Chapter 29
Chapter 29
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 029
Chapter Title: Dispatch Investigator
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The astonishing feats Arun had displayed at the start of the battle, which repelled the first wave, gradually faded with time.
Orcs kept clambering up the palisade, no matter how many were killed.
"Grrruk, grrruk. Humans, stop dying."
"Huff, huff... Fat chance."
The orc's axe cleaved through empty air, but the soldier's spear struck true into the orc's body.
"Kweek, kweeek."
The orc grabbed the spear embedded deep in its shoulder and plummeted.
Crunch.
"Kweeeek."
The fingers of an orc gripping the palisade were severed by a soldier's axe.
As time dragged on, corpses piled up, and fresh orcs climbed over them. The battle had turned into a grueling war of attrition.
"Huff... huff... I can't... anymore."
"Benen, fall back for now. Die, you bastard!"
Despite being outnumbered, the soldiers held their ground against the palisade with clever tactics. But their stamina had reached its limit against the relentless assaults.
A dulled axe shattered the skull of an orc scaling the palisade.
"Kwuk."
"These pig bastards really never end. Huff, huff."
Most of the dead were orcs, but their waves never ceased.
"Reinforcements!"
Just as Arun was about to step forward again, Drill Instructor Harrig arrived leading reinforcements—not civilians hauling supplies, but men with real combat experience.
"Woooh! Reinforcements are here!"
"Huff... huff... Veterans. What a relief."
The exhausted soldiers cheered. Most collapsed on the spot, too drained even to speak.
"You lot, get down from the palisade and rest. Don't get in the way."
Harrig, considerate even of the relieving troops' rest, gave his report.
"134 veterans responded to the call-up."
"With everyone scraped together, that's around 280 in total?"
Including the fifty-odd from the native alliance who remained, this was Westguard's entire fighting force for the time being.
'A place once bustling with nearly 1,000 elite troops.'
It was the consequence of his own men now, so there was no one to blame.
"Landiv, hold for 30 minutes. I'll buy us another 30 after that. Then the rested soldiers can rotate in."
"Yes, my lord."
"...?"
Landiv saluted and returned to his post. Harrig looked baffled.
"I had a small achievement recently."
"Ah, congratulations."
Harrig, a common soldier at heart, still looked puzzled, but Arun paid it no mind.
"I'll go tend to the new recruits now."
He bowed sincerely and courteously.
From his morning speech to his demeanor on the battlefield, Arun had been beyond reproach as fortress commander.
'Something's changed. That maturity beyond his years... It's like looking at Commander Brad.'
A veteran's instincts were sharp indeed. But Harrig didn't suspect Arun was Brad reincarnate.
With fresh troops bolstering the lines, the battle reached a lull.
No matter how they rotated, even orcs grew weary after half a day's fighting. The sturdy stone-based palisade and the soldiers' resolve to protect their families played their part.
'No need for me to step in again.'
Arun had no intention of flaunting his enhanced prowess.
With Brennenton's scrutiny and the imperial capital's suspicions, drawing attention was the last thing he needed. Better if the soldiers' tales were dismissed as exaggeration.
As things wound down, a contingent of troops conveniently arrived.
"Message from the south gate. Uh, the southern alliance?"
After Pendersen's report, around 500 troops advanced with spears and shields at the fore. They soon proved to be the natives trained by Ray Schumacher.
"Southern alliance forces. Reinforcements have arrived."
"Wooooh!"
"Open the gates."
"We'll join in too. Anyone with strength left, step up."
"Bring the long spears."
Harrig led some soldiers out to link up. The orc horde formed ranks and slowly withdrew—a tactical retreat never seen before.
Watching their calm response, Landiv paled.
"They're not showing their backs. Some even have shields."
"Hard to believe even seeing it. Who'd buy the report?"
The orcs' withdrawal while maintaining formation was clumsy, but someday they might clash in proper shield walls. A chilling prospect.
"Look, they're retreating."
"Wooooh! We won!"
"Hooray. And hardly any serious injuries."
Cheers erupted from the palisade, spreading through the fortress. Not just supply runners, but residents drawn by the noise waved their arms in celebration. It turned to praise for the young lord.
"Long live the lord!"
"Long live Westguard!"
"Phew."
Landiv, who had held firm without faltering, sighed in relief.
"My lord, a word?"
"I've said plenty since morning. Wrap it up yourself."
"Yes, my lord."
