Chapter 75
Chapter 75
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 75
Chapter Title: 24. Half, and Half (3)
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Kwoooooooar!
Maximilian plugged his ears and twisted the ring.
But even with his precautions, he couldn't fully escape the momentary daze that washed over his mind.
"Hoo."
He took deep breaths to steady his churning insides.
Only when the frayed strands of mana began flowing again did his blurred vision finally clear.
"Ah..."
A groan escaped him unbidden.
Before his eyes stretched a scene of utter pandemonium.
Infantrymen who had thrown down their spears and swords, now sprawled on the ground clutching their heads and trembling.
Archers from the archery unit convulsing and sobbing in unintelligible whimpers.
It was as if the end of the world had come.
And the battle hadn't even truly begun.
A beat later, the sound of war drums echoed belatedly.
The orcs had begun their advance from across the river. But among the utterly panicked allied forces, not a single one gripped their weapons to prepare for combat.
Those who remained somewhat composed chose flight over fight.
"Everyone, get up..."
The Silver Lion raised his sword high, its blade shimmering with radiant light, and bellowed at the soldiers.
But before his thunderous roar could finish, a crimson bolt of lightning crashed down from the sky.
"Gah!"
The Silver Lion hastily swung his sword, unleashing a burst of brilliance. The red thunderbolt clashed against the blue flash in midair.
With a boom, the famed knight tumbled across the ground.
"What in the..."
The old knight, pulling himself up late, went pale.
A massive spear was embedded right where he had stood moments before.
Clack.
Its owner appeared a step later and gripped the shaft.
The dark green giant. The Warlord.
The Warlord looked down at the Silver Lion with an arrogant sneer.
Maximilian, watching from afar, let out a groan.
He understood now why it hadn't pursued Winter Castle's retreating forces immediately.
Why it had arrived at the battlefield so late.
And why it had only joined the fray today.
Below its left shoulder, where there should have been an arm, there was nothing. Its left arm had been cleanly severed.
In that state, it had surprisingly mustered the courage to show itself.
But losing one arm didn't improve their situation.
A wounded beast rarely reveals itself, yet this one had.
That spoke volumes of its confidence.
It clearly saw the Silver Lion as lukewarm soup it could gulp down in one bite. Soup so meager it could be slurped up with one hand.
Regrettably, its judgment seemed spot on.
Count Richter Richtain was undoubtedly powerful. The aura blade coalescing on his sword proved the Silver Lion's reputation was no lie.
But it wasn't nearly enough.
The old knight retreated step by step under the Warlord's spear thrusts. Each clash with the red battle spirit chipped away massive chunks of the aura blade's glow.
He had thought it could at least buy time, but even that was a miscalculation.
Maximilian stared in stunned disbelief.
His brother had survived a fight with that monster?
As he watched the bloodied Silver Lion clashing with the Warlord, someone grabbed his shoulder.
He turned to see his brother's squire.
"The defensive line has already collapsed. We must withdraw and plan for the future."
Maximilian pushed back fiercely.
"If we can't hold the bridge with ten thousand troops, what makes you think anywhere else will be different? Retreat is absolutely out of the question!"
"It seems the nobles think differently from Your Highness."
A deep voice cut in.
Bernard Ilai had somehow procured a horse from somewhere and ridden right up beside them.
"Look. The nobles are already pulling back."
Maximilian glanced toward the distant hill.
"Ah..."
Banners still fluttered, but half their owners had vanished somewhere. The rest were fidgeting, ready to bolt at any moment.
"Have you ever seen such pigs without a shred of honor or pride!"
Maximilian ground his teeth. It was a rare sight—him, usually so mild-mannered, visibly agitated.
"This isn't the time for anger."
Arwen calmly persuaded him.
"We need to rally the soldiers now."
"Keep retreat in mind as well."
Bernard Ilai chimed in from the side.
Maximilian exploded in frustration.
"Twice the numbers of Winter Castle's forces! That's how many soldiers we have here! And yet we must flee again?"
He jabbed his finger wildly around him as he shouted.
"The previous Lord of Winter Castle and my brother crossed straight through fourteen thousand orcs with only half as many knights! So why are these cowards just standing there watching!"
No sooner had he spoken than the Silver Lion took a spear hit from the Warlord and rolled across the ground. The knights hastily withdrew. None seemed willing to fight alongside him.
The old knight rose using his sword as leverage and gathered his sword light once more.
But it was futile struggling. He couldn't even block three or four more thrusts from the battle spirit-wreathed spear before the aura blade shattered like glass.
"Guh!"
The Silver Lion spat up a gush of blood and staggered, raising his sword again.
The Warlord strode forward. The Silver Lion stumbled back. He still held his sword, but his fighting spirit was gone.
After retreating some distance, the old knight glanced behind him. The infantry were still milling about in chaos, minds unrecovered.
He halted his backward steps and gripped his sword with both hands. But what rose on his face wasn't battle fervor—it was a noble's sense of duty.
"Why is everyone so powerless?"
Watching him, Maximilian sighed weakly.
"Why am I so incompetent?"
Maximilian stood. Instead of mounting his horse, he drew his sword.
"If this place falls, so does the kingdom. I will never retreat..."
Before he could finish his resolute vow, a sharp whistle pierced the air.
Screeeee!
