Chapter 71
Chapter 71
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 71
Chapter Title: What You Lost, What You Will Forget (2)
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"With Sir Alloy here, it couldn't be more reassuring."
"I heard you achieved great success this time. Congratulations."
The knights lavished praise on one another.
"I hear the inspection of your family's Rose Thorn Heavy Infantry was quite the spectacle?"
"And your viscount's Iron Hammer Archers are the kingdom's famed elites, aren't they?"
The nobles hoisted each other up amid raucous laughter.
Watching the scene, Maximilian pressed a hand to his forehead.
He couldn't tell if this was the command tent where the army's leaders had gathered or a banquet hall for nobles.
Maximilian glanced around. The faces of the assembled nobles were all familiar.
The middle-aged man with the scar on his cheek was a fairly renowned knight, and the young man puffing out his chest with smug pride was a promising soldier who'd recently risen to fame.
Each one had their own reputation and standing, yet here in the meeting hall, all they did was boast of their own prowess and flaunt their troops.
This was what they called a meeting.
Even the chaotic ramblings of the now-deceased northern lords had been better than this. At least back then, there had been some discussion—however empty—of future plans.
But here, even that bare minimum was absent.
"Shouldn't we be devising countermeasures against the orcs?"
Unable to stand it any longer, he spoke up to draw the attention of those strolling through their flower garden.
"Before Your Highness arrived, our capable staff officers had already burned the midnight oil to draft plans, which the wise nobles and knights reviewed and refined where needed."
The commander's response, as if soothing a child, was far from what Maximilian wanted.
He already knew.
He knew just how flimsy the so-called countermeasures were that those "capable staff officers" had cobbled together sleeplessly.
They planned to leverage the terrain, block the narrow bridge exit, and slaughter the orcs as they crossed one by one.
It sounded plausible enough. But their plan had one massive flaw.
The orcs themselves—those tenacious brutes who feared not even death.
Maximilian recalled what his brother had said on that day he'd just arrived at Winter Castle.
[When you first face monsters, their eyes freeze your limbs, their stench makes you dizzy. On open plains, you're dead. Even behind walls, they'll breach them. No exceptions.]
He hadn't believed it at first. He'd thought it was just meant to scare him.
But no. In his first battle, he'd learned the hard way—etched into his bones—that every word was true.
Somehow, he'd survived.
Back then, there had been high walls and Ballerhard's battle-hardened rangers.
But here, there were no high walls. No sturdy rangers.
The "elites" the nobles boasted of would piss themselves like children the moment they faced the orcs. They'd stand frozen, watching their own bodies torn apart in a haze of fading consciousness.
The front lines would shatter in an instant, formations collapse. And once the orcs saw the terrified soldiers, they'd rampage even fiercer.
Hell would unfold before their eyes.
He pictured it: crumbled defenses, ruined cities. Refugees fleeing orcs, the kingdom's banners snapped and strewn about like trash.
He had to stop it. That's why he'd come back here—to hold the line.
[Don't let the defensive line break. They're swelled this much even in those barren, brutal mountains. If they push into the warm, bountiful south, it'll be irreversible.]
His brother's warning echoed in his mind.
Maximilian looked around.
"Twenty-two houses have gathered, with nine thousand seven hundred twenty-three soldiers assembled. Four hundred and thirty-four renowned knights among them, including kingdom silver lions."
"Our forces are spread wide, forcing the enemy into a narrow assault. We hold the terrain advantage, effectively multiplying our numbers while thinning theirs. Even twenty thousand orcs couldn't break us."
The staff officers crowed as if victory were already in hand. The nobles and commander nodded, swallowing it whole.
The staff flaunted empty cleverness, knights blinded by vain glory. The commanders underestimated the foe and overestimated their own.
Not one saw the disaster's true face. All they envisioned was the rose-strewn path after triumph.
Even Winter Fortress, an iron bastion, had fallen. The north laid waste.
[You can do it.]
Recalling the feel of that scarred hand clapping his shoulder, Maximilian steeled himself. Then he spoke firmly.
"I propose we review and revise the deployment of all forces."
The staff officers' faces hardened. But quickly regaining composure, one smiled smoothly.
"This deployment was devised by esteemed commanders and knights. I assure you, nothing better exists."
Maximilian couldn't help but chuckle.
He knew exactly how half-baked their "best" deployment was.
