Chapter 61
Chapter 61
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 61
Chapter Title: 21. Orc Beyond Orcs vs Knight Beyond Knights (1)
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A cheerful hum, as if she were whistling a tune.
I stared in utter disbelief.
It wasn't so much a prayer as a deep-seated grudge.
A longing, yet at the same time utter despair.
Even for me, who had lived for centuries and encountered countless heroic poems, this was a form I had rarely seen.
I looked at Adelia. Just then, she was looking back at me.
Her eyes brimmed with tears, her lips pressed tightly together, her hands clenched into fists. Her face wore an expression like she was being forced into something she utterly despised, tormented by the ordeal.
If someone unfamiliar with the situation had seen her, they might have thought I had dragged her kicking and screaming to the battlefield against her will—and they wouldn't have been entirely wrong to think so.
Was there any greater injustice in the world?
Whenever the scent of blood was in the air, her eyes would glaze over and she'd charge ahead like a madwoman. And now, out of nowhere, she was glaring at me with resentment. She could at least set down the troll heart she'd just ripped out before making that face.
"Hoo."
I let out a sigh and checked her traits.
The phrase "mountains upon mountains of troubles" was made for times like this.
I could instantly tell what the newly emerged Gluttony trait craved. And I knew full well that this gluttony would never be sated.
After all, the Song of the Carrion Crow she had woven was a ballad of insatiable longing.
The War Maniac and Slaughterer traits were headache enough, and now another one had been tacked on. A brutal trait no less fearsome than the other two.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts.
Still, the situation wasn't entirely bleak.
Even though it was just a single verse, I could sense that the Song of the Carrion Crow transcended the ordinary, reaching an extraordinary realm. At least that was something.
It made trudging through these harsh winter mountains worthwhile. Without even this much, I might have broken down crying.
Now I had one more card to play against the Warlord. With that in mind, I repeated to myself that things were looking up.
For the next few days, we scoured the area and took down every ogre and troll we found.
The rangers handled the valuable parts on their own—like ogre hides and troll fangs. We wandered for a few more days.
No more ogres or trolls in sight.
To keep hunting, we'd have to venture deeper in.
I gazed toward the heart of the mountain range for a moment, then turned away.
"Let's head back."
The rangers' faces lit up at my words.
A fair bit of time had passed, and they were starting to worry about Winter Castle. Watching a madwoman drenched in blood rampage must have been hard on them too.
The journey back was remarkably smooth.
Thanks to Adelia, who had practically bathed in ogre and troll blood every time. The predator's stench clung thickly to her body, and not a single monster poked its nose out—even as we crossed right through their villages.
We climbed mountain after mountain. And finally, we reached a hill overlooking Winter Castle.
"Ah..."
Orcs swarmed around the castle. Rangers on the walls loosed arrows for dear life. The blue glows erupting from knights stationed everywhere lit up the night.
Winter Castle was in the thick of battle.
"What should we do?"
Erhim Kiringer asked.
I quietly gauged the number of orcs besieging the castle.
There were far more dead orcs than living ones. The moving ones numbered roughly three hundred heads.
"We break through."
Once we were in sight of the castle, the Winter Castle knights would open the gates and charge out on their own.
They'd gotten a real taste for flinging open the gates and charging lately.
"I'll take point. Rangers in the middle. Sir Erhim, Dunham, and Arwen cover the flanks and rear."
My group readied for combat at my command.
The knights drew their swords, the rangers nocked arrows. Their short swords hung loose at the ready.
"Can't we wait a bit longer?"
The Silver Fox Mercenaries whined, faces twisted.
"Any survivors among the orcs will come this way."
At that, the mercenaries reluctantly drew their blades and spears. Elite mercenaries, my foot—no backbone to be seen.
Tsk.
I clicked my tongue and looked ahead.
In the rear, directing the horde, stood an orc wearing a beast's pelt over its head, clutching a bone staff—an orc shaman.
Oblivious to our presence behind it, the thing stared only at the walls.
Talk about a gift from the heavens.
I raised my sword and pointed at it.
The knights nodded. The rangers locked eyes on the target, gleaming with intent. The mercenaries kept grumbling.
"Charge."
**
As Vincent slammed his blade into the skull of an orc peeking over the wall, he bellowed,
"Not much longer! Hold the line! Once this is over, we rest for four days!"
Orcs attacked every four days, and the rangers fought back with everything they had.