He whipped his head toward the sound. Something streaked across the river.
Thud.
Something landed on the far bank. Focusing his eyes, Maximilian realized it was a specially crafted arrow.
He turned.
It was the hill where the archers were positioned.
A few archers in tunics emblazoned with a black hawk trembled as they drew their bowstrings.
Screeeeeeee!
Screee!
The sharp sounds rang out again as they released.
It was like the long cry of a hawk.
The distinctive whistle of the Iron Hawk archers' Screaming Mirrors.
What started with two or three whistles swelled to dozens in an instant.
"I-Iron Hawks! Draw! Loose!"
The Iron Hawk archery unit's commander shouted in a cracked voice. Dozens of Screaming Mirrors were released at once.
Screeeeeeeeeee!
The hawk's cries echoed across the battlefield.
The soldiers, half out of their minds from the Warlord's roar, snapped to attention.
No sooner had they than half the infantry turned and fled. Massive gaps opened in the infantry formation; the remaining soldiers scrambled for spears and shields.
"Those who will fight, step forward and form ranks!"
Maximilian bellowed, infusing his voice with mana. Lost and wandering soldiers rushed forward, hastily lining up.
Then came the thunder of hooves shaking the earth.
A hundred cavalry from a certain lord's camp—ones thought to have fled—swerved around the disorganized soldiers, charging along the riverbank.
"Crimson Chain Knights, forward!"
In perfect timing, knights in red armor surged ahead onto the bridge. They seemed determined to die there if need be.
"Half to the Crimson Chain Knights! Half to aid Count Richtain!"
The knights charged at the Warlord.
"Your Highness! We've arrived!"
The commander and the remnants of the central army surrounded Maximilian a beat later. With them were Count Bramburg and the other central lords.
"I thought you'd run."
The lords replied to Maximilian with grim faces.
"My territory is two days' ride from here. Where would I even go?"
Come to think of it, all the remaining lords held lands adjacent to the defensive line.
Half the soldiers had fled. The rest barely exceeded one legion.
The lords were exactly half, too.
Strength halved, yet morale had doubled.
But willpower alone couldn't overcome the dire odds.
The Crimson Chain Knights holding the bridge were being relentlessly pushed back, their resolve paling against the furious orc charges. Knights were trampled underfoot like raging bulls.
The Iron Hawk archers and bowmen loosed volley after volley at the orcs on the bridge, but the effect was minimal.
In the end, the bridge was breached in moments.
Cavalry charged to trample the orcs spilling off the bridge. But in the confined space, their reckless maneuver cost them momentum, and they ground to a halt. Orcs felled horses and butchered riders.
The infantry hadn't fully formed ranks yet, and the central army alone couldn't handle the orcs.
More orcs kept crossing the bridge.
As if that weren't enough, the Warlord began massacring the knights.
Knights struck by the battle spirit-clad spear rolled across the ground as bloody pulps. Over a dozen fell in moments.
The Silver Lion and knights fought desperately in their own way against the Warlord, while the soldiers whose formation had shattered mingled with orcs in brutal melee.
It was a chaotic brawl with an obvious end in sight.
Maximilian leaped into the fray. Arwen followed without hesitation.
"Brothers both—always rushing into the thick of it."
Bernard exploded in frustration and plunged into battle.
How long did they fight the orcs?
Remaining forces: barely a thousand. Orcs: still over seven thousand. The Warlord unscathed.
"Your Highness! It's too dangerous! We must withdraw!"
The commander shouted urgently.
"If you won't listen, we'll drag you out by force!"
Two knights approached and seized Maximilian's arms. He struggled, but couldn't shake their iron grips.
Just as they began dragging him away,
Bwooooooo.
A horn sounded from somewhere.
Bwooo, bwooooo.
A familiar tone. Bernard reacted first.
"Damn it! If you're coming, come sooner!"
Maximilian reacted next.
"Reinforcements!"
No sooner said than the horn blared again.
Bwooooooo.
The sound grew closer. Then, suddenly, orc screams replaced the horns.
Screams that started faintly from across the river soon reached the bridge's center.
Orcs were shoved off the bridge.
Amid them flickered a glimpse of green cloaks. Elf swordsmen.
The elves danced their sword forms. Blood sprayed as orcs tumbled into the river.
The elves who had hurled orcs into the water,
Step, step.
A boy emerged between them, sword dangling at his side.
"Brother! Brother!"
The Second Prince beamed upon seeing the boy.
The lords reflexively followed his gaze.
They knew well the one the Leonberger royal family's second son called brother.
The royal family's headache. The irredeemable wastrel.
Some had even met him face-to-face.
Yet even so, they didn't recognize him at first.
The boy was far too different from the deviant they remembered.
"Brother!"
Without the Second Prince's persistent cries, they might never have identified the First Prince.
"Brother!"
The First Prince didn't even turn at his younger brother's desperate calls.
He simply strode onward without pause.
To the lords, it was an eerie, surreal sight.
Elves weaving dances of silver light,
The boy treading blood as if trampling red flowers.
Agonized screams unending,
Yet silence around the boy.
The dark green tribe's king lowered his spear,
And turned to the boy.
Finally reaching the king, the boy spoke.
"Good thing Uncle left half for me."
The remaining half was his.
"Finally met you."
The boy smiled.
At the Warlord, that mighty monster.