamed pity.
I ignored him clean.
He kept dropping by after. No real business—just watching me.
Left fuming every time.
To him, I looked like a total slacker.
Far from it.
Like a swan gliding serene above, paddling furiously below—I was honing body and mind razor-sharp for the fight ahead.
Ensuring the blade in my heart cleaved orcs flawlessly.
* *
The brief week's training ended. Deployment eve arrived.
"What? You're the guides?"
For the op briefing, Vincent arrived with four men, announcing they'd join.
"You may not realize, Your Highness, but failure here causes bigger problems than you think."
"Then don't fail."
"You're taking it too lightly."
I eyed the snide Vincent. No status window. I'd checked post-arrival.
Meant Triple Chain knight at least.
His backups: I'd asked for three guides; got five including him.
I sized them up. Ranger rags like 3rd Legion scouts, but no ordinarys.
One like Vincent—no window. Two with blatant Double Chain traits. One true ranger.
Two Double Chains, two presumed Triple Chain knights, one ranger.
Insurance: if shit hit, they'd ditch me and handle orcs.
I played dumb. No need to stop their safety net.
The "briefing" just confirmed routes and roles. Vincent's crew left. Left: Arwen and my soldiers.
"Hm..."
Hansdeck looked grim. Others too.
Tense before facing savage monsters.
I didn't soothe them. First blood's terror laughs off words; no patter banishes primal fear.
I told them to rest up.
* *
Next day, Hansdeck and soldiers reunited—eyes hollow, clearly sleepless.
"Tch."
They looked barely mountain-ready.
"Good luck."
Uncle's parting words—unclear if to me or Vincent—as we exited the fortress.
"Come back safe. Promise."
Adelia'd followed to the gates, praying our return. Now gone. We stood on pristine snowfields.
"Conserve energy. Pace yourselves."
The snowshoe-clad ranger addressed us earnestly.
Arwen, Hansdeck, soldiers nodded resolute.
Ranger Filsen lived up to his selection: swiftly guided us to the range's edge. Day's march, half more. We'd arrived.
Gulp.
Someone swallowed hard.
Turning, rigid faces everywhere. Couldn't tell who; all frozen in tension.
I watched them, exhaled long.
"Tension stiffens limbs, dulls edges."
Vincent interjected with advice.
"Calm your mind, please."
Absurd counsel.
I wasn't tense at all.
Quite the opposite—mood soaring higher than ever. A tune nearly escaped.
The mountains' monster auras drove me wild.
Suppressing elation, I nodded at Filsen. He checked the rear, then advanced.
Sniff sniff.
He flared his nostrils. Faint stench invaded.
Foul, repulsive—yet familiar, welcoming.
Orc musk.
I drew Eosreum. Arwen followed. Hansdeck's crew cluelessly readied crossbows, bows.
The ranger scouting ridge base below beckoned.
We crept silent, bellied beside him, peered down.
Some shoving heads into massive reindeer corpse, chomping.
Others shoving them aside frantically.
Some yanking guts' ends, howling.
Others gobbling fallen meat scraps.
Fresh off hunt, orcs squabbled below the ridge.
Tap.
Vincent tapped my shoulder. Eyes and lips queried: what now?
I raised a hand silently instead.
Crossbowmen shouldered theirs; bowmen nocked.
Kri-lick.
Odd twangs leaked. Orc squabble halted like a lie.
Grrr.
They grumbled grotesquely, scanning. One snapped head ridgeward.
Jaw bloodied crimson, eyes red as, glaring here.
Killing intent leagues beyond common orcs.
Orc Warrior.
It locked on me. Glare to shatter average man's mind on eye contact.
I grinned.
Hey, long time.
Murderous glare exploded from the orc warrior's eyes.
"GRRAAAAAHHH!"
It bellowed.
"Loose."
Thirty strings, drawn to limit, pinged free.
Basking in that sweet song, I sprang up.
Gripped Eosreum firm.
The pent-up craving since entering the range—unleashed that instant.