Chapter 14
Chapter 14
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 014
Chapter Title: Refugee Relief (2)
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Orc Riders were orcs who had tamed massive gray wolves, serving as their cavalry. Despite their enormous size, they were incredibly agile, with biting power that defied imagination.
Grrr.
The wolf bared fangs as thick as a man's forearm and circled its prey. That prey was currently butchering orcs left and right.
Kreek, kreeeak.
Crack.
The orc's skull shattered. The blows continued until its head was pulp.
Thud, thud, thud.
As the lifeless corpse slumped, the veteran soldier reclaimed his mace and tripped the charging orc behind it. The beast lost its balance, spun once, and crashed down.
Splash.
Kreek, kreaaak.
Sensing death, the orc flailed in the knee-deep stream.
Thud thud thud.
His mace struck without mercy or waste. With every orc corpse piling up in the water, the veteran's white hair grew slick with green blood.
Thwack.
Suddenly, a glaive shot forward and tore away his pauldron.
Karl Bailyner staggered back a few steps, swinging his mace in the current to shake off the blood. At the same time, he scanned for his foe.
He spotted one elite orc hastily ducking into the pack.
'Cowardly bastards. Think orcs are stupid, do you?'
Karl Bailyner heaved ragged breaths.
"Huff, huff."
Gurgle, gurrgle.
Orc corpses bobbed around him in the rippling water. Even those ferocious Orc Riders hung back at a distance, gauging him warily.
Fatigue was starting to creep in.
Shouts from his comrades echoed from the barricade, mingled with screams.
"Arghhh, die!"
"Don't drop your spears! Grab a broken one if you have to!"
"No axe? Pick up a rock from the ground!"
The brief respite his rampage had bought for the defenses didn't last. No matter how many orcs he killed, more kept coming. Maybe setting up an outpost in this valley had been a fool's errand from the start.
Just then, his eyes met those of the adjutant directing the defense.
"Vice Commander!"
Hal Frederick cried out urgently.
"We'll open the gate for a moment. Hurry!"
'Can I even make it back?'
He licked his dry lips and turned toward the barricade.
That's when it hit.
Kreeeak, kreek.
Orcs lunged from all sides. Fortunately, the current slowed them—but it hindered Karl just as much.
"Ah. Vice Commander."
The adjutant's shout sounded distant.
'Is this it, then?'
Karl Bailyner dropped his mace and drew the longsword from his belt.
"Hal, look after the rear."
"No!"
"I was born in my hometown, and I'll die there too, Karl Bailyner."
Gripping the longsword hilt with both hands, he charged straight into the oncoming orcs. It was a transcendent, heroic sight.
"Haa!"
His blade carved a long arc.
That was when it happened.
The gray wolf, eyeing its soon-to-be meal, perked up its ears.
Grrr.
"Gurgle, gurrgle?"
Even the instinct-driven orcs froze one by one. Then came the earth-shaking rumble, roar, and cheers.
Thud thud thud thud.
"Waaaaah!"
Nil Carpenter bellowed at the top of his lungs.
"Charge! Disrupt their rear and encircle them!"
"Uwaaaah!"
'We take the right flank.'
Brad signaled to Adjutant Hal, who advanced with his red banner held high, sticking to Nil's right.
"Gurgle—human ambush!"
"Kreek, form up! We live if we stick together!"
A few elite orc commanders at the rear bolted for the stream, betting the current would halt the cavalry charge. But most couldn't escape in time.
Thud thud thud thud, crunch.
Crack.
Kreeeak, kreek.
The armored warhorses, laden with two heavily equipped soldiers each, crushed everything underfoot with their sheer weight.
With the orc command structure obliterated in seconds, the encircled survivors in the stream dropped their weapons in terror, seeking any path to live.
Even the few remaining elite orcs were no different.
"Gruk. Run for upstream!"
"Grrruk, out of the way, you slow bastards!"
Instinct drove the survivors up- or downstream in desperate flight.
Swish, thunk.
Kreek.
