Chapter 19
Chapter 19
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 019
Chapter Title: What Must Be Done (2)
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Someone has to do the work that needs doing.
Even if no one notices, someone has to press on silently. And if it's something that draws everyone's attention, all the more so. Every task has its proper timing.
That was Arun van Brennenton's line of thinking.
A servant positioned a greave against his shin.
Clank.
"The knights and recruits have finished rearming. Recruitment of discharged soldiers as mercenaries is proceeding smoothly as well."
"I see. It seems the time we've gained is on our side."
A knee guard was fitted over it, followed by thigh guards, shoulder pauldrons, and wrist guards.
Screech, squeak.
Arun flexed his joints to check the fit.
"But just sitting back and taking it all in doesn't sit right with me. Stepping up like this should give us a bit of legitimacy, at least."
"My lord, if you could lift your head a little."
Rayner Cus, filling in for the adjutant Benjamin Roth dispatched to the capital, fitted the vambrace and tightened the side plates.
At that moment, a servant delivered a message slip.
"From Sir Landiv. No irregularities up to the Springgarden border. He's returning at once."
"Tch, those Haseldorf bastards must have it easy."
'If nothing's happening, there are no opportunities either,' he thought.
Rayner swallowed his inner thoughts with effort.
The messages kept coming without pause.
"Sir Drain Hussle reports discovering an orc village 20 km north of the fortress. He's crushed the orcs joining up there one by one and is on his way back."
"Tch."
Arun took his helmet and hooked it to his side.
"That Drain. His reports aren't straightforward."
"What do you mean by that?"
Rayner feigned ignorance, but the young noble was sharp.
"He left out how many huts there were—probably dozens. They looked easy, so he trampled them first, and he didn't even check how many orcs were gathering. All we can guess is there were more than the men he took. What kind of report is that?"
"My apologies."
"I'll hold back from harsher words."
The thought lingered in everyone's mind: 'Brad's main force scouts would have been far more accurate.'
As they left the office, the Royal Guard Knights fell in behind.
Clank, clank.
The plate armor, worn after so long, felt awkward and cumbersome.
"Please mount up."
"The training ground is right there. I'll walk to get used to it."
"Understood. We'll escort you."
Three knights and fifteen squires surrounded Arun as they followed. The noon sunlight glinting off their plate armor made them look like a party of heroes from myth.
The training ground was already lined with fully armored soldiers.
The newly recruited mercenaries were still few in number. Most were fresh recruits straight out of training, equipped with brand-new gear. They had that sharp edge unique to rookies, but that was all.
Arun was no stranger to these concerns.
"It's fine. This is just low-intensity patrolling."
"Indeed, my lord. It'll be good experience for them."
'Even you, Honern.'
Rayner Cus sighed inwardly. Yet he agreed on some level. With the major battle over, they could mop up remnants without great threat.
If it had to be done, it wasn't bad for his lord to claim the credit himself.
'These soldiers are the future of my lord's forces, untouched by Sir Brad's hand. It's a shame we couldn't recruit more mercenaries, but it's not bad.'
Rayner reined in his unease as best he could.
They passed in front of the soldiers standing at attention, as if reviewing them.
"A word before we depart, my lord?"
"Shall I?"
Arun nodded and ascended the platform.
The midday heat scorched the plains.
Brad was observing training from beneath the canopy as usual.
"Shields to shoulders."
Snap, snap, snap, snap.
"Shields forward. Align shoulders with the man beside you."
Brad's lieutenants directed the training with seasoned skill, but his presence—or absence—as the formidable foreign chieftain made a huge difference to the warriors' focus.
Flutter.
As the red flag rose, the warriors pulled the shields from their backs and slammed them into the ground. When it tilted forward, spearmen closed ranks and slotted their long spears into the shield notches.
In just a few days, their reaction speed had noticeably improved.
"They're adapting faster than expected."
"It's not just the foreigners who suffered nightmares."
The natives remembered the Wave from thirty years ago too.
Fewer than 20% of the natives who survived that time remained, so the elders' memories enabled swift cooperation this round.
The slogan 'Foreigners don't eat people' had taken hold. Centered on the Mad Tribe, the alliance numbered 9,000, though trainable fighters were under 700.
"Still, the numbers are a bit disappointing."
"They say the warriors had no choice but to sacrifice themselves to buy time for their families to evacuate."
"Yeah. Can't blame them for that."
Gulp, gulp.
The fruit juice went down cool and refreshing.
Tribes north of Westguard Fortress were wiped out. The west was roughly handled, the east unknown. At least the south had been minimally organized around the Mad Tribe.
Above all, securing the early supply lines was key.
Pour.
Paulina Mad refilled his empty cup and leaned lightly against Brad's chest.
"Is the supply distribution done?"
"The elders snatched that up."
Brad nodded in agreement.
"Not bad. We need someone of their stature to avoid discord."
"Hmph. I stuck watchers on them. Let them try diverting any."
With that, Paulina pulled away from him.
"But why do you keep pushing me away?"
"Me?"
"You've been prying into my tasks nonstop. Tired of me already?"
"No way I'd get tired of a beauty like you."
Her expression softened, and she rested her head against him again.
"So, what about me do you like, Paulina?"
"Your power, of course."
She ran her hand over his chest.
"More precisely, the power you've given me. Thanks to you, I have my own merchant company and the independence I've always dreamed of."
"You're brutally honest."
"Isn't that the foundation of any relationship? Dishonesty makes enemies. I don't want to be yours."
