Chapter 6
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: Buried Horde (2)
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100.
The first horde poured into the canyon entrance.
Green-skinned giants began filling the narrow passage.
"Kieeeek!"
"Kraaaah!"
Their monstrous roars echoed through the canyon.
Bouncing off the walls, the sounds doubled and tripled, tearing at their ears.
150.
Orcs kept surging in.
The straw laid across the canyon floor was trampled under massive feet.
Crunch. Crunch. Thud thud thud.
The golden straw quickly mixed with dirt, turning a muddy brown.
Dust rose into the air.
200.
I held my breath, counting.
It wasn't exact.
Just a rough estimate.
But I needed to know, even approximately.
To decide when to give the signal.
250.
The column of orcs showed no sign of ending.
The front ones pressed forward relentlessly, while those behind shoved them on.
It was like a massive green wave filling the canyon.
The narrow passage grew ever more packed.
300.
Nearly half the canyon was filled.
The orcs bumped shoulders as they marched.
Forward, only forward, chasing the fleeing knights.
350.
400.
450.
Easily over 500 now. The canyon was almost full.
But orcs still swarmed outside the entrance.
An endless green tide pouring forth.
600?
700?
I couldn't tell for sure.
Should I wait longer?
Just a bit more, and I could trap even more inside.
But what if the entrance got completely blocked by orcs?
What if the ones at the back couldn't advance and stopped?
They might catch on.
"Something's wrong."
"It's a trap."
Orcs are dumb.
But they have instincts.
Instincts to sense danger.
I glanced sideways. Sir Heinrich was watching me from behind a nearby rock.
He asked with his eyes, wordlessly.
"Now?"
I took a deep breath.
Once. Twice.
Looked down at the canyon again.
It was packed with orcs.
Jam-packed.
Perfect.
But only inside the canyon.
"Attack!"
My voice shook, but I got the words out clearly.
The soldiers touched their arrowheads to the torches.
Sizzle. Sizzle.
Flames caught on the oil-soaked cloth wrapped around the tips.
Tiny flickers danced in the wind.
"Aim!"
Sir Heinrich's command rang out.
50 soldiers.
4 knights, excluding Sir Heinrich.
A total of 54 drew their bowstrings at once.
The orcs below kept marching forward.
Clueless.
"Loose!"
Whiiiiiish!
54 arrows took flight simultaneously.
Flaming arrows arced toward both sides of the canyon.
A few orcs below looked up.
They'd spotted the lights raining from the sky.
But it was too late.
Thud. Thud thud. Thunk thunk thunk!
Some arrows sank deep into haystacks.
Others pierced oil-soaked rags.
Some caught in dry timber.
Others bounced off the cliffs.
I held my breath, waiting.
...
...
...
But... only tiny sparks flickered from the arrows embedded in the cliffs.
Scattered little lights here and there.
The embers on the dry wood just smoldered, refusing to catch properly.
The moisture?
The weather?
The wind?
The worst scenarios flashed through my mind.
My heart felt like it stopped.
No.
Why.
Why won't it catch?
My mind went blank.
We'd soaked them plenty in oil.
Piled up mountains of dry wood and hay.
Everything was perfectly prepared.
So why.
Then.
A small flame leaped from one oil-soaked rag.
Tiny at first, no bigger than a candle.
It spread along the cloth, jumped to the adjacent dry wood.
Devoured a handful of hay.
And.
Whoosh!
Flames erupted like an explosion. A massive fire pillar shot up along the left cliff face.
My breath caught.
But that wasn't the end.
The same happened all over.
Following oil-soaked rags to dry wood to haystacks.
Roooar!
A second pillar burst forth, even bigger than the first.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Third, fourth flames chained in explosions.
Fireballs rained down on orc heads, shoulders, backs.
"Kieeeek!"
"Kraaaaaagh!"
Orc screams filled the canyon.
The heat from burning wood and hay wafted up even to us.
Orcs ran screaming in every direction.
Forward, backward, sideways.
But there was nowhere to go.
The narrow canyon penned them in with fire, and the sheer cliffs were too steep.
