Chapter 15
Chapter 15
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 015
Chapter Title: Supply Battle (1)
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The afternoon sun beat down on Westguard Fortress.
Squeak, clunk.
Heat haze shimmered in the wake of the passing wagons. The sweat-soaked workers seemed to herald the approaching summer.
"Hyah."
"Slow it down. Watch where you're going."
"Are you insane? You trying to crash into the walls?"
Maneuvering dozens of wagons through an unfamiliar city was exhausting work. And that was precisely why someone else had been stuck unloading the warehouses.
Neigh.
Clop-clop, clop-clop.
"Make way. Step aside."
Knight Rayner Cus warned from atop his warhorse, but the townsfolk, busy with their livelihoods, went about their business as if it were just the usual afternoon clamor. Perhaps it even felt that way.
Only the shade of a walnut tree nearby stood apart from the din.
Arun personally tilted the teapot.
Pour.
"It's hot, so let it cool a bit before drinking."
"Thank you."
Moheni Lorn, second clerk of the Loyton Merchant Company, bowed politely.
An awkward silence passed. By the time the fragrant tea had cooled, the surrounding noise had died down as well.
"Who put you up to it?"
"Ahem, ahem."
Moheni wiped his mouth, finally stopping his coughing fit.
"W-what do you mean, my lord?"
"Be honest. No punishment for the truth, so no need to fear."
Arun moistened his lips with tea and leaned forward.
"Lorn's an unfamiliar name. A branch family of the Loytons?"
"I'm the third son."
Arun smirked.
"Good. You've earned a bit of favor. One more time: who sent you?"
"If I was rude earlier, it was entirely my failing. With the deadline of delivering 1,200 bushels of wheat, 50 sets of heavy plate, 200 sets of light armor, 300 swords and spears each, 500 spears, and 5,000 arrows all within a month."
"Well, I suppose that's understandable."
Arun glanced toward where the wagons had vanished.
'Solid commitment to supplies... does that mean they believe in the wave?'
If so, it didn't explain withholding troops. What did half-measures signify? He needed to grasp their intentions to respond properly.
"Even knowing it's an emergency, no one offered troops? If the royals are like that, merchants have no reason to step up. Though someone must've been pushed into it."
"Gasp. Y-yes, that's right."
Moheni's eyes widened like saucers. If that was acting, the man was truly terrifying.
"Just a guess. Isn't that the lot of a disowned third son?"
Arun nodded casually, but a glint entered his eyes. Curiosity satisfied.
'Chaos, huh.'
"This is transportation without extra pay. If a horse or worker gets hurt, it's pure loss, so impatience led to rudeness, I suppose."
"Is that so?"
Arun habitually tapped the table with his fingers.
"The Loytons stuck with my brother because of extra pay."
"Mm, yes."
"I can offer you extra pay too."
Arun leaned back and crossed his legs.
"It's true I'm losing the succession race. But the north is basically my territory now. And there's fur here."
"Gasp. Fur, you say?"
Moheni Lorn, second clerk of the Loyton Merchant Company, swallowed hard. His teacup trembled in his grip.
Furs were far more valuable than one might think.
They came in limited quantities from living creatures, requiring the tracking and hunting of animals with quality pelts. Processing them took time as well.
Thus, soft-furred pelts were luxuries comparable to gold by weight.
"I'll give you as much fur as you can handle. In return, you feed me information. Deal?"
"I..."
Arun's demeanor softened.
"Scared? You don't seem to like gambling."
"No, it's not that."
"Loyalty to the main family, then? For a cast-off third son?"
His smile was cold in his eyes.
"Good people die young. No need to muster courage just to die. You want to be a good person?"
"Th-that... I-I'm sorry."
Seeing Moheni visibly flustered, Arun smirked.
"I'll live a long time. Because I'm a bad person."
"..."
Moments later, Moheni Lorn pressed his forehead to the table.
"I'll serve by your side for as long as I can, my lord."
"Good. I'll watch over time. Act accordingly."
"Then I must finish the unloading."
"Go."
Arun waved him off irritably.
'Easier than expected.'
He downed the cold tea in gulps. A thrill coursed through him.
Brennenton was in chaos yet faithfully sent the promised supplies. That meant his scheme had worked to some degree.
'Bought time. Now to rack up merits.'
Arun closed his eyes in meditation.
Silence broke when Rayner Cus, who had been directing wagons, returned.
"A squire just reported refugees have arrived."
"How many this time?"
Rayner handed over the wooden tally he'd been holding.
"Uh, 38 women, 67 children. Total 105."
"Same as always. Fifth batch?"
"Yes."
He hesitated, then asked cautiously.
"I'm questioning if we should keep taking them in. Women and kids can't fight."
"So, stop now? Duel Sir Brad over it?"
"If it's your order, my lord."
"Good attitude. But I can't put a loyal knight in danger."
"I must insist. We can't keep wasting supplies like this..."
"Your dream's a fief, right?"
The sudden question left Rayner hesitating.
"A fief needs land and serfs. As you see, land to reclaim is everywhere. Just no people."
"You mean make them serfs?"
Arun nodded.
"Ensure the assets of the future don't starve."
"Sir Brad's side has requested supplies."
"Give them whatever they ask. He'll bring merits as promised."