Arun descended the palisade, ignoring Landiv's salute.
His squire Pendersen approached and whispered.
"Master. People from the capital have arrived."
"So that's what it was. Escorting the dispatch investigator."
Ray, who understood the investigator's importance well, had apparently brought them personally.
"They refused food and are inspecting the surroundings. What should we do?"
"Really? Leave them be."
Whether they sought faults or conducted a genuine probe, their initiative to assess things themselves wasn't bad.
"They'll request an audience after poking around to their heart's content."
"Shall I assign a guide?"
"A guide? Hm..."
A glint entered Arun's eyes.
"A, achOO."
"Are you alright? Here's a handkerchief."
"Thanks. Seems I've caught a cold."
Dispatch Investigator Baron Millen Gafner was feeling the chill acutely.
From the southern Arfun Duchy, he had graduated the capital academy and been tapped for court service. Officially with the Foreign Affairs Division handling diplomacy.
But in truth, he was a heavyweight from the imperial intelligence agency, hiding a cold calculus beneath his unassuming guise.
"The weather's bitter, isn't it? Where to first?"
"Body and mind aren't in sync. It was a forced march, after all."
Aslama to Brennenton took a fortnight on horseback. Another to Westguard made a full month.
"Shall we head to the lord's residence now? Or perhaps the inn?"
"No more creative options? Let me see."
The baron shook his head and scanned the surroundings.
He'd guessed from the recent cheers that the orcs had been repelled. Tired residents were returning to daily life one by one.
Spotting a well-dressed young man among them, he beckoned.
"Hey, you. Where do you work?"
"What is it?"
His poised bearing and polite response hinted at his status. Baron Millen was pleased with his own sharp eye.
"I'm the investigator from the capital. Got time?"
"Ah!"
Understanding dawned; the man straightened his attire.
"An honor to meet you. How may I serve?"
"Rushed here unprepared. Need something warmer to wear."
"Please wait a moment."
As promised, soon the baron and his attendant sipped hot tea wrapped in fur cloaks.
"Slurp."
He cupped the mug, blew on it, and drained it.
"Phew, feeling alive now. Thanks."
"Thrilled to assist such a distinguished guest."
The baron offered his mug with satisfaction.
"I have duties. Sevain, let's go."
"Yes, master."
"Need a guide?"
The attendant urgently whispered at the offer.
"Suspicious fellow, master. Let's just go."
"Hahaha, hardly. I called him over."
Baron Millen glanced at the man.
'Serves someone fairly high up, it seems.'
His poise and looks suggested rank. Laughable to one seasoned in the capital, though.
"No need to report up the chain?"
"Embarrassing, but I'm low enough not to bother."
The unexpected reply made the baron blink.
"You're amusing. I like it."
"Frontier life dulls manners. Forgive me."
"Hahaha, then the battlefield first."
"Mm."
The man's face shifted abruptly; the baron smirked.
"Problem?"
"No. Just... battlefield cleanup might spoil dinner."
"That's why first. It'll pass after."
"Ah."
The man clapped in realization and gestured down the path with his right arm.
"This way."
Baron Millen stepped off, his attendant Sevain loosening his sword belt for any contingency.
"Heard you repelled the orcs."
"The palisade held firm, and the native troops escorting you finished them off admirably."
"Casualties?"
"Numerous wounded, but no fatalities so far."
"Rumored over 1,000, yet not as dire as thought?"
"Eh, pretty much."
The leader shrugged.
"Losing the fortress commander, vice commander, and nearly 500 elites recently—what's that? The north's always been like this, always will be."
"No complaints. It'll go in my report."
"My apologies."
Conversation brought them to the northern palisade.
The man half-turned for permission, dashed to the gate, and spoke. A trained ox turned a massive key, raising the log gate on chains.
Grind.
"Twenty minutes' walk from south gate, about a kilometer."
"Larger scale than expected."
The attendant's comment drew a nod.
"The natives escorting us, and the development here—it's advanced."
"Means the reports are likely true."
No need to summon capital nobles to a territory on the cusp of full settlement. Exposed population and fields meant tax hikes.
"I investigate. Judgment's for the center."
"Ah."
Soon the gate fully rose.
A harsh northern wind brought an unbearable stench—acrid metal smoke from clashing steel, mingled with monster blood and excrement.
"Urk... M-master, handkerchief."
"Ugh, thanks."
Visual horror