"Hahaha."
Summer's greenery rippled across the plains drawing nearer. The sky was clear, the warriors' shouts distant under the canopy. A pleasant breeze brushed his nose.
Closing his eyes, it felt like this peace would last forever.
But rest was short-lived.
As the afternoon sun dipped west, the warriors finished training and headed to barracks. Some veered toward the stockades, likely to see family.
"Scouts are back. Nothing unusual."
"Hm, training schedule wrapped up."
Karl Bailyner and Ray Schumacher entered the canopy. Quick-witted Paulina slipped away with a pout.
"Good work. Where's Nil?"
"Checking the horses."
Moments later, Adjutant Hal Frederick arrived, showing empty hands to signal nothing urgent. Nil Carpenter followed, brushing dust from his gloves.
"No sign of the orc bastards. They're in hiding somewhere."
"We've cleared a 10 km radius for sure, and 20 km looks safe."
"Safe to say the supply route's secure."
"Overconfidence is dangerous. We haven't uncovered everything yet."
Even without a subject, Karl Bailyner got the point.
"No sightings, but their organized retreat suggests an Orc Lord, doesn't it?"
"Ah, that? Yeah, the reserves, the orderly pullback."
"Hm. Let's all have a seat."
Pour.
Brad poured fruit drinks for his lieutenants.
"The more orc hides we stack, the more the homeland will grasp the severity. As long as we hold, time's on our side. Get me?"
"Yes, understood."
"Minimizing losses while enduring is second nature."
Northern pioneering meant enduring harsh weather and unknown threats alike. Losing longtime comrades was familiar too.
"Right. Filling gaps with our bodies is our job, isn't it? But finding ways to shorten it isn't bad either."
"Proof of an Orc Lord?"
"Anything. Capture an elite orc and interrogate it."
"An elite orc?"
Ray Schumacher let out a hollow laugh of disbelief. Nil sighed quietly.
Orc warriors matched regular soldiers; elite orcs rivaled knights—or surpassed them in raw instinctual combat. Killing them was hard enough; capture was impossible.
"Even I'd struggle with that."
"Yeah? Then forget I said it."
Brad backed off at Karl Bailyner's frank admission, though he didn't seem fully resigned.
"Mercenaries have ways to snag knights. Might work on elite orcs too?"
"Heard of it. Long spears, slings, nets."
"I can picture it, but in a tangled melee? Doubtful."
Ray Schumacher, leading the heavy infantry, shook his head.
As he said, orcs wouldn't let elites get cornered. They were first to flee when tides turned.
"If we snag one, great. If not, no coin wasted."
"Heh, recruiting elite orc slayers."
Brad glanced at Adjutant Hal Frederick.
"Hal, any leads on mercenary bands in the capital?"
"Maybe through caravans hauling our orc hides."
"Don't they base out of Brennenton?"
"Merchants have ties everywhere, capital included."
"Reliable?"
"Who knows?"
"Enough. I expected too much from fight-happy types."
His lieutenants shut up, faces sheepish at the rebuke.
"Who's trustworthy in the fortress right now?"
"Instructor Harrig."
"Have him scout for elite orc slayers, capital or wherever. He'll find a way."
"Yes, sir."
After settling a few matters, they took a break.
As the red sunset fell, Tribal Chief Sarmanni Mad approached.
"Hohoho, you've worked hard."
"Come in."
At his gesture, Hal pulled out a chair.
Pour.
Brad poured fruit juice; the chief wet his lips.
"Hm. As advised, I held a banquet for the vassal tribe reps."
"Good. Any holdouts?"
"Once warriors agreed to conscription, no."
Warriors held the biggest sway in native tribes, so unified command was huge. Summoning reps was the next step.
"But really handing it all to me?"
"That was the deal. Think of it as more direct rule over your current tribes."
Sarmanni Mad's mouth stretched to his ears.
They discussed Westguard infantry garrisoning for group formation training and native cavalry conscription. Brad led; the chief just nodded.
Soon a tribesman approached.
"Chief, the reps are gathered."
"Time flies. Hoh, I'll head out first."
They say ambition feeds a man. The old man was gone from his departing back; in his place strode the vigorous middle-aged martial artist from the old manor yard.
Sarmanni Mad crossed paths with a scout.
"Report from the fortress."
Karl Bailyner read the slip, brow furrowing.
"Third Young Lord has left the fortress. Heading east, for now."
"Damn. He finally did it."
"Haa."
The lieutenants sighed.
"Babysitting greenhorns in this mess? Damn it."
"How long do we change their diapers?"
"Just let him die or not."
"Enough."
Brad raised a hand to silence the venting.
"I'm a Brennenton knight. Can't break my oath. The fortress stands without homeland aid. And you're part of it."
"Damn loyalty."
"Heh, damn greenhorn."
"Damn Brennenton."
Dangerous words, but Brad let them slide this time.
"I agree. Bloody hell."
"...!"
Karl Bailyner reacted first, the stoic one. Wrinkles creased his eyes, lips twitching. No one noticed.
"Heh."
"Ahahaha."
Laughter subsided; questions followed.
"Depart tomorrow morning?"
"Forces up to horse limits?"
"Stopping at the fortress? Then rations..."
A map spread on the table; they planned advance party and main force routes, scouting schedules.
As night cooled the air, bonfires lit. With the meeting dragging, Paulina had food brought—and winked at Brad.
A blood-red moon shone clear in the sky.