Chapter 70
Chapter 70
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 70
Chapter Title: 23. What You Have Lost, What You Will Lose (1)
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A new beginning? Fine words indeed.
But that was only possible if the North remained intact.
With orcs rampaging through the land like it was their own backyard, every territory would be reduced to ruins before they could even attempt anything.
Whether they boiled the North or roasted it, the top priority was driving out the orcs first.
Fortunately, the First Prince had a plan for that as well.
"We won't fight the orcs."
The problem was that his method differed wildly from what the lords had imagined.
The lords stirred uneasily.
Just moments ago, he had declared they wouldn't abandon the North, and now he was saying they wouldn't fight. How exactly did he plan to drive out the orcs without battle? The lords couldn't comprehend the First Prince's words at all.
"Orcs don't operate separate supply lines. Their method of provisioning is extremely simple. They fight enemies, win, and fill their bellies with their blood and flesh. That's their way."
The First Prince continued his explanation in a matter-of-fact tone.
"In other words, without battles, they'll starve too."
The quick-witted ones let out groans of realization. Among them was Baron Cardein, known for his own knowledge of military strategy.
"Are you perhaps thinking of the Scorched Earth Tactics from the Blue Plains?"
The First Prince nodded at the baron's question. The baron nodded back, murmuring, "As expected."
Count Shurtol, unable to follow the conversation, hesitated before speaking.
"I am too dull to grasp Your Highness's intent. What do you mean by not fighting, and what is this Blue Plains...?"
"His Highness intends to starve the orcs without engaging them."
Baron Cardein explained on the First Prince's behalf.
Scorched Earth Tactics.
An extreme strategy that preemptively destroys or diverts useful supplies, completely blocking the enemy's ability to forage locally.
"It's a method rarely used. Execution is difficult, and even if successful, the aftermath is severe."
They would divert as many supplies as possible to the rear, destroying what couldn't be moved on the spot. Most of what was destroyed was food, including unharvested crops.
Whether it failed or succeeded, it inevitably brought the people's resentment and famine after the war.
Baron Cardein raised this concern.
"Orcs are notoriously picky eaters."
The prince pressed on without pause.
Except for a few special cases, monsters didn't eat plants. They sustained themselves solely through hunting and pillaging, and their meals consisted only of fresh, dripping meat.
Stored grains in granaries meant nothing to them.
There was no need to rack their brains over diverting hard-hoarded supplies, nor regret over burning precious provisions.
Of course, it wasn't entirely painless.
They couldn't escape the humiliation of surrendering castles and territories guarded for generations without a fight.
Yet none of the lords voiced it.
The floor was still slick with the blood of nobles executed by the First Prince. Defying him was unthinkable.
Besides, Winter Castle's people—who had handed their ancestral fortress to the orcs—were present. Voicing such thoughts before them would be utterly foolish.
Especially since they bore some responsibility for its fall.
The lords suddenly realized their precarious position.
Guilty and in need of aid, rebellion was out of the question.
They could only prostrate themselves and pray this harsh season passed quickly.
Even amid the lords' silence, the meeting proceeded briskly.
"But orcs won't meekly retreat just from empty bellies."
Vincent Ballerhard raised an objection.
It could weaken their forces, but Scorched Earth wasn't a fundamental solution. Orcs would tenaciously endure, even feasting on their own kin's flesh and blood.
Winter Castle's commanders chimed in unison.
"In the end, battle is inevitable, sooner or later."
The First Prince nodded at Vincent's words.
"Correct. To drive out the orcs, we'll have to fight eventually."
He had just said they wouldn't fight. His stance was utterly unpredictable.
"But not right away."
The First Prince added,
"And not our job."
"Surely you don't mean..."
"The ones clashing with the orcs will be the forces south of the river."
The commanders finally grasped his intent and groaned.
"They need to experience a real winter at least once."
The First Prince stared down the lords as he spoke.
"So they never forget its brutality again."
With their sins weighing on them, they had no grounds to protest. The lords bowed their heads as if by agreement.
The First Prince's gaze shifted to the Ballerhard men.
"How foolish their actions were, and how much they've lost because of it."
He repeated that they must realize it fully.
Complex emotions crossed the faces of the Dracen men who had abandoned Winter Castle.
Grief, self-loathing, relief, anticipation.
Watching their conflicted expressions, Maximilian marveled.
It was a rare sight indeed.
A boy not yet of age—who had just awakened from unconsciousness—was unilaterally dominating the meeting. Not just leading, but utterly controlling it.
One word made haughty lords fidget; another purified the rage-clouded eyes of knights.
"We'll need bait forces for the lure."
These remnants, once broken, now steeled their resolve and burned with fighting spirit.
"I'll lead the lure."
"No, let me."