Rushed here by the royal summons with their house elites, the great lords had selfishly kept their precious troops in the rear, fearing losses. The vanguard facing the orcs first? Cannon fodder from minor houses—conscripts barely worth the name.
Maximilian turned.
There was the great lord who'd strutted about his troops' fine review.
"The Ga Market Beauty Heavy Infantry, was it? Your soldiers are so valiant, they say. If your heavy infantry leads the front, our morale will soar."
The great lord glanced at the commander in dismay, eyes pleading for intervention.
But before the man could speak, Maximilian pointed out nobles one by one.
"Sir Alloy? I heard of your recent achievements. Congratulations. With your famed sword at the fore, our front-line troops won't waver."
A sneer filled his face as words poured out.
It resembled his brother's smile, somehow. Though he seemed oblivious.
"If His Highness commands it, then Alloy Dort stands at the vanguard!"
"We've a deployment from capable staff—how could I let personal ambition lead me to covet the front? I couldn't bear such words."
Those singled out scrambled with excuses.
Glory-hungry knights welcomed the proposal; nobles fretting over their troops spun endless reasons to stay back.
"Your Highness, your brilliant advice merits heed, but alas, we can't now. As you said, the enemy is nearly upon us. Rearranging now would sow chaos among the men."
The commander intervened to restrain him.
"The enemy is that close? I thought from all you commanders' leisure that we had time to spare."
He sneered. Nobles exchanged uneasy glances.
Some had known Maximilian before; others chatted with him once or twice.
Which made their shock greater.
The second prince they knew was hailed as the founding king's reincarnation—humble despite talent, kind and courteous to all, a picture of gentle dignity. Never crude, openly venting discontent, mocking nobles like this.
"Your Highness, this is a military camp. Camps have their sanctity, which all here must respect—as I respect Your Highness's."
The commander forced a conciliatory smile to defuse the tension.
"Music to my ears."
Maximilian seized it.
"Then I propose again: Deploy the great lords' elites and knights to the front, backed by our full strength."
"Your Highness..."
"This is not the second son of Leonberger speaking, but the temporary commander of His Majesty's Northern Relief Legion, formally proposing to you."
The commander coughed awkwardly, flustered.
"Has His Majesty, unbeknownst to me, stripped me of the command you'd blame for defeat?"
"Perish the thought. His Majesty never said such a thing."
"Good. Then I'm still legion commander."
With the commander's own words affirming his authority, Maximilian proposed the redeployment once more.
This time, neither commander nor nobles could slither away. They had to review the plan.
Maximilian exhaled in relief.
Finally feels like a meeting.
His face remained icy.
For days of meetings, Maximilian sat firm, subtly prodding the great lords' pride, pushing until refusing meant the dishonor of fearing battle.
Even those desperate to shield their troops had no choice but to yield.
Not stopping there, he named those he'd eyed over days, proposing they lead the front. If mighty lords complied, lesser nobles couldn't refuse.
By meeting's end, the defensive line was reversed: elites forward, minor house fodder back.
"Seeing nobles lead by example shames me. The royals will never forget your righteousness here."
Maximilian smiled softly, praising them.
The nobles seethed.
Exhausted by the second prince's polite yet inescapable rhetoric. Yet amid the fury, they admired him.
He pierced nobles' dread of dishonor—death's equal—yet praised without grudge. Such finesse from a mere fifteen-year-old king-to-be? Unthinkable.
He outshone other princes.
Nobles exchanged looks, confirming it silently.
The next king was all but decided.
But confirming who? A tale for later. For now, their task: repel orcs stylishly from the front, flaunt power and valor.
They burned with zeal to claim glory.
It didn't last.
"Orcs incoming!"
Seeing the black tide swarming across the bridge, ambitions guttered out.
Too many. And these "puny monsters"? Hulks dwarfing even armored heavy infantry.
Nobles swallowed dryly.
"Someone's fleeing the orcs!"
A sharp-eyed archer shouted.
Nobles startled, peering ahead. Sure enough: a helmeted, iron-clad knightess—her slender feminine form unmistakable; beside her, a pale-faced man sprinting; trailing, three ghostly riders cloaked tight.
"Aaaah! Arrows! Shoot the arrows!"
One noble recognized the shrieking man urging archers, eyes bulging.
"Why's he there..."
Others demanded his identity.
"Th-the Ilai count's eldest son."