Chapter 49
Chapter 49
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 49
Chapter Title: 16. Once You've Faced the Inexplicable, You Can Never Go Back to the Way Things Were (3)
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Just as knights wield mana, orc warriors wield battle aura.
To them, battle aura was a force that sharpened the edge of a rusted axe even further and a means to make their flesh even tougher.
The more battles an orc fought, the more enemies it slaughtered, the stronger its battle aura became. Battle aura was the absolute measure of how outstanding a warrior an orc truly was.
Yet, from time to time, mutants were born with immense battle aura from the very start. They were far larger than ordinary orcs, far more ferocious. And far stronger.
Due to the orcish nature of despising powerful challengers, most of them were killed before they could fully mature. But among them, there were the rare few who survived to the end.
Whether it was luck or something else, it didn't matter. What mattered was that these surviving mutant orcs were special beings.
They were more sensitive to battle aura and killing intent than anyone else, and they could even see those intangible energies with their own eyes.
The orcs called this the "clairvoyant eye" ability and revered it.
And it was this "clairvoyant eye" ability that earned them the name Knight Slayers.
Because what the Knight Slayers could see wasn't limited to just battle aura and killing intent.
These mutant orcs could see the mana flowing through a knight's body, and they were horrific monsters capable of predicting a knight's strikes before they were even launched.
It wouldn't be an exaggeration to call them nightmares.
"To think such orcs exist in this world... I can't believe it."
"I've fought countless orcs up until now, but I've never seen or even heard of such a thing."
"Clairvoyant eye? Isn't that too grandiose a power for a mere orc?"
Vincent and the commanders expressed strong disbelief after hearing my explanation.
I clicked my tongue and warned them.
"When your limbs freeze up before you can even swing your sword, you'll have no choice but to believe it, whether you like it or not."
They'd figure it out once they experienced it anyway. I had no intention of wasting my breath with long-winded talk.
"But the knights aren't the problem right now."
Besides, there was a real issue separate from that.
"A Knight Slayer is a born commander. It may not know tactics or strategy, but it knows better than anyone how to break an enemy."
Because it could see it.
In its eyes, it could spot the particularly lax discipline among tightly packed infantry, see where the wavering morale was heading. It targeted the weakest points in morale and pierced through them. It visually tracked the sharpest morale surges and prepared defenses.
Persistent as a snake in attack, solid as a rock in defense—who could ask for a better commander?
The problem was that it was the enemy, not an ally.
"You've never been wrong before, so I suppose this time is no different."
The Winter Citadel's leadership widened their eyes at the infinite trust in my uncle's words.
"But we can't proceed without verifying it."
Glancing at me, my uncle took a spear from a nearby soldier.
"Whether that orc truly lives up to the grandiose name of Knight Slayer."
A strange vibration hummed as his forearm swelled momentarily.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than my uncle hurled the spear.
Whoosh!
The black trajectory tore through the sky. A spear thrown in earnest by a Quad Chain knight who had shaken off his heart demon was no ordinary weapon.
But it was futile.
From the moment my uncle grabbed the spear and stood on the ramparts, the Knight Slayer had been watching us. Crimson battle aura surged as its raised blade cleaved the air.
Bang!
With an explosion, the spear my uncle had thrown was deflected.
The Knight Slayer grinned at us, a savage, ravenous smile.
A face as if beholding a grand feast.
The Knight Slayer extended its hand. A nearby orc picked up the fallen spear from the ground and handed it over.
With a short approach step, the Knight Slayer hurled it back.
Screaming through the air, the spear flew straight at us.
Thud.
My uncle caught it with his bare hand.
"One thing's for sure—you can't stand losing."
Dusting off his hands to dispel the battle aura infused in the spear, my uncle chuckled.
It seemed facing such a formidable foe for the first time in ages had ignited his fighting spirit.
Watching him, I couldn't help but smile.
Now that's more like a swordmaster.
It stirred up nostalgic memories.
"Ian."
After a brief staring contest with the Knight Slayer, my uncle turned to me.
"If I'm not mistaken, you seem to know how to deal with that Knight Slayer."
The Winter Citadel's leadership, including Vincent, widened their eyes at my uncle's words.
"I have no idea why you'd think that."
I replied indifferently, and my uncle burst into hearty laughter.
"Just look at your face."
"My face?"
I touched my cheek. Twitching lips, flexing facial muscles.
"It's the face of a knight who's just received a fine new sword and is itching to test its edge."
He must have read my expression as that of someone eager to try out a sharp new blade.
I didn't deny it.
Because he was right.
With the Warlord as the great foe and the Knight Slayer as a formidable adversary before us, the air in Winter Citadel felt exhilarating.
As if I'd gone back many years.
The only difference was that now, I wasn't a sword sheathed at the hip—I was human.
And that made it all the more thrilling.
The killing intent and battle fervor brushing against my skin set me ablaze. I was dying to test every bit of knowledge, experience, and power I possessed through this body.
"Hm."
The faces of those staring at me intently paled. I'd apparently been too obvious about my excitement.
I schooled my expression belatedly. Clearing my throat, I steadied my voice and spoke.
"All its judgments follow solely that 'clairvoyant eye' ability."
The Knight Slayer's command was efficient, but it had an innate weakness: over-reliance on what it could see.
Even if what it saw was close to the essence.
"But the world's not always what meets the eye, is it?"
In the end, what the Knight Slayer could perceive was only a tiny fraction of the essence.
"Besides, no matter how patient it is, it's still an orc at heart. And orcs have no virtue of yielding the finest delicacy."
Especially for a Knight Slayer granted the vanguard's glory by the Warlord—victory was a delicacy beyond compare.
"Let's set a proper table for it."
Our job was to lay the board so it reverted from cunning commander to beastly orc, stimulating its primal hunger.
"A starving beast won't resist sitting down to eat."
**
"No! It's too dangerous!"
My bold plan hit a snag from the outset.
"I told you, it can see everything. Half-baked deceptions won't work."
"Even so, with other suitable candidates available, there's no need for Your Highness to play the bait."
Despite Vincent's repeated objections, I insisted time and again on how perfect a bait I was.
"Winter Citadel's knights and rangers won't do. To the Knight Slayer's eyes, you won't look tasty or easy."
Forged by countless real battles, Winter Citadel's knights and rangers exuded an extraordinary aura even at rest—the mark of seasoned veterans. No trick could fool the Knight Slayer's sight.
"Hand it to greenhorns or rookie knights, and it'll punch right through before they can react. See? Me and my kids are perfect."
The royal infantry were elites on par with the rangers but lacked real combat experience. Well-trained but with the morale of recruits, they were ideal for luring the Knight Slayer.
"Then just find suitable knights and pair them with the royal infantry."
"What? Why hand my soldiers over to someone else?"
As the assault drew near, Vincent and the leadership's nitpicking frustrated me.
"Think rationally. Who are you putting in my place? Ringgold? One or two orc warriors show up, and he'll be too busy swinging to protect anyone. Increase the numbers? Then the plan's pointless from the start."
Vincent fell silent at my sharp retorts.
"Frankly, I still don't understand why we need to go this far. Winter Citadel can hold them off without such risky methods."
Vincent wasn't wrong.
This fortress had endured countless winters. Even against a Knight Slayer, it wouldn't fall.
But at great cost. And we'd face the enemy's main force battered and broken.
That had to be avoided at all costs.
The real enemy wasn't some Knight Slayer—it was the mighty Warlord.
"If we don't end this battle quickly, Winter Citadel falls in the next one."
Vincent and the commanders' faces darkened. My words had pricked their pride.
But I couldn't wait any longer either.
Since revealing itself the previous night, the Warlord hadn't hidden its presence for a moment. As if proclaiming itself king of the region.
And that immense presence was drawing closer to Winter Citadel by the second.
A regal, leisurely march, but time until arrival was short.
"Uncle."
I finally appealed to my uncle for help.
"Time is short, so we'll do it Ian's way this time."
My uncle kept his gaze fixed beyond the mountains, not even turning his head.
He was finally sensing the Warlord's presence.
Good. At least my hints about "strings" and such hadn't been wasted.
"We don't know when that Knight Slayer will climb the walls. If it delays, we might fight sleepless for days."
My uncle finally turned to me.
His eyes asked if we could hold.
I glanced aside. Arwen watched me with a tense face. Beside her was her handmaiden, looking lost and terrified.
Until now uncontrollable, but now elevated to extraordinary rank and under my control—my secret weapon. Looking at the Sword Marquis's heir, I said,
"I'll kill every single one that climbs up."
My uncle pondered long. Wondering if exposing a weakness for such a risky gambit was wise.
But with the Warlord's presence looming beyond, there was no time for prolonged deliberation.
"If it gets too dangerous, we abort immediately and revert to standard deployment."
My uncle ultimately agreed.
"One week only."
He added that if the Knight Slayer didn't show in a week, we'd revert everything—but that didn't matter.
The Knight Slayer would appear before then. I'd make sure of it.
**
Bwooo!
The fortress horn blared. Orcs swarmed in black waves, blanketing the white snowfields in dark green.
"Fire!"
Rangers loosed volleys in unison. Prioritizing orcs with grapples and ladders.
Kreee!
Orcs fell screaming. But not many. Orcs raised massive shields to weather the arrow storm.
And the emblem etched on those shields looked familiar.
Three overlapping shields—the Ballerhard house symbol. Likely spoils accumulated over dozens of winters.
Rangers spotting the shields spat curses everywhere.
I stood quietly on the ramparts, watching.
The walls thrummed with bowstrings. Winter Citadel's rangers unleashed an arrow barrage worthy of the term "arrow rain."
Shieldless orcs dropped by the dozens.
But four thousand orcs encircled Winter Citadel. A few arrows wouldn't kill them all.
Undeterred by the barrage, orcs reached the wall base.
Clang.
The first grapple hooked the ramparts.
That was the signal. Grapples latched everywhere, ladders rose. Knights sliced grapples, soldiers shoved ladders with combined might.
Yelp yelp!
Then wolf riders appeared. These massive wolves, bred unlike common ones, bounded up ladders several rungs at a time.
"Knights, repel the wolf riders!"
My uncle's roar unleashed the signature sword hums of Quad Chain knights across the walls.
A gutted wolf rider tumbled down. Rider dead with a broken neck, orcs below crushed screaming.
"Pour!"
Waiting soldiers dumped boiling oil.
Kieee!
Orcs writhed in yellow flames. Incendiary arrows followed.
Whoosh.
Flames roared. Boulders rained atop.
Orcs died screaming.
Yet they climbed relentlessly.
I glanced aside.
"Shove!"
"Hah!"
Royal infantry on the west wall fought valiantly. Unlike rangers, they focused on pushing rather than killing—the height ensuring falls were fatal.
Elite royal infantry, matching rangers in group combat.
Arwen dashed beside them, swinging wildly.
Like a fish in water, her flushed face thrilled.
But only briefly.
No matter how many kin died, orcs surged endlessly. After hours, royal infantry flagged, Arwen's sword cries faint compared to start.
Gasping, I checked other walls.
In contrast, Winter Citadel's rangers and knights remained as steady as ever.
Experience gap emerging.
I stood sensing the crumbling morale. Growing fear prickled my skin.
And this fear reached the Knight Slayer too.
Awooo!
A massive wolf clambered over.
Seeing the freak wolf treat the ladder like stairs, I shouted,
"Now it gets real!"
Orc battle aura surged distantly.
"Arwen! Handle the wolf riders! Don't let a single one touch the walls!"
Arwen gripped her sword, face set, dashing the ramparts like an acrobat. As if pre-planned, three wolves leaped up only to have bellies sliced and legs severed, tumbling out.
Just the beginning.
Wolf riders assaulting all walls converged here.
Yet the Knight Slayer still hadn't appeared.
Waiting for more disarray, no doubt.
I had no intention of letting it watch leisurely as its meal cooked.
"Hah!"
I adjusted my grip, exhaled. Blue flames ignited at the blade tip.
Flames to soothe orc souls— I ostentatiously raised the sword skyward on the ramparts.
Hooo.
Responding, a massive aura rose afar.
The Knight Slayer.
Unable to endure its hunger, it charged into battle.
Crash!
Orcs flew through the air below. A colossal orc, eyes bloodshot, barreled toward me.
Like a beast frantic lest its tasty prey be stolen, charging straight at me.