The lingering shame of defeat and ignominious flight was gone.
Not even Count Bail Ballerhard's absence—the pillar of the North—felt like a void. They seemed invigorated, as if returned to before Winter Castle's fall.
It was unbelievable, even seeing it with his own eyes.
A mere sixteen-year-old boy perfectly filling the shoes of a veteran knight who had guarded the kingdom for over half a century.
Who could have imagined it?
What would the capital's nobles think if they saw this?
The answer was obvious.
Just recently scorned, the prince now overwhelmed the North's lords.
They followed him with eyes full of fear and expectation—the capital nobles would be no different.
Clap.
The sound of clapping hands snapped Maximilian from his reverie.
"The meeting ends here."
Before he knew it, the meeting was over.
Maximilian felt hollow.
Despite endless meetings, they'd achieved nothing. Indecisive on advance or retreat, Winter Castle's command and the lords had only grown more frustrated.
It felt like struggling over an unsolvable knot.
Yet it unraveled so simply.
Maximilian let out a long sigh.
Finally, everything felt back to normal.
After the northern lords departed, the tent held only Vincent, Maximilian, and a few knights.
Expressions rigid throughout the meeting now brimmed with emotions.
"Your Highness."
They called to the First Prince repeatedly. Much to say, yet lips trembled without words.
"If you call, then speak."
The First Prince replied indifferently.
Exhaustion was evident, but his face and tone were unchanged.
Yet Vincent and the others knew.
They noticed his eyes—usually piercingly direct—now wandered aimlessly.
"No time to dawdle here."
The First Prince warned.
His voice and expression lacked the cold steel that had beheaded a dozen lords.
The leader who had dominated dozens was gone.
Left was a child anxious about his mistakes being exposed.
"Your Highness."
Vincent called again.
"How many Ballerhard men do you think met their end in bed?"
At the word "death," the First Prince panicked.
"I need rest. My body hasn't fully recovered..."
"No more than five, at most."
Vincent stepped forward.
"For a Ballerhard man to end his life on the battlefield is no anomaly. It's honorable."
The First Prince shot to his feet.
"It wasn't some lowly orc. He fell battling the orc king, burning my sword to halt its pursuit of our allies."
He staggered, and Adelia hastily supported him.
"Father's final moments were not so worthless as to pity."
Vincent emphasized.
"Don't insult his righteousness."
The First Prince said nothing. Neither did Vincent.
Vincent bowed and turned. The other knights followed silently.
"Glad you woke safely."
His parting words went unanswered. Adelia gazed at him pityingly.
That night, large contingents slipped from the camp.
Count Shurtol and the northern lords led their forces out, while hundreds of cavalry scattered as couriers. Destinations varied, but missions were identical.
Per the First Prince's orders, they evacuated commoners upon arrival. Rumors of orcs ravaging everywhere made persuasion easy.
Commoners took minimal valuables and headed south.
The lords' forces accompanied them.
A few unlucky ones faced orc raids, but encounters were rare.
Winter Castle survivors roamed, luring orcs away.
Southbound troops and refugees split at a point.
Soldiers veered east to a fortress; commoners continued south to cross the Raintes River bridge.
Second Prince Maximilian led them.
The First Prince's precaution against southern forces repelling northern refugees.
Fearing mid-journey ambushes, Maximilian fretted.
But the others performed well—no attacks came.
Finally, Maximilian and the refugees reached the Raintes Bridge linking North and Center.
He sighed in relief.
Kingdom forces visible across the bridge.
Banners of various houses fluttered endlessly. Easily over ten thousand strong.
Some rushed across.
"Halt!"
Seeing soldiers blocking the bridge, Maximilian threw back his fur cloak hood.
"Northern commoners fleeing the chaos. Clear the way."
"Y-Your Highness?"
The commander gaped in recognition.
Everything proceeded smoothly after.
The defensive line's commander frowned at the sudden influx but didn't turn them away.
Whether due to the prince or kingdom policy, Maximilian couldn't say.
What he knew: the Center overflowed with plenty.
Troops, food, weapons—abundant.
The prosperity felt alien.
Beyond lay scarcity and hardship. Like another world.
"The Second Prince has saved the northern folk!"
Clueless nobles and soldiers cheered; his face burned.
Normally, he'd clarify and quell undue praise. Not this time.
He needed the borrowed glory now.
A modest welcome for the Second Prince's safe return from the North. The untimely fervor peaked.
"An orc horde races here now."
Maximilian doused it.
"Why would orcs ravaging the North come here...?"
He addressed a noble watching casually from afar.
"Soonest in a week, latest two—they'll arrive."
Sweet music cut off. Smiles faded from nobles' lips holding goblets.
"The party's over."
Maximilian declared. His voice dry and cold, like a biting wind over the tundra.