Chapter 13
Chapter 13
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 013
Chapter Title: Refugee Relief (1)
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Westguard Fortress began as a prison camp for convicts and slaves. Over time, as the years passed, the proportion of native-born residents easily surpassed fifty percent.
Rowid, twenty-seven years old this year, was a veteran soldier leading a squad of ten conscripts. And he was a native.
He finished his early morning meal first and said goodbye to his family.
"Joey, take good care of your siblings."
"Yes, Father. Come back safe."
The little one, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, nodded drowsily.
"I'll be back."
"......"
His wife, five years his senior, silently straightened his collar and kissed his cheek. Then she flashed a bright smile.
Rowid stroked her cheek once before turning away.
Stepping outside, the usual routine unfolded. Smoke rose lazily from chimneys as bread baked, and early-rising elders shuffled off to check their snares or kitchen gardens.
That peace soothed his reddened eyes.
"Squad leader."
"David, you're out early."
"You're one to talk. Want me to get the men ready for you?"
His longtime comrade and cousin's banter steadied his heart.
"I trust you. I need to check the horses while you handle the squad."
"Aw, man."
David raised both hands above his head in mock surrender. Even so, they kept walking without pause.
"That Rowid over there?"
"Out early, eh?"
"Speak for yourself. Who's that with you? The assistant squad leader. If half our boys had half his grit..."
"Cut it out. Fourth Squad's the toughest in a scrap, isn't it?"
"Hmph. Does that keep knives out of your gut?"
"Oh, hello, sir."
As they neared the parade ground, soldiers joined in twos and threes, some briskly, others ambling. With comrades gathered, the subtle fear and family worries faded.
Shoulders aligned, they marched in and soon dispersed to their units.
"Second Company, line up from the right."
"Tch, what's with the bitching already?"
"Get it done early, and the latecomers have it easy."
"Hey, quit yapping and fall in, quick."
As numbers swelled, shouts laced with curses flew.
"You lot call yourselves cavalry? Quit hogging the booze and feed the damn horses first."
"Tch, cavalry my ass. Least give us plate armor or something."
"What? You. Yeah, you. Front and center."
A squad leader barked.
"Plate armor? You wanna freeze solid in this cold? Even the highborn knights wear leather here."
"I-I was just saying... Sorry..."
"Break's over. Move out."
The words were rough, but no brawls broke out. Contrary to the coarse talk, the soldiers moved with practiced efficiency.
Soon, some 150 horses and 200 men stood arrayed.
From the platform, Brad Cahill watched them.
Adjutant Hal Frederick reported.
"Second and Third Companies, 202 men assembled. Recon Company and Rangers detached as advance guard."
"Fortress defense?"
"Fourth and Fifth will handle the trainees."
"We lumped the wounded into Fifth during the reorganization?"
"Vice Commander Karl's treatments healed them all. Just a matter of rotation."
"If he says so."
Brad's eyes swept over the horses.
"That's a lot of mounts."
"Every stallion fit for service, foals aside."
Accounting for First Company's cavalry as advance guard, it was every horse in the fortress save the knights' war steeds.
Brad took a deep breath and stepped forward.
"I trust you've all rested well these past few days."
He scanned the ranks briefly before continuing.
"I'll keep it short. Orcs are pushing south in force, raiding natives. Even major tribes can't hold; smaller ones are taking heavier losses."
Soldiers who knew the mission moved with purpose. It boosted combat effectiveness.
"Vice Commander Karl Bailyner is establishing an outpost at Kiter Valley. Get there fast as you can and rescue refugees. Dismissed."
Brad finished his brief address and glanced at the company captains.
"Right, Nil. You're in command."
"You got it."
With senior Karl Bailyner absent, cavalry captain Nil Carpenter took interim command. He turned and ordered.
"Mount up. Destination: Kiter Valley. Cross Northwood before sundown."
"All units, mount up."
Under captains' orders, two men per horse climbed aboard.
Neigh!
Whinny, snort.
"Whoa, whoa. Bit heavy? Easy now."
Some horses shied at the extra weight but soon settled.
Nil pulled an hourglass from his pouch and flipped it.
"Second Company, move out. Third, hold. Depart in five."
"Second Company, advance."
No chaos despite Recon's absence as advance guard. Second Company peeled off in a cloud of dust.
Soon the glass flipped again, and Third followed.
Clop, clop.
The long column looked heavy-laden.
Watching, Brad nodded toward it.
"Two fully armored men per horse might be pushing it."
"Forty klicks to Kiter Valley—plenty doable. Last return op, we rode light for two straight days."
"No argument on speed. Just worried about the horses."
"Well fed and rested—they'll manage a day."
Rapid advance to a waypoint followed by rest was Brad's preferred tactic. He nodded to his adjutant.
"Alright, let's move out."
"Yes, sir."
The pair dismounted the platform and swung onto their own steeds.
Clop, clop.
A cavalry column stretching from parade ground to fortress gate was a rare sight. Residents watching showed worry in their eyes.
"Open the gate."
"Main gate opening."
Whoosh.
Moo-woof.
Whips cracked; massive bison-like beasts pushed a huge wheel. Chains tautened, hoisting the massive timber gate skyward.
Groan.
The column passed through, gradually picking up speed.
Thud-thud, thud-thud.
As wind pressure and ground vibrations thrummed in their ears, interim commander Nil Carpenter pulled alongside.
