Chapter 60
Chapter 60
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 60
Chapter Title: Even in the Winter of Biting Winds, Buds Still Sprout (4)
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Erhim Kiringer didn't even consider jumping into that brutal melee.
The ogre rampaging like a mad beast was fearsome enough, but the real problem was the man and woman outdoing it in frenzy.
No, even before that, he didn't feel any need to intervene. The overwhelming side wasn't the ogre—it was the pair of them.
Every time the golden sword aura swept through, chunks of the ogre's armor-like hide tore away in ragged strips. The woman unleashed a barrage of slashes without a thought for defense.
Grraaaaaah!
The blood-soaked ogre bellowed savagely and swung its fist.
A punch that seemed to crush space itself—just as the woman had flung her sword in a wide arc and lost her stance, she looked like she had no chance to dodge.
That was when the First Prince stepped in.
Emitting streaks of iridescent radiance that resembled yet subtly differed from the woman's sword aura, the First Prince slashed fiercely.
Bam!
The First Prince's body flew through the air. The ogre clutched its hand and screamed.
Blood dripped from its grotesquely split fist. At the same time, the airborne prince tumbled across the ground.
Thud.
After rolling several times, the First Prince sprang back up. In that interval, the woman had regained her footing and launched another slash. The ogre's wrist was severed clean off.
Grroooh!
The ogre shrieked and flailed its remaining hand wildly. The woman, struck by the reckless blow, was sent flying.
The First Prince caught her. The two tumbled across the ground tangled together for a moment before rising in unison. Then they charged the ogre again.
Watching this, Erhim Kiringer was filled with admiration.
The woman was incredible, slicing through the ogre's tough hide like butter. But the First Prince was even more impressive.
Offense from the woman, defense from the prince.
At a glance, it seemed like a perfect division of roles, but Erhim knew it wasn't some pre-planned combo attack.
The woman's swordplay was as blind and ruthless as the ogre's. There was no consideration for her ally in her strikes—she just swung at whatever was in sight.
And yet the First Prince supported that selfish, myopic assault with exquisite precision.
Not only handling the defense she ignored, but also disrupting the ogre's focus on her with masterful timing.
It was impossible without exceptional combat experience and instincts. The visible feats favored the woman, but in truth, she was the one orchestrating the fight.
Without the First Prince, she'd have been reduced to a bloody pulp and buried in the snow long ago.
How many battles had he fought since arriving at Winter Castle? A boy who'd only been training with the sword for a year at most, now displaying such judgment.
It was growth beyond compare to his past self. And he wasn't the only one who'd advanced astonishingly.
Arwen Kirguyen.
Once fated to become an Iron Lion, now the First Prince's direct knight. She too had become a seasoned warrior.
While Erhim and Dunham wasted time seeking an opening in the ogre fight, Arwen had led the rangers in ambushing the orcs.
An excellent decision.
The orcs were exhausted from battling the ogre and stunned by the sudden interlopers.
Orcs that would have put up a fierce fight were felled outright by the rangers' bolts.
Those lucky enough to block the arrows fell to Arwen Kirguyen herself. The weary orcs dropped like flies before her blade.
A red-aura orc joined late, but by then the others were already down.
Arwen raised her hand. The rangers, reloaded long ago, assumed firing positions again.
That was when Erhim and Dunham, distracted by the prince's fight, realized their own duties.
Hummmm.
Excluding the Quad Chain knights of the Silver Lions, he was one of the kingdom's top swordsmen—a Triple Chain knight channeling his aura in earnest. Even a ferocious orc that could brawl with an ogre had to tread carefully.
The orc took a step back.
"Krak! Kraak!"
The orc scratched its throat and shouted.
Rumor had it the prince understood orc speech. Erhim glanced back.
The fight was nearly over by then.
He could see the ogre slumped in a pool of blood.
Both legs severed, one arm hacked off at the wrist. Propping itself with the stump and flailing the good arm wildly, it showed none of its initial ferocity.
If anything, the humans looked more savage.
The blood-drenched woman seized the ogre from behind. Her upward slash severed its remaining arm from the armpit.
"Grraaaaaah."
The ogre roared in agony. She jammed her blade into the opposite armpit.
Squelch.
The ogre's shoulder tore free.
Thud.
Its head slammed into the blood pool, body thrashing. The woman mounted its back. Her eyes gleamed yellow and red; she grinned.
Stab.
A golden-flashing sword pierced the ogre's nape.
"Gack! Hack!"
The ogre coughed blood foam. She yanked the sword free and slammed it down again.
Splat, splat, splat.
A gruesome pounding like tenderizing meat. The ogre convulsed.
A nightmare sight. Erhim winced and looked away.
The First Prince was suddenly right in front of him.
Unlike the gore-soaked woman, he was spotless, not a drop on him.
The prince strode forward and rasped from his throat. The orc reacted to the eerie sound.
Kruk, kruk.
Exactly mimicking the prince's rasp. Only then did Erhim realize that bizarre noise was the rumored "orc tongue."
The prince and orc conversed at length.
Erhim couldn't guess the content. It was less language than growling—utterly alien, nuances incomprehensible.
Click.
The prince reached out and pressed down a nearby ranger's crossbow.
"Stand down."
The abrupt order got the quickest response from Arwen. With a crisp shink, she sheathed her sword and stepped back. The rangers lowered their weapons a beat later, creating distance.
Erhim frowned.
The prince and orc faced off gripping their weapons like duelists.
And that's exactly what it was.
The orc growled low; the prince replied with another rasp.
Like knights exchanging introductions before combat. Erhim's eyes widened.
An orc-human duel? Unheard of.
Erhim hesitated.
Given how it wielded red aura freely against the ogre, this orc was at least a Triple Chain knight's equal. Facing such a foe right after battling an ogre was reckless.
The orc had rested, though.
Be ready to intervene if needed.
He might face reprimand later, but he couldn't let the Leonberger heir become monster chow.
Erhim rested his hand on his hilt, poised to leap in.
But it proved needless worry.
His swordsmanship belied just a year of training—peerless and refined. His steps were bold as a veteran of decades. Breathing heavy from back-to-back fights, yet stable. Mana drawn precisely, minimizing waste.
At just sixteen, too young for sword aura-body unity. Yet to Erhim, the prince had attained it.
A few months ago at Iron Lion Castle, he'd still seemed raw.
A growth rate unbelievable without eyewitness proof.
"Kraaaagh!"
A roar snapped him from thought.
The orc stood impaled through the heart, foaming blood.
Clunk.
The prince kicked it away. Blood sprayed as the sword withdrew. The orc's lips moved in spasm.
"Krruk."
Gazing down impassively, the prince rasped.
The orc closed its eyes contentedly. And never opened them.
Erhim guessed the prince's rasp: A worthy foe. A fine duel.
Something like that.
Thump.
The prince slumped to the ground.
"Ow. Gonna die."
He flopped flat and shut his eyes. As Arwen and the rangers rushed over, he bolted upright.
"Adelia!"
From the crimson pool, the woman staggered up.
"Y-Your Highness..."
Her face was on the verge of tears.
Confirming she was unharmed, the prince bellowed.
"Don't come near!"
Too bloody, he recoiled in disgust.
At her master's harshness, she finally wept. Tears carved white streaks through the gore.
The eerie sight made Erhim and the rangers flinch. They turned away and didn't look back.
After a day camping to recover, the group plunged into the mountains hunting the next prey without pause.
The ranger guides moved confidently, sans prior caution. Asked why, they said the ogre stench was so thick, most monsters had fled far.
"Couldn't orcs swarm us?"
Having seen orcs hunt the ogre already, Erhim asked the prince.
"Unless they're like yesterday's bunch, dead set on slaying it. Normal orcs avoid ogre scent at all costs."
The prince added flatly.
"If any don't flee from the smell..."
The rangers signaled suddenly.
"It's another ogre. Or something as bad."
The prince's voice dropped.
Kieeeek!
A shrill roar pierced from afar.
"Like now."
No sooner said than thunderous footsteps echoed distantly.
Blue skin, hooked nose, tusks like boar fangs. Reeking like hundreds of rotting corpses, a massive beast emerged. "Troll."
The prince drew; a golden-aura clump charged the troll.
And battle began.
Inheriting giant cunning and regeneration, the troll shredded under countless slashes yet endlessly healed.
The prince despaired; the slaughterer rejoiced.
After half a day hacking the blue bulk into dozens of chunks, they roamed anew.
Everywhere they passed, crimson stains bloomed on pristine snow.
Bloodflowers sprouted across the mountains.
And the seed the prince had planted in his handmaiden fully bloomed.
The prince startled. What new horror had appeared in her already dire traits?
But before he could check the change in his handmaiden, another message arrived.