"...Yes, my lord."
"Weather's warming, so issue plate armor to the knights."
"Yes. Right away."
Strength entered Rayner Cus's voice.
The thawing plains were the knights' ideal battlefield. Nothing on earth could stop a charge in plate and barding.
'Now it's my time.'
A smile curved Arun van Brennenton's lips. Pure confidence.
Whoosh.
A cool breeze blew. Branches swayed, pale green leaves rustling. Beneath them, the handsome youth with teacup in hand made a perfect painting.
"Cavalry. The cavalry's back."
"Clear the way. Remove the barricades."
Nil Carpenter returned, leading the refugees. The awaited supplies came with him.
"Refugees and wounded handed over safely."
"Good work."
"Received 100 swords, 200 spears, 2,000 arrows, and 100 shields as supplies."
"What's the mood in Westguard?"
"Not bad. Supplies keep arriving from Brennenton."
Lowering his voice here, Nil continued.
"Instructor Harrig says orders came down to ensure refugees don't starve."
"Means supplies are flowing smoothly. Excellent."
Brad clapped Nil's shoulder.
"Rest up. See you at dawn."
"Yes. I'll catch some shut-eye."
The next day began with briefing from Vice Commander Karl Bailyner.
He pointed to the southern map edge.
"Scout Team 3 reports on the Mad Tribe. They're holding out against at least 500, up to 600 orcs."
"Mad Tribe? Aren't they friendly? But..."
Heavy Infantry Captain Ray Schumacher scratched his chin.
"Three days on foot. Too far for an expedition. Splitting forces long-term is risky too."
"Hm. Seems無理..."
"What about cavalry strikes? The native warriors inside would respond."
Nil's suggestion drew agreement.
"Good plan."
"Best option for now."
Brad, chin in hand and silent, glanced at Karl.
"Wounded status?"
"Will Husdon and 52 others handed to Captain Nil."
Nil shrugged as eyes turned to him.
"Transported without issue."
"How many recovered here so far?"
"Around 380 over five batches, I recall."
Brad stood and approached the map.
"Well done, friend."
Karl bowed silently and sat. All eyes fixed on Brad.
"The Mad Tribe notified us of submission recently."
"Ah."
Regretful sighs rose.
"Saving those 380 ends this outpost's role."
No one missed the implication.
"Abandoning the base?"
"No other surviving tribes nearby."
Brad glanced at Karl, leading the scouts.
"North of Kiter Valley, no signs of living humans. East to Northguard dispute zone is orc-infested."
"Other opinions?"
"..."
Brad rested hands on his belt, his pre-order habit.
"Wounded gone frees up horses. Cavalry goes first to harass while main force conserves energy en route. Join before evening."
"Won't the horses tire?"
"Westguard's main force is infantry. Our phalanx is invincible."
"Ah."
Thirty years ago, the Winter Wave brought heavy sacrifices but tactical evolution.
Orcs weren't unbeatable. Their terrifying breeding, ferocity, and reckless charges were fearsome, though.
Human victory came from mass 'phalanxes.'
Knightly heavy cavalry destruction and wall delays helped, but conscript specialization into branches produced skilled troops quickly.
Shield-and-pike fronts backed by archers crushed feral orc rushes.
The captains knew it best.
"Depart after morning meal. Dismissed."
"Good briefing."
Post-meeting, cream soup and soft bread were served.
Ray Schumacher, leading heavy infantry, tore his bread longways. The soft crumb showed perfect texture.
"Man, wheat bread in the field."
"Yeah. Supplies like this make fighting worthwhile."
Cavalry Captain Nil Carpenter shrugged smugly.
"Right? Don't forget it's thanks to the cavalry."
"Heh heh."
The light banter eased tension.
By the time morning sun cast tree shadows on barracks, the troops finished eating and assembled.
Brad Cahill strode to the formation's center and bellowed.
"As recruits, I feared battle. Actually..."
Pausing, he gave a wry smile.
"Even as veterans, I think."
Soft chuckles rippled through the quiet ranks.
"Dying like this would be unjust. If crippled, what of my family? Sleepless worries even without fights."
Soldiers nodded one by one.
"Even commissioned as knight, fear lingered. Die without enjoying the rank? Plus, 'dare I want more?'"
Two hundred fifty pairs of eyes locked unwavering on Brad.
"But lately, I fear missing battles."
He halted at the center.
"Will declining stamina burden comrades? Just luck so far? Right to retreat?"
Someone swallowed.
"I asked myself repeatedly. Fear's no answer. If scared either way, face it together. That's us."
"Woooah!"
Troops banged gear, roaring cheers.
"Conserve energy riding from now. One rest, then battlefield."
Ending the speech, he eyed Nil Carpenter.
"Cavalry strikes first."
"Yes."
"No close combat. Focus draining them from range."
"Understood."
Nil saluted, wheeled his horse.
"1st Company, move out."
"Move. Scatter to free formation on signals."
Neigh.
Thud-thud-thud.
As cavalry vanished in dust, Brad mounted too.
"Our turn soon."
"Yes, Commander."
Adjutant Hal Frederick pulled an hourglass from his pack and flipped it.
"All prepare. Depart in 10."
"Mount up."
Snort, whinny.
Moments later, Brad's main force moved out.