Chapter 28
Chapter 28
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 028
Chapter Title: Besieged
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People dream of revolution, but they hate spilling blood.
To create something new, it has to burn to ashes first. That's just how it is. Still, patching up the old is easier than starting from scratch—and the one wearing Arun's mask thought the same.
His expression hardened the moment he left the noble quarter.
"What's the scale of the orcs?"
"They've filled the northwest about a kilometer out. The lookout estimates at least a thousand, maybe up to fifteen hundred."
A thousand orcs was the first since the wave thirty years ago.
"Our forces?"
"Sir Landiv is commanding the remnants—about a hundred men. Instructor Harrig is recruiting volunteers from the civilians right now."
"Not easy on any front."
No matter how much they relied on the palisade, ten-to-one odds made it meaningless.
His pace quickened.
At the palisade, soldiers bustled about, helped by civilians hauling supplies.
That's when a well-dressed middle-aged man approached.
"Ah, hello. I'm from Mirror Mount Fortress..."
"Out of the way. The impudent will be punished."
"Eek."
The noble-looking man flinched at Squire Pendersen's intensity. From a few prior encounters, it seemed Pendersen had grown—his retinue duties flawless now.
"Withdraw and request an audience properly later."
"A-alright."
Titles need power to back them up. The man backed off meekly under the pressure.
Arun shot him a cold glance and climbed the stairs. Atop the palisade, shouts and curses filled the air.
"Hey, you bastard! Run!"
"Line up with one man between you and the next. Shields first, spears and javelins at arm's reach."
"Hold those shields straight. Think of plugging the palisade gaps."
"Spears have arrived."
"Senior men, come distribute them."
Knight Landiv directed the soldiers, his right arm splinted. Pus oozed from the bandages covering half his handsome face.
"Good work."
"My lord. You've come."
Arun raised a hand in reply and surveyed the orc lines.
"As reported—roughly a thousand. Armament..."
About half wore crude armor, the rest clutching lone clubs.
"So elites aside, they have mid-tier ranks."
A hierarchy lets a group unleash its full might.
'Even with the palisade, the numbers are too lopsided.'
He beckoned his squire.
"Bring armor. Leather, not plate."
"Yes, Master."
Then the lookout shouted.
"They're closing at a trot!"
"Incoming! Everyone prepare."
"Heads up. Anyone scared, get off the palisade."
Even with the veterans' urging, some soldiers wavered. Arun bellowed.
"Not yet! Cowards!"
His booming voice echoed off the palisade, drawing every eye.
"Just a brisk march—500 meters is still safe distance."
"My lord, your head for a moment."
Arun ducked as Pendersen fitted the armor. His mouth never stopped.
"They'll charge at 100 meters. Loose arrows at 50, javelins at 30. That's phase one. Got it?"
"Tightening the waist now."
Pendersen pulled the straps taut from behind.
"Wondering about phase two? Think you'll all be alive by then?"
"Hahaha."
"Heh, if we weed out the cowards, those pigs are nothing."
Images of orcs tumbling under arrows and javelins calmed the men at last.
"By then, some will reach the palisade somehow. Next up: spears. As you know, thrusting down from above is invincible."
Arun stomped, testing the shin guards and knee pads locked in place.
"So no fear—ram spears into any pig head you see."
"Waaah! Feed spears to orc skulls!"
"Uwaaaah! Victory! Victory!"
The soldiers pounded shields in response.
Now fully armed, Arun paced the palisade. He gripped hands or clapped shoulders of those he passed—a habit old Brad had favored.
"Waaah, the lord stands with us!"
"Arun! Arun! Arun!"
Landiv, following Arun, felt his eyes burn.
'Rayner, Honern, Drain—you should've seen this.'
"Incoming! Spreading at 500 meters—wait, what?"
"...!"
The sight on the watchtower stole even the lookout's words.
"My god. The orcs are splitting into line abreast."
"Heavens."
The orcs clamored into rough hundreds-wide lines, repeated behind and behind again. Classic wave assault formation.
One soldier asked, baffled.
"What's with them? Just mimicking, right?"
"Definitely clumsy. But won't they master it eventually?"
"Gasp. No way."
The thought of orc phalanxes sent chills.
Even Arun shook his head.
"Didn't see that coming."
"My lord, I'll protect you no matter what."
"But that doesn't mean we give up."
Thud, thud.
Arun stepped forward, raising his voice again.
"No fear! Wave assaults mean nothing in a siege. They're still amateurs."
The orcs were far from polished—still chaotic, their formation slanted and time-wasted.
"I say it before you all again: I'll share your glory and your end. Right like this."
Thud, thud, thud.
Suddenly, Arun sprinted along the palisade. Blinding speed.
"M-my lord! Where to?"
"Gasp, Master."
Drawing eyes as he ran, he vaulted the palisade with one hand. Inside was chest-high for an adult; outside, with the stone foundation, over three meters.
"Uwaaah, the lord!"
"What the hell's happening?"
The soldiers gaped in shock. The crushing fear had vanished, at least.
Arun stood firm on the stone base below.
"I'm fine. Not dead yet. Pendersen, ready a lasso—I might need pulling up when tired."
"Y-yes, sir."
Pendersen, who'd witnessed the master's awakening recently, bolted for the warehouse.
"Haa."
Thud.
Landing outside the palisade, Arun addressed the soldiers.
"Fear not. I'll always stand before you—so stay calm and do your jobs."
