Guardian: Derek Walker 23
A massive orc, easily over 320 cm tall by eye, blocked the path of Palax's White Unit.
Palax kept his tension high, his hand drifting to the sword sheath at his waist. The knight at the vanguard of the White Unit raised his flag, signaling.
Four knights stepped forward, swords drawn—all wielding longswords around 120 cm long—leaving out Rengen, who was sidelined with a severed shoulder wound.
They dismounted. Unless it was a special warhorse, swordsmen like them were better off fighting on foot than mounted.
"It's just orcs! Trash like that can't stand against us!"
Palax drew his sword from its sheath and bellowed. His words were an indisputable fact.
No matter how much orcs' physical prowess surpassed ordinary humans, it paled against a properly trained regular army with quality gear. Massacring orcs with disciplined formations was so routine among military experts that it barely earned praise.
"Chwiik! Finally our turn to fight!?"
One orc from the Bargro tribe snorted fiercely as he shouted. His green skin flushed cherry-red from the battle lust he'd whipped up.
Having only watched other tribes swing clubs from the rear, he'd been itching for action. The sight of humans with gleaming blades was a welcome thrill.
"Hey! What the hell are you doing!?"
Bargro arrived late after sending the vanguard, his face full of dismay as he yelled at the orcs facing off against Palax's army.
He'd told them to raid the granary as stealthily as possible, but true to their stubborn orc nature, they hadn't listened a bit. They usually obeyed well enough, but seeing other tribes clash fiercely must have boiled their blood.
"This is a hassle."
While other orc groups hit the main gate, Bargro had planned to strike the rear. He grimaced and muttered like a groan.
This army was no amateur vigilante group—it was far better organized. Why weren't they guarding the front? It was suspicious.
Was the commander here orc-level stupid? Or had they seen through his plan?
Either way, pulling back now was too late. The silver lining: no sign of those two powerful women he'd spotted from afar. Bargro gripped his sturdy club made of red bloom wood.
The wisest victory came without fighting—setting up a board where winning was inevitable. That was a commander's skill.
But no one was a god; not every variable could be predicted. Once the dice rolled, a warrior fought even on a bad board.
Bargro advanced with club in hand. The dice were cast. He chose advance over retreat—like a true orc.
"Prepare to charge!"
Just drive off the humans in front.
""Chwiik! Chwiiik! Chwiiik!""
At Bargro's shout, the other orcs raised their clubs high and roared madly. Palax's White Unit faltered momentarily at the menacing sight.
Instinct told them these orcs were different. On closer look, each held a thick wooden shield in their left hand—crafted too finely for orcs, whose limit was usually crude clubs.
'Still just orcs!'
Palax dismounted like the other knights. He issued commands with a thunderous roar.
"Knights forward! Form the third formation!"
At Palax's order, the standard-bearer swung the flag in perfect unison. The third formation was for clashing against charging hordes—a wide crane-wing array. With about fifty-plus orcs, it was the ideal response.
The hundred soldiers split into two horizontal lines following the flag. The rear held archers with bows; the front, shieldbearers with large round shields.
"Archers! Nock arrows!"
The rear archers drew arrows to their bowstrings, raising them at an angle as trained, awaiting the firing order.
"Split to the flanks!"
"Chwiik! Chwiik!"
Then, something astonishing happened. At the lead orc's bellow with the red club, the fifty orcs split into two groups in an instant.
Each group veered toward the open ends of the White Unit's spread formation. Palax felt a chill down his spine.
'The third formation's weakness is thin defenses at the tips. The orcs figured that out!?'
Every formation had strengths and flaws, with counters to match. Veteran commanders or staff quickly analyzed foes on the field and adapted.
Such maneuvers were common in evenly matched fights, and cracking the White Unit's third formation wasn't remarkable—if the foe weren't orcs.
What were orcs? The poster children for stupidity and dullness. Some said orcs communicating was a miracle.
Of course, that bias hurt orcs; among monsters, their intelligence wasn't that low.
But among demihumans, orcs lagged far behind beastkin, elves, dwarves, or hobbits—dumb brutes.