He bellowed reports in bursts.
"Free formation. Switching now. Ten minutes gallop. Thirty walk. Twenty rest."
'Do it.'
Brad signaled assent.
Entering the plains, the unit spread out further.
Thundering hooves.
The ponderous roar gained speed, its momentum terrifying. Armored mounts carrying two heavy infantry didn't hit top speed, but the sheer mass shook the earth. They alternated walk, rest, and gallop.
Dust trailed long toward the horizon.
Kiter Valley was merely gentle hills overlapping.
Flanked by dense woods with a small stream winding through, it earned the "valley" name. Those thick forests and the stream curving around the entrance served as a natural moat.
Ideal outpost site—and construction was in full swing.
"Timber!"
Splash-splash-thud.
"Good. Next."
A massive log crashed; soldiers swarmed it.
"Rope here. Lash from the trimmed side first."
Neigh-whinny.
"Whoa, easy. Good boy. Heave, ho."
Chop-chop.
"Put your backs into it. Barricades are key to stopping Orc Riders."
Orc Riders tamed huge gray wolves—lacking heavy cavalry charge power, but their ferocity and explosive mobility made them deadly.
"Nails are out."
"Just stack 'em. Weight and bulk are what matter."
Creak, rattle.
"Stone cart's here."
"Dump in the gaps. Hustle—time's life."
Thus, along the five-meter-wide streambank, stones and logs piled man-high. Crude, but heavy timber and rock heaps would blunt a charge.
Only a single horse-width gap remained.
"This pace, we'll wrap before dusk."
"Check east exit progress. Finish if needed."
"Yes, sir."
Karl Bailyner sent his adjutant opposite.
Sun still high. As Adjutant Hailey said, completion before nightfall seemed likely.
But things rarely went to plan.
"Hm?"
"What's that?"
Dust rose on the horizon. From Westguard.
"Scouts returning. Back to work."
"Too much dust for that."
"Main body's here?"
Vice Commander Karl Bailyner spotted it first.
"Work stops! Weapons up."
"Gah."
Through thick dust, ten-odd scouts appeared. But the writhing shadows behind spelled doom.
"Orcs."
"Battle stations."
Veterans stayed cool amid urgency.
"Ditch armor. Weapons and shields first."
"Heard the vice commander? Move!"
"Spears here. Mount on the barricade."
Karl's calm orders spurred swift action.
"Stay steady. Seal the gap the instant scouts are through."
"Yes, sir. You three—logs together."
Spears bristled from the streamside barricade like a porcupine.
"Front rank full."
"Third back—don armor quick."
"Roger. First, second hold. Third, fourth fall back."
Karl's gravitas shone in crisis. The rapid response spoke to the men's skill.
Thud-thud.
"One hundred meters. Scouts fifteen—no miscount."
"Orc Riders tight on their tails."
"Brace spears. Shields tight."
Karl paced the line, issuing orders.
"Crossbows at thirty meters. Then throw spears at discretion. Hold with barricade, shields, and stab with long spears."
"You hear the vice commander? Eyes sharp."
"Scouts incoming. Ready."
Thundering hooves.
Scouts splashed into the stream, veering expertly through the gap as if rehearsed.
"Now! Crossbows loose. Spears ready."
"Block the entrance!"
"Spears away."
Squeal, shriek.
Crossbows and hurled spears felled the orc vanguard. Yet their reckless charge pressed on.
Growl, roar.
An Orc Rider leaped the stream, impaling on the porcupine barricade.
Thud.
"Nngh."
The hefty log wall held the weight.
"Got it. Dead. Quit stabbing."
"They're tiring. No breakthrough left."
"Any axes spare?"
Prolonged chase sapped their stamina; assaults weakened. But numbers and savagery kept them dangerous.
Meanwhile, the scouts' lag despite being light horse revealed itself.
"Huff huff. Report. Saved ten-odd natives from burning village. Huff huff. Rest chose to fight. Huff huff."
"Stayed to save wife and kids, eh."
Behind the heaving scout, rescued natives huddled—women and children, as described.
"Good work. Loosen up and stand by."
"We'll join the fight."
"Too many foes, narrow gap. Prep rotations."
He nodded at the ragged natives.
"Find 'em something to eat."
"R-Right. Huff huff."
Unlike steady Karl Bailyner, the battle fared poorly.
Orcs felt pain delayed, numb nerves letting them fight to death. One with a caved chest from a mace still bit a man's arm.
"Argh!"
"Will's hit. Pull him."
"Damn it. Short sword? Finish it proper."
"Outta the way."
A replacement stabbed the orc with an arrow held reverse.
Stab, stab, stab.
Confirming the kill, he instinctively raised his shield overhead. An orc glaive whipped in.
Clang.
"Urk."
Squeal, shriek.
"Rotate, rotate! Front pull back."
"Can't. Gap opens, barricade falls."
"More long spears. Anything—bring it."
Returned Adjutant Hailey reported.
"East gate secondary line set."
"Good man. If I don't return, you command the retreat."
"......!"
Karl clapped Hailey's shoulder and turned.
"Vice commander, no!"
"Raaargh!"
His beastly roar parted the ranks. His stride became a sprint; he vaulted the barricade. Karl's silhouette briefly eclipsed the sun.
Splash.
Surging spray glittered red and blue.