"M-my lord. What..."
"......"
Knight Landiv clutched his splint, ready to tear it off. The soldiers went from stunned at the recklessness to a surge of inexplicable emotion. The brief moment felt eternal.
By now, the orcs had roughly formed up and charged in wave formation.
Sieges needed ladders, rams, towers—not formations—but sheer numbers overwhelmed all.
"Grrrk. Charge. Hesitators die."
"Kweek, kweeek."
Three waves rolled in like tides.
'First wave reserves, pushing with three groups per rank.'
Close enough to make out their ugly faces, Arun strode out to meet them.
Thud, thud.
Shing.
As distance closed, Arun drew his sword. He accelerated—and collided at 50 meters ahead.
"Haa!"
He stomped an orc's glaive mid-leap, landing behind their lines and swinging.
Slash.
"Kwek."
"Kweeek."
Overwhelming speed and perfect snap maximized power. The sensation of slicing meat and armor was vividly unnecessary.
From feet to waist to shoulders to arms to wrists to blade tip—zero waste in his movements.
Thrust.
"Kwek."
The sword plunged into the orc's thick, short neck and withdrew. Past the orc clutching its throat and staggering, he slashed vertically down.
Thud.
The orc's crown split, pupils dilating as it crumpled.
"Grrrk, retreaters die."
"Kweeek, front blocked."
The formation crumbled at the center, mixing with the second and third waves into chaos.
"Grrrk, move."
Orcs a head taller than the rest stepped up.
"Grrk. Surround. Me first."
"Kruk. Got it. Hurry."
The stalled orcs froze as three elites encircled. One lunged.
"Grrr, die, human."
Whoosh, swish.
The iron club—like bundled maces—cut the air with heavy weight.
"Sword ill-matches an iron club."
He slammed his sword into the ground and charged.
"Grrrk, die."
"Haa!"
Arms crossed, he blocked the downward swing. Then scissored tight, wrenching the club free.
"Kruk."
He smashed the stunned orc's head. Merciless club rain followed.
Thud, thud, thud.
"Kwek, kwik, kweeeek."
The elite screamed, pulped to gore.
The scene was clear to the half-surrounding orcs and palisade soldiers—but the impossible froze everyone.
"Huff, huff."
Full swings done, he caught his breath.
"Roughly enough."
Stamina remained, but reason demanded an end.
Whoosh.
The hurled club struck one of the encircling orcs.
"Kwek."
"Gurrk, gurrrk."
As terrified, confused orcs milled, Arun calmly retrieved his grounded sword and dashed for the palisade.
Thud, thud, thud.
"Pendersen, rope!"
"Y-yes, Master! Heave!"
The coiled rope pile unraveled downward. Arun snagged the end loop.
"Got it. Pull."
"Pull! Heave!"
"Heave! Heave!"
The dumbstruck orcs finally reacted.
"Grrrk. Human chief fleeing."
"Gurrk, gurrrk. Catch him."
"Kweek, kweeek."
But Arun was already over the palisade on foot and rope power.
"Waaah! Long live the lord!"
"The lord blunted their charge! Loose arrows!"
"Javelins ready."
"No rush. Everyone, relax those shoulders."
Dead morale boiled over. Veterans even reined in overexcited troops—a rare sight.
"Well done, my lord. My failing..."
"No, glad you took command. Pendersen, water."
"Yes, Master. Here."
Gulp, gulp.
"Swordsmanship I've never seen before. Could it be..."
"Died and revived a few times—body just learned it naturally. More importantly, keep commanding? Morale's up, but the lads are hyped."
"Ah, right. Excuse me."
As Landiv withdrew, Pendersen approached.
"Remove the armor?"
"Heh heh, not yet. Gotta drop down once more when they tire."
"Then I'll fetch tea."
"Tea? On the battlefield—classy."
Arun nodded inwardly amused.
He'd heard lords played chess and sipped tea mid-territory wars. Fact or bard's fancy, it was funny.
Yet here he was, unable to refuse. Ironic.
"Bows to maximum elevation. Prepare."
The fight raged on. Landiv led with steady command.
"Loose."
Ping, pwing, ping.
A hundred arrows arced as one toward the orcs.
"Kwek."
"Kweeek, kweek."
Some orcs fell. A few pressed on arrow-struck, but few.
"Next, javelins."
Bowmen slung weapons back, sighting with their off-arms.
"Throw."
Point-blank, javelins hit harder.
Thuk, thuk-thuk-thuk.
No screams this time. Optimal angles pierced flesh or shabby armor. Many died or lost fight.
Fewer than a hundred reached the palisade.
"Everyone, spears up. Orders end here. Thrust."
At Landiv's word, soldiers angled long spears over the palisade and stabbed down. Less defense, more one-sided slaughter.
"Squeal."
"Kwek."
Dozens survived to flee—but arrows pinned their backs.
"Waaah! We won!"
"Long live the lord! Westguard forever!"
Soldiers hugged or cheered joy.
Landiv reported results.
"First wave repelled. No friendly losses."
"Good work. Want to let them rest, but situation won't allow."
Arun's bitter look nodded beyond the palisade.
"Pardon? Ah!"
Following his gaze, another three-wave orc swell churned in their lines.
"Hold on. Soon as stamina recovers, I'll swing again."
"Yes, my lord."
Landiv turned, battle resuming. Prelude to grueling attrition war—but unlike the start, morale brimmed.
Arun sipped cold tea with a languid expression.