Anyway, orcs using tactics was wildly unpredictable from a human view. And it was unfolding right before Palax's eyes.
"Damn it! Knights, block the orcs! Fire arrows!"
"Shields up!"
A volley of arrows arced skyward. Sharp arrowheads, fueled by taut bowstrings and gravity, rained down like droplets on the orcs.
But the orcs raised their left-arm shields. The synchronized move was impossible without prior training. Shockingly, these were professionally drilled monsters.
Puk! Puk! Puk! Puk! Puk!
The downpour clattered harmlessly off their shields. A few pierced skin, but none fell.
Arrows couldn't halt the charge. The four knights split, two each to intercept the orcs hitting the White Unit's left and right.
"Chwiik! Fight time!"
"Chwiik! Finally swing clubs freely! Chwiik! Joy!"
The club-wielding orcs facing the blocking knights only cheered more.
"Tch!"
Palax drew his sword and advanced. Bargro blocked him.
"You're the commander, huh."
"Huh? You speak clearly, unlike other orcs! A freak! Those orc groups your doing?"
"What do you think? Pretty well trained, right?"
"Filthy beast! You're still failed creations—orks!"
"Heard that so much it doesn't even piss me off."
Bargro lunged at Palax with terrifying speed, his red bloom wood club a blur. His physicality outclassed ordinary orcs.
Orcs were strong, but knights wielding mana were superior. Yet Bargro's speed even pressed early sword expert Palax.
"Cheap tricks!"
Palax wasn't easy prey. Sword drawn, he channeled mana through his body. Basic reinforcement for superhuman power and speed.
Vmmm!
Blue mana cloaked Palax's blade in cutting form—a mana sword that could cleave wooden clubs effortlessly.
"Think a bit of brains makes you equal to humans!? Fool!"
Palax's sword slashed air toward Bargro's club side.
Bargro swung his red club at the sword. No plan to dodge.
Boom!
Mana blade met red bloom club in a deafening crash unbelievable for sword-on-wood. The result was even more baffling.
Bargro's club deflected Palax's mana-charged sword. It should've bisected the club and Bargro's neck.
Palax reeled back, wrist throbbing like hammer-struck, barely keeping his grip—a miracle.
"Gah! What trick...!"
"Some human merchant said red bloom wood has strong anti-mana properties. Hard to find and shape into a club, but damn effective."
Bargro tested the club, lightly slapping his palm. Palax's face twisted.
"Vile monster!"
Bargro charged again. Palax focused, sword up. Over a meter tall, Bargro moved nimbly for his bulk, closing fast. Blade met club again.
One clash, two, three.
Palax felt pushed back each time. Mana-boosted, yet this orc's raw strength overwhelmed.
This guy's a mutant! Damn it!
Rare mutant orcs like shamans demanded caution. But brute strength alone? Other knights could gang up.
This orc's danger wasn't just brawn. He used his head.
"Damn it! Knights, help me!"
Palax sheathed and retreated a step. But the knights had no chance to aid.
"Captain! These aren't normal!"
Knights surrounded by six orcs looked desperate. Some orcs had reached the main White Unit, shredding the formation. The thin line buckled.
Archers were useless up close; daggers drawn, but no match for clubs. Shieldbearers weakened as lines collapsed.
"Damn it! Retreat! Retreat!"
Situation hopeless. Retreat was the call. Shameful, but Palax chose survival swiftly.
"Urgh! They've penetrated deep!"
But tangled with foes, retreat orders were suicidal. Soldiers dropped weapons and fled chaotically.
They collided and fell; backs turned, they fell faster to swifter orcs.
"Kuh! Damn! Damn!"
Palax and knights mounted hastily. Survive first. Palax bit his lip.
"Losing to lowly orcs! Damn it!"
Rage changed nothing. He turned tail ignominiously.
"Captain! Captain!"
As soldiers died screaming under orc clubs, Palax barely escaped with knights. Newly promoted captain, he'd tasted life's worst defeat.
"Chwiik! Victory! Boss is the best!"
"Chwiik! Party time! Meat galore!"
The orcs who'd massacred Palax's White Unit raised clubs in triumphant joy.