Chapter 23
Chapter 23
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 023
Chapter Title: What is a Knight?
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The red moon hung vividly in the sky as the east began to glow crimson.
Just as they say the time before sunset and before dawn is the darkest, the sentries tensed as their field of vision narrowed sharply. Fortunately, no unusual signs were detected.
"Must be that light rain we had at dawn. It's chilly."
"But it's gotten pretty warm, hasn't it?"
The rookie, drenched from head to toe as if he'd been caught in the rain, responded nonchalantly.
"You like summer, huh?"
Even at the senior's scolding, the rookie remained unfazed.
"Hot or not, it's just one month out of the year, right? You gotta enjoy the rain and the heat while you can."
"...You're no pushover yourself."
Even as they chatted, both men's eyes stayed fixed on the horizon.
The summer earth was briefly cloaked in fresh greenery.
The sporadic rains had swelled the rivers, and the open plains were now knee-deep in grass. A strict watch was underway near the Kamini River, at the site dubbed the "Memorial Forest."
As dawn broke, footsteps approached from behind.
"Shift change. Anything unusual?"
"Yawn... you're here? Nothing so far."
"Looks like you guys had a rough one."
The relief sentry nodded toward the rookie. He didn't seem soaked from morning dew—his slumped posture suggested he'd been through some intense training.
"Tch, this guy? He's slippery. Won't get a free ride out of me."
"You think you can teach that? To learn that freeloading gets you nowhere, he might have to stare death in the face first."
"True. The old folks were right—life ain't easy."
The chuckling sentry frowned at his dazed junior.
"What're you doing? Hurry up and grab your rations. Tch."
"Uh, over there."
"This punk..."
The sentry soon sensed something off and turned toward where his junior was pointing. His eyes widened like saucers.
"...!"
"Gasp, those are definitely orcs, right?"
Familiar silhouettes shuffled in the open fields upstream along the river. The damp earth by the riverbank muffled both dust and noise.
"What are you waiting for? Shout it out! Orcs sighted!"
"Orcs! Orcs incoming!"
"Alert! Battle stations!"
The watch was over.
It was a pity their infantry limitations meant only close-range patrols, but it was a solid response nonetheless. Those preparing breakfast at dawn and the soldiers still deep in sleep scrambled up, grabbing their weapons.
Arun rubbed his eyes as he donned his armor.
"How many of them?"
"Can't tell yet, but the sun's up—they'll be visible soon."
"Pull the Royal Guard Knights to the outskirts for now."
"We can't do that. We're the Royal Guard Knights."
"Hoo."
As his squire tightened the armor, Arun drew a deep breath.
"So you're going to ditch your warhorses' advantages and fuss around me in close quarters? Not awake yet?"
"...My apologies. The knights will move to the plains and harass them."
Arun yawned.
"Fetch a senior mercenary. I'll use him as temporary aide."
"Yes, Master."
The squire dashed out of the tent.
Despite the urgency, the soldiers—who had swiftly transformed into veterans—didn't panic. This was thanks to the calm command staff, but the mercenaries' on-site leadership played a big role too.
"Form ranks!"
"Shields forward! We've drilled this hundreds of times. Spearmen, align behind."
"Good. Shields down!"
Thud, thud, thud.
"Come on, you monster bastards."
Just completing the shield wall boosted the soldiers' morale. But the orcs' momentum was no slouch either.
"Kruk. Go. Food today. Right ahead."
"Gurrruk. Human, be my meal."
The orcs, flashing their whites of their eyes, charged with stone axes, clubs, and rusty swords pilfered from somewhere. But the prepared soldiers moved in perfect unison under orders.
"Tighter. Press shields to your bodies."
"Now, thrust!"
"Kweek. Kweeeek."
Every time spears darted out and back between shields, orc screams echoed without fail. Clubs battering the shields lost power and bounced off.
In the midst of it, a rusty axe flew and struck a soldier hard.
"Urk."
"Injured, fall back."
The spot of the soldier clutching his shoulder and retreating was filled by closing ranks.
"Hey, you okay?"
"Yeah, just a graze."
"Anyone got strong liquor?"
Splash.
"Rest up and rejoin."
The senior poured liquor on the wound, bandaged it, and returned to the line. The wincing soldier then grabbed a spear from the ground and stood.
"Shields break, we're all dead. Hold with your life."
"If it's too tough, plant it and brace with your shoulder."
"Spearmen, move! Thrust before the axes fly—thrust, I said!"
But there was a limit to holding back sheer numbers. Soon the front of the shields was piled with corpses, yet the orcs trampled them to attack.
The orcs, pushed back by the sturdy shield wall, momentarily gained the high ground.
Arun spotted it and ordered,
"Tell each squad leader to fall back bit by bit at their discretion."
"Yes. I'll relay it."
A mercenary named Setin dashed across the battlefield.
"Order! Squad leaders, fall back at your judgment."
"Shields up!"
"Left foot on one, right on two. One, two."
Step, step.
"Again, one, two."
"Kwaaak, kwek."
As the shield wall retreated, orcs trampling their kin's bodies either slid by momentum or were shoved off by the charging ranks.
"Now, thrust!"
"Kweek, kweeeek."
"Die, you pig bastards."
The human soldiers, superior in formation and gear, held strong.
The Royal Guard Knights circling the flanks, striking the orc rear and withdrawing repeatedly, contributed greatly.
Yet two forces of similar stamina would tire equally, and as time passed, the orcs' numerical edge would prevail. The balance breaking was only a matter of time.
"Orcs are falling back. We're safe."
"No, relief forces pushing in."
The soldiers, feeling their stamina wane, despaired.
"Nngh, orcs using reserves."