An orc took an arrow to the back of the head, staggered a few more steps, and collapsed. Others had their skulls split by late-flying axes before they could go far. Spears thrown too late splashed uselessly into the water.
That was it. The defending soldiers and the horses bearing their heavy loads were exhausted too.
"Uwaaaah!"
"We won! We're all alive!"
The soldiers' cheers echoed across the recent battlefield.
"Hah."
Splash, splash.
The old captain dismounted, covered head to toe in green blood. He approached the veteran slumped in the middle of the stream.
Both the one looking down and the one looking up wore smiles in their eyes.
"Looks like everyone had fun without me."
"Heh heh heh."
Karl took Brad's hand and rose. The two grizzled veterans standing side by side carried a strange resonance.
"Brad! Brad! Brad!"
Starting with one soldier, the chants spread.
"Karl! Karl! Karl!"
"Brad! Brad! Brad!"
For a long while after, they banged weapons and shields, reveling in victory.
The first refugees arrived at Westguard ten days after Brad's follow-up unit departed. More came in waves every three to five days.
Around noon, observation was in full swing from the fortress watchtower.
"Unknown movement to the east."
"...!"
The spotter, shielding his eyes from the sun, peered at the horizon.
"Fifty cavalry. Uh, and about a hundred refugees trailing behind them."
"Definitely refugees?"
"No orcs, that's for sure."
'Just 150 people, and this isn't a fortress that'd fall to that. No need to worry.'
The spotter shrugged, hiding his inner thoughts.
"Same as three days ago. They'll identify themselves soon enough."
Clop clop, clop clop.
As the spotter said, one rider soon approached and halted smartly before the gates.
Whinny.
"Whoa, whoa. Cavalry Captain Nil Carpenter. Recognize me?"
"Confirmed. Come on in."
"Open the main gate."
The palisade walk buzzed, and moments later, the fortress gates groaned open.
Groooan.
The cavalry, formed in two columns, escorted the refugees inside.
"Everyone, good work."
"Ease the refugees first. Wagons after."
For a brief moment, soldiers who had grown fond patted children's heads or smiled at the refugees they'd traveled with.
The weary refugees visibly relaxed at the sight of the massive fortress.
Creeeak, rattle.
Thud thud.
Most of those entering were women and children, with the wagons carrying the elderly and wounded.
"Phew, another group. Fifth one now?"
"Oh, that poor little one."
The fortress residents cast pitying glances at the haggard newcomers.
"Mommy, I'm scared."
A refugee girl with her hair neatly braided in one plait peeked at the bustling crowd, then dropped her gaze in fear.
"It's okay. These people have protected us all this time, haven't they?"
"But..."
"Unlike orcs, humans don't eat other humans."
"...Okay."
Her mother's warm hand cupped the girl's cheek. Little by little, the child calmed.
Then one of the escort cavalry spurred ahead.
Clop clop, clop clop.
Whinny.
"Anyone speak Hunt Tribe? Even rough translation's fine."
"Mallis, head to the square and ask around."
Drill Instructor Harrig, hastily recalled to active duty, greeted them. He beckoned the rider.
"Feed them first. We cleared the barracks for them."
"Yes, Instructor."
"Captain Nil, good work."
"Good work? Harrig, you're suffering in your twilight years too."
"Me? Nothing tough about fortress duty. It's you field rollers who have it hard."
The two walked side by side.
"With these, we've got nearly 300. How many more will come?"
"The question is how many survived."
"...Grim."
"Who knows what their pride even means. And what did the kids do wrong?"
Being "valiant" often meant blind stubbornness. The stronger the tribe, the more likely they fought orcs to the last breath. Few evacuated wives and children.
"That's what comes from living with the resolve that if you don't fight, you're dinner."
"Tch. True enough. We're just hanging on ourselves."
Refugees shuffled past the pair.
Nil entered the compound, confronted by an unfamiliar sight.
"Well, look at that—a whole village sprung up."
With trainees conscripted to active duty, the empty parade ground was now filled with tents. One side even had makeshift latrines and drainage ditches.
