Chapter 47
Chapter 47
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 47
Chapter Title: 16. Once You Face the Inexplicable, You Can Never Go Back to How Things Were (1)
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While everyone stared at the massive spear embedded in the castle wall, Arwen alone searched for the 1st Prince. She clawed through the snow that had buried him from sight.
She'd thrown her sword aside and dug with her bare hands.
Her fingers ached as if they might snap off at any moment. Still, she didn't stop.
Thud.
After digging for what felt like ages, her fingertips brushed against something.
It was warm flesh that still held some heat—the prince's hand.
"Gasp!"
She gripped it tightly and yanked backward. The prince, buried in the snow, slid out in one long pull.
She hurriedly pulled him free and checked his condition.
Blood stained his jaw and collar red, likely from vomiting it up mid-flight. Even unconscious, his right hand clutched his sword, twisted at an unnatural angle.
She pressed her fingers to his neck below the jaw. No pulse.
"Your Highness!"
Startled, she slapped his cheeks. His tightly clenched mouth felt full of something.
She pressed her fingers into both cheeks. His lips parted, and blood gushed out. But his pulse still wouldn't return.
Arwen leaned down. She breathed into his mouth.
"Hah!"
She repeated the motion over and over.
"Cough!"
The prince coughed violently. Dark red blood surged out. She checked again—his pulse had resumed.
"Ah..."
Relief washed over her, and she collapsed onto her backside.
She lifted her hand absentmindedly. She was still holding the prince's.
His battle gloves were in tatters, his palm torn open and bloody, thick calluses peeking through the red.
Traces of the grueling hours he'd endured.
But it wasn't his battle-hardened palm that caught Arwen's eye.
She hated her own hands. Small and delicate compared to a man's, they weren't ideal for gripping a sword. Yet the prince's were even smaller than hers.
There he lay, eyes closed, breathing raggedly.
The arrogant prince who once looked down on everyone was gone. In his place was just an unripe boy.
So small. So young.
For the first time, Arwen realized the prince was still just a boy who hadn't even undergone his coming-of-age ceremony.
"How is His Highness?"
The knights of Winter Castle arrived late and asked after him.
They sure take their time showing up.
She didn't like their tardy response but kept her irritation hidden.
"...Arwen."
As the knights crowded around in a clamor, the prince regained consciousness and murmured.
"Your Highness! Arwen is here!"
He tried to speak, but his voice was too faint to hear. Arwen leaned in, pressing her ear to his lips.
"Ah..."
She jerked her head up at his words.
"What did he say?"
Winter Castle's eldest son asked.
Instead of answering, Arwen readjusted her grip on her sword.
"His Highness said..."
Her blade sang once more.
"Finish the duel quickly."
In truth, he'd said more.
Something about damn orc bastards, honor my ass you sons of bitches, the only good orc is a dead orc.
And at the end, something about it hurting like hell, so hurry up and end the duel.
But she didn't relay all that.
They just needed the one phrase to resume the fight.
"We'd better wrap this up fast."
The knights gripped their swords tighter. The orcs, leaderless and milling in confusion, belatedly charged with roars.
The orcs who had moved with such coordination to harass the knights were no more. And common orc warriors were no match for Winter Castle's knights.
The orcs' formation crumbled quickly, and the duel ended with surprising anticlimax.
"Escort His Highness inside! Gather the rangers!"
No sooner had the duel concluded than the gates opened, and rangers poured out, scattering to load the corpses onto carts.
The area buzzed with activity. The rangers shouted nonstop, their voices oddly lively.
"You bastard. I barely survived, and now you're gonna get me killed."
"Looks like you're fine since you're flapping your gums."
She heard bloodied survivors bickering with the rangers.
"Be gentle, you idiots."
"Like this?"
"Ow! You son of a—!"
Winter Castle truly was a strange place.
Dozens had died in a single night. Yet they acted like it was nothing.
Was it joy at the return of comrades they'd written off? Or emotions worn numb by endless battles? Or something else?
Suddenly, the image of blue flames blazing brightly flashed in her mind.
Arwen had no idea why it surfaced now. It just did.
Just then, the prince passed by on a stretcher.
"He's important! Handle with care!"
They must have given him first aid—splints and bandages adorned the 1st Prince. She stared blankly.
His whispers echoed vividly in her ears.
[Damn orc bastards...]
[Honor my ass, the only good orc is a dead one...]
[It hurts like hell, so hurry up and end it.]
Words that sounded like complaints, yet carried an inexplicable fury.
What could have made him so angry?
She wanted to ask but held back.
He'd passed out again, limp on the stretcher. He needed rest. Questions could wait.
"Lady Arwen..."
As she watched him, Winter Castle's eldest son approached.
"The mood isn't right for a victory declaration."
He thrust a flag at her abruptly.
"This banner is His Highness's now too."
The man who'd grumbled about facing the orc himself suddenly pointed to his mouth.
"Do something about that blood..."
"Ah."
Only then did Arwen realize her state.
Her hair was a mess from the duel, her mouth smeared with blood from first aid. Not a pretty sight.
She scooped snow from the ground and rubbed her mouth.
The cold sensation cooled her inexplicably excited heart. Reddened snow fell in clumps.