"Kraaagh!"
One orc moved.
A head taller than the rest.
Shoulders twice as broad, forearms thick as logs.
Half his face charred black from burns, but he didn't stop.
Gripping a massive axe in one hand, he charged forward.
Toward the canyon exit.
"Grooooar!"
His bellow pierced the other screams.
Better to break through the flames than die here.
The judgment was sound.
But...
Thud.
A massive body hit the ground.
Engulfed in flames or choked by smoke—either way, it didn't rise again.
The other orcs in the canyon saw it.
The strongest one.
The bravest one.
Even he couldn't break through.
"Kiiik..."
"Krugh..."
The orcs slowed.
No longer charging the exit.
They'd realized there was no escape.
"Prepare second volley!"
One knight raised his bow and shouted.
The others moved to follow.
But.
Sir Heinrich raised a hand to stop them.
"It's already over."
The soldiers froze.
They released their bowstrings.
Duke Walter von Krushtein and his eldest son Ernst spurred their horses toward Granfelt.
A few days prior, an urgent messenger had arrived. A report of a large orc force spotted in the northern territories.
And confirmation that Adrian was in Granfelt.
The one who had sent Adrian there was none other than the duke's firstborn, Ernst.
"Sending that boy there wasn't intentional, I swear. It's not like with Lua Nox."
Walter didn't even turn his head. He just stared ahead and rode on.
"He's the only one among my younger siblings I actually like. You think I'd let him die? You know how much I dote on him—I even gave him an expensive 'item' as a birthday gift."
Ernst kept talking. Or rather, making excuses.
"Fine, whatever. Even if he dies... it'd be awkward facing his mother, but it's not that big a deal."
"Pardon?"
"We have plenty of brats. Losing one doesn't matter. Just make her another one."
Ernst's hand trembled faintly.
He gripped the reins tighter.
Thanks to his father's favoritism toward Adrian's mother, he'd at least paid more attention to him than the other bastards.
That's why Ernst had played the big brother role with Adrian, somewhat.
He was cute, after all. Harmless.
But this man apparently felt no such sentiment.
To him, all bastards were just tools.
Wait.
Bastards only?
Or... all children? Even his sole legitimate heir?
Ernst stopped his thoughts there. Decided not to dwell.
He rode on, eyes forward.
The battle with the orcs wouldn't be easy.
Forget his probably fled brother—he needed to worry about his own safety first.
"You have no real combat experience, do you?"
"I've campaigned twice."
"Hmph!"
Walter snorted.
"Leading an elite knight order of Experts to crush a peasant revolt—that's a massacre, not war!"
Ernst had no retort.
He bit his lip.
He wanted to argue.
But he couldn't.
His father... Walter von Krushtein had already seen dozens of real battles by this age.
And the Expert realm that Ernst had only just reached at 17? Walter had attained it before 15.
No comparison.
Ernst bowed his head.
"...My apologies."
Walter didn't respond.
He just rode on, staring ahead.
Clop clop. Clop clop.
Silence fell.
About an hour passed like that.
They crested a hill, and far off, the village came into view.
Granfelt.
Ernst narrowed his eyes.
Something was off.
The village was intact.
No signs of fire damage.
No collapsed buildings.
A village hit by an orc raid should show devastation. But nothing.
Walter halted his horse.
His gaze sharpened.
"...What is this?"
The duke beckoned the messenger knight who had been guiding them.
"Explain. The village is fine—what's going on? Did you deceive me?"
"N-no, milord!"
The messenger shook his head frantically.
Sweat poured down his forehead.
"We confirmed the orc village! Over 500 strong—a massive horde!"
"500?"
"Yes! They were heading south, straight for Granfelt!"
The messenger's voice quavered.
He wasn't lying.
He was genuinely baffled.
Walter looked at the village again.
No smoke rose.
No screams echoed.
Villagers were even tending fields.
Peaceful.
Too peaceful.
"Maybe the orcs changed course and went somewhere else?"
Ernst ventured cautiously.
Walter didn't even glance back, as if it wasn't worth responding to.
"Looks like we'll have to go into the village."