"Huff, huff. Fought orcs dozens of times, but never seen tactics like this."
Setin, having finished relaying, shook his head.
Clop, clop.
Then the knights returned from behind the forest.
"Horses tired, taking a breather."
"Huff, huff. More orcs than expected. If they keep rotating till night..."
Landiv's report darkened the mood further, but Rayner offered a solution.
"Induce a lull and retreat to the cairn. Dismantle it for a defensive line."
"I agree with Sir Rayner."
"Seems our only option. Setin!"
"Yes."
"We're falling back into the forest now. Count to a hundred, take ten steps back, repeat."
"I'll relay."
The retreating troops used mighty trees to form a new defensive line. Some were assigned to fortification work.
"Dismantle the cairn now."
"Think of it as borrowing strength from those who went before."
"Chest height."
Thus, one side fought while the other built.
By dusk, 200 men had raised a platform about a meter high. The height was lacking, but in a way, it was sturdier than Westguard's palisade—a stone fortress.
But the real battle was just beginning.
An axe combines a sword's sharpness with a bludgeon's weight.
Crack.
"Kerk."
The orc's skull shattered, spraying green brains. Without time to shake off the debris, the hurled axe embedded in an orc dragging down a cavalryman.
"Hoo, hoo."
Brad slowly inhaled, steadying his breath.
'We've been delayed.'
Early morning, the scouts' report had woken him.
—Refugees chased 5km east.
—Numbers?
—Around 200 orcs, refugees about 300, soldiers under 50.
Thus the battle began.
On flat ground, equal numbers of cavalry and orcs were no match from the start. After the cavalry split the refugees and orcs in half, it was one-sided.
"Urk, huff. Last one's down."
Karl Bailyner, covered in blue blood, shook his sword as he reported.
"Casualties?"
"Mark, Serid, and Hilton unhorsed but alive. Rest have light wounds."
"Good work, everyone."
Indeed, cavalry on open plains were worth a hundred men each. Only well-trained cavalry could counter fully equipped riders with reach and breakthrough power.
"Eat first. Get soldiers and refugees cleaned up."
Then a commotion from the side brought a report.
"Refugee leader wants to speak."
"Tell him to wash first. Then eat something."
"Ah, yes."
Brad stripped off his armor.
"Used up energy since morning. Talk over meals."
"Agreed. Need to cool down first."
Those following Brad shed their armor and headed to the river. Victory-flushed soldiers late-washed themselves and their horses.
The refugees' identity at the meal was shocking.
"Kaminiti settlers?"
"Malphon Kanea, in charge of Kanea Fortress west of Northguard."
Using "fortress" as a surname suggested a branch of House Kaminiti.
"Brad Cahill."
"Thanks, even if late. You saved our lives."
The command staff buzzed at the ensuing report.
"The orcs that ebbed like the tide came surging back."
"...!"
"Two days ago, contact lost with Tmilia Fortress north of Kanea. Yesterday, Northguard requested aid. But all roads blocked, we were nearly surrounded."
"Hard to believe."
Northguard was a fortress of the Kaminiti earldom, rivaling Westguard.
"North is crawling with orcs now. Thought southwest was only safe bet, so we abandoned the fort."
"Ebb like the tide, surge like the flood."
"Feels like a real wave."
The mood grew heavier.
"Waves intensify with each repetition. Frontier outposts that missed it met their end."
"Damn, the rookies headed right there."
Brad shook his head.
"I've stated I respect the Third Young Lord's strategic judgment. Those who risk life have the right to choose."
Arun van Brennenton was doing his best. As a sworn knight, he'd voiced criticisms despite the fallout. But that didn't excuse failure.
"So I believe I have the right to choose too."
"Any order, sir."
"We follow the commander's lead."
Brad scanned his longtime comrades before speaking.
"Speed is key now. I'll join the Third Young Lord like this. You take the refugees back to the fortress."
"Pardon?"
The captains looked baffled.
"That's an absurd order."
"Haven't we lived by such orders? Our duty is to give our all for results."
"No. You'd just repeat Bolt Unit Commander's mistake."
"Bolt didn't fail. He fulfilled protecting the Third Young Lord."
"So you'll follow in his footsteps?"
"...Sorry."
Brad apologized. He met his old comrades' eyes.
"I'm a knight of Brennenton. Duty-bound by oath to serve the house."
"Th-that."
"What of the fortress? The remaining soldiers and families?"
"That's why I'm asking you reliable lot. Hold it till I return."
"Better send a messenger."
"We need a seasoned commander to lead the withdrawal now. A knight decisive enough to persuade—or force if needed—the Third Young Lord."
"Nngh."
Adjutant Hal Frederick clenched his fists, grinding his teeth.
The captains fell silent. Paid mercenaries, they knew they weren't free of duty.
"That's an order. Rally refugees and return to the fortress. Karl!"
"Yes, Commander."
"You command till further notice. Objections?"
"...None."
As the one who could sway Brad submitted, complaints died down.
"I promise. I'll return to the fortress."
"You promised, right?"
"We'll guard it ironclad and wait."
"Good. Prep the drinks."
"Really? First round's on me when you return."
"See you alive."
With brief farewells, Brad mounted his steed. He galloped upriver without looking back.
Clop, clop.
The remnants gazed endlessly at his rapidly fading figure.
"Is sending him off like this right?"
"Orders are orders. Besides, commander's judgment's always been spot on."
"Hah, still."
Sighs followed.
The first to move was stone-faced Karl Bailyner.
"Do what we can now."
As the noon sun scorched the riverbank, soldiers and refugees prepared to move.
The lazily flowing river sparkled silver, indifferent.