She stared at the red mass for a moment, then turned away.
Winter Castle loomed, impaled by the massive spear.
The 1st Prince awoke a full day later.
"Damn orc bastards!"
His first words upon regaining consciousness were laced with curses.
**
Just before I plunged my sword into the chieftain orc's heart, I sensed eyes watching me from somewhere unseen.
It wasn't the subtle gaze of the voyeuristic Elder High Elf. This was far more brazen.
Like a colossal being looking down on insignificant vermin.
The overwhelming pressure and unique aura revealed its identity.
The exalted being Sigrrun's messenger had mentioned.
The lord praised in the dying noble orc's death cry instead of a scream.
The Orc King, without doubt.
Under the king's watchful eye, I drove my blade into his loyal noble's heart.
Naturally, the king took offense and vented his rage accordingly.
And now here I was, arm broken, bedridden.
I hadn't even clashed swords directly. Just withstood a single spear hurled from an immense distance.
Yet I ended up like this.
Damn, I'm pathetically weak right now.
"Damn orc bastards!"
I spat curses laced with self-loathing and anger, but it didn't help my mood.
My only consolation was that I'd fully ascended to the extraordinary realm in that last battle.
"How's your body feeling, Your Highness?"
Vincent visited and asked.
"Everything aches, my arm throbs. But this hurts more."
Too damn frustrated.
I jabbed at my chest. A smirk crept onto that bastard Vincent's face.
But it faded quickly as he turned serious.
"Thanks to Your Highness, we saved the comrades we'd given up on. Thank you sincerely."
He snapped a salute, his face full of genuine gratitude.
Somehow embarrassed, I rubbed under my nose and looked away.
Vincent then summarized what had happened while I was out.
Right after the duel ended, an orc legion appeared a kilometer from the castle and set up camp. Two full legions, twenty combat units strong.
"They arrived a bit early, but it's not an unmanageable force."
But his expression was grim, belying his words.
"What the hell was that spear? And that roar from the mountains?"
Apparently, it wasn't just a sick visit. Uncle and the Winter Castle leadership arrived as if on cue.
I told them everything I knew.
The leadership was deeply confused. The orc kings they knew were mere tribal chieftains. My talk of a grand "king" was hard for them to swallow.
"No need to overthink it."
I explained simply.
A king had simply been born to unite all the orcs in the mountains.
"Now Winter Castle is the border between the orcs' kingdom and the human kingdom."
I warned them.
Those forces outside were just the vanguard. A horrifying horde would soon pour down from the mountains.
The leadership half-doubted me.
"Even if true, Your Highness, newly born kings aren't followed easily by orcs. They challenge their own chieftains at the drop of a hat."
The commanders nodded in agreement with Vincent.
"An orc challenging a king strong enough to hurl a spear from the mountains to here? If such a beast exists, that's an even bigger problem."
It'd mean facing two or three monsters that were hard enough singly.
"Even so, a fresh king eyeing the foothills already seems unlikely."
The commanders kept objecting, but I wasn't annoyed. These were men who'd have ignored me outright before. For them to listen and debate this much was progress.
"Do you know what they call the Orc King?"
Vincent asked what my random question meant—didn't they just call it a king?
Oh, there's a name.
I propped myself up in bed and dredged a dusty memory from four centuries past.
A greedy being whose sole purpose was to fight, crush, and conquer.
"Warlord."
The name of that savage warlord echoed in the world again after 400 years, through my lips.
Hm.
The room's atmosphere froze.
Just uttering the name made the air ripple ominously. The leaders paled.
"Warlord?"
"If such a thing exists among the orcs..."
The leaders erupted late. I ignored them and looked at Uncle. He stared back.
His hollow eyes asked if it was true.
I nodded.
He raised a hand. The noisy leaders fell silent.
"We'll need a new defense plan."
"Better request reinforcements. Sooner the better."
"I'll keep that in mind."
No sooner had Uncle spoken than the commanders unrolled maps and dove into debate. Decades of wisdom from surviving winters poured forth.
Impressive insight from battle-hardened veterans against monsters, true experts.
I was purely impressed. But,
"We've got perfectly good meeting rooms, and you're doing this here?!"
In my bedroom, no less.
"We need Your Highness's input."
"There's things only Your Highness can confirm."
"The Orc King or whatever—we've never heard of it..."
The commanders replied shamelessly.
"I see."
Uncle looked oddly pleased.
I endured the Winter Castle leadership for hours more.
"His Highness needs rest."
Only when Arwen and Adelia intervened did they finally gather their maps.
Hm.
Uncle lingered after the commanders left, as if he had something to say.
"Something on your mind?"
"That blue flame—was it the power of the war poem you mentioned?"
I glanced around.
Arwen averting her eyes guiltily, Adelia too focused on tending me to grasp the situation—they were my people.
I nodded.
Uncle squeezed his eyes shut. His face was pensive.
After a long moment, he opened them.
The murky eyes clouded by inner demons were gone. They brimmed with vigor now, lips set firm—like when I first met him.
"I'll ask."
His voice was low but firm.
"Has that power been granted to the Ring Knights as well?"
I smiled.
It was the question he'd waited far too long to ask.