"Ten-man tents, ten per row starting right. Rows one and two are full."
"Where's the Pamir Tribe? Heard they don't get along with these folks."
"Pamir? That's row two, so we'll assign them to row ten."
Harrig summoned a soldier to assign tents.
"Neat work. Must've been tough prepping all this."
"Not me—the grunts did the heavy lifting. Residents helped too."
The refugees didn't just rely on aid.
Foraging wild fruits or gathering herbs was second nature to them. They knew edible from poison. Some kids even helped residents in the fields.
"Feed 'em a day or two, then they fend for themselves. They're cooperative with controls, no friction with locals."
"Most being women and kids, they're bound to be docile."
But it was cooperation born of crisis, nothing more.
One side of the parade ground had a long row of kitchen pits, and massive pots bubbled with savory aromas that stirred the appetite.
"Macully, water status?"
"Sent ten men just now."
A shirtless soldier stirring the stew in a pot replied.
"Smells hearty. Wolf meat again today?"
"We can eat here and crash after."
"Join us, then."
The two settled right by the kitchen pit.
Slurp.
It was familiar fare—gruel thickened with flour, meat, and vegetables. They blew on spoonfuls as refugees began lining up.
Finishing up, the pair stood.
"Good eats. Wait, what about our boys?"
"Cavalry's set up in the mess hall."
"Ah."
In truth, off the battlefield, there was no need to fuss over returning troops. Nil sighed briefly.
"Anyway, the warehouse?"
He jerked his chin toward the hill, omitting the subject.
"South gate."
"...?"
"Report says supplies from Brennenton just arrived."
"Oh?"
Nil Carpenter glanced at the avenue to the south gate. Just then, a Royal Guard knight carrying a squire galloped into view.
"Looks like real work for once."
"Heh heh heh."
Clop clop, clop clop.
The hoofbeats faded into the distance.
Arun was finally doing some actual work.
Under his watch, wagons loaded with supplies rolled through the fortress's south gate in a line.
That part was fine. The trouble came next. One side wanted to unload right in the open square; the other insisted on guiding them to the warehouse.
"Here's the manifest. Your signature, please."
"Insolent fool. Who are you?"
"Second Clerk Moheni Lorn of the Loyton Merchant Company. Time's tight—your understanding, please."
Arun gave a wry smile.
"First it's lackeys, now bottom-rung clerks looking down on me."
"It's for swift delivery. Please understand."
"Hmph. If Benjamin were here, your head would be rolling. Rayner! Rayner Cus, where are you?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Hang this one. He'll answer insolence with the whip."
"Eek! Mercy!"
"Ten lashes to set the precedent."
Second Clerk Moheni Lorn begged desperately.
"Ten lashes means a month recovering. That delays the supply run just as much."
"Threats now? You want to die here?"
"Mercy, please."
As Arun gripped the whip from his guard knight, a horse's neigh and Squire Pendersen's urgent cry rang out.
Whinny.
"Wait! Please hold on!"
Pendersen dismounted and prostrated himself, rolling forward.
"Master, please hear me out before judging?"
"Ugh, you and him both."
Arun pinched his brow, mustering one last shred of patience.
"Remember I'm furious right now. Speak."
"Moheni Lorn is a rising star in Loyton—blunt, so misunderstandings happen. Show him leniency."
"Leniency, please."
Arun blinked, eyeing them alternately.
"What's your connection?"
"We studied together at Ikono Academy."
"That steward school? He was a prodigy?"
"Barely scraped into the back row—and as you see, he's foolish."
Moheni flattened himself further.
"If words work, no need for violence."
"Thank you, Master."
"Th-thank you."
Arun handed the whip back to Rayner Cus.
"Escort the wagons to Warehouse Two."
"Yes, my lord."
The watching laborers meekly obeyed Rayner's orders. Satisfied, Arun glanced at the two still bowed.
"Rise. Pendersen, check the ledger."
"Yes, Master."
"You, we need to talk."
"Yes, y-yes."
Moments later, the two faced off at an outdoor table.