Vincent watched them steadily.
Few orcs made it to the top of the walls, and those that did lost their heads to the knights' blades one after another. An occasional orc shaman stirred up trouble, but it barely shifted the tide.
Thanks to the knights from the capital keeping busy, ranger casualties were practically nil.
At this rate, they'd repel the orcs before dawn with minimal losses.
Smoother than smooth.
"Hm."
Vincent found himself glancing toward the gates. A massive orc horde swarmed the firmly shut gates, hacking away with axes.
If His Highness the 1st Prince were here, he'd have flung open those gates by now and gone on a rampage.
Vincent shuddered.
Get a grip. War isn't some knight's game.
Reprimanding himself, he rallied the rangers with a shout.
Still, he couldn't stop glancing at the gates over and over.
"Damn it."
Seized by an inexplicable thirst, he swung his sword savagely.
"Kek!"
An orc with a blade shoved in its mouth tumbled from the wall.
Countless orcs had fallen from the walls, smashed to pulp. Yet more kept climbing.
Stubborn as ever, but especially today.
"Bloody hell."
Vincent spat a curse.
Normally, the orcs' momentum would wane by now—but a shaman was egging them on. It was maddening to see them clamber up, knowing full well they'd die.
"Damn shaman bastard."
The fight was going well, but fatigue didn't care. He glared at the distant orc banner.
"Hm?"
Suddenly, commotion rippled through the orcs behind the banner. A flash of light—and the banner toppled.
At the same moment, the orcs doggedly scaling the walls faltered.
Like drunks finally sobering up.
"His Highness the Prince!"
One sharp-eyed ranger shouted. The others, raining arrows nonstop, turned as one.
There stood a boy hoisting the fallen banner high.
"His Highness is back!"
"He got their leader!"
The rangers erupted in cheers.
And in that instant, the air in Winter Castle grew feverish.
"These guys, really."
Vincent smirked.
The walls brimmed with veteran knights and commanders. How many blizzards and chills had they weathered?
Dozens for some, at least seven or eight for others.
And the 1st Prince hadn't even survived a single winter here.
Yet the rangers atop the walls acted like their truant boss had finally come home, buzzing with excitement.
Unbelievable.
Forget the winters they'd endured—how long had the Prince been gone to warrant this fuss?
"Anyone'd think he was their captain."
Vincent grumbled, displeased.
"To the gates!"
"First thirty get to go!"
Someone yelled.
Knights on the walls raced down immediately. Vincent was among them.
A fierce wind carried faint singing.
Rangers struck up Winter Castle's marching song, knights chanted war poems.
The gates swung open.
Orcs surged in with roars—but were flung back out just as fast.
Knights, sword auras blazing, poured forth.
"You lot! Orders haven't even— Charge!"
The eldest son of Winter Castle's lord issued the charge a beat late.
"Hm."
Maximilian watched impassively.
From the moment his brother appeared on the field, Winter Castle's morale soared.
Lethargic rangers fired arrows with renewed fury, as if fresh to the fight. Knights' sword auras thickened.
Even the battle-hardened commanders flushed red with zeal.
Ranger arrows fell like rain, sweeping orcs aside. Knights charged through the cleared paths.
Blade lights exploded everywhere, mighty roars boomed in succession.
Orcs scattered before the raging wave.
It wasn't battle—it was slaughter.
Like victors mopping up remnants.
Orcs, pushed by knights, finally broke and fled. The stubborn beasts, clinging despite comrades dying, now ran in terror.
Magic, plain and simple.
And the source? A mere boy of sixteen. Maximilian marveled again and again.
Tooooooot.
Victory horns blared.
"We won!"
Winter Castle's soldiers cheered.
They hailed the heroes of the victory.
Knights who had dashed along the walls all night. The steadfast commander who held like a rock.
But the loudest cheers were for the 1st Prince.
"Long live His Highness the 1st Prince!"
"Honor to His Highness the 1st Prince!"
Maximilian glanced around, then joined in.
"Long live the 1st Prince!"
A nearby Iron Lion gaped at him.
Amid the roaring cheers, the 1st Prince passed through the gates. He proudly raised the red banner, striding with majestic poise.
And then—a roar erupted from deep in the mountains.
Cheers cut short. All eyes turned to the range. Nothing but snow-clad peaks.
But everyone in Winter Castle felt it: the massive presence stirring within.
The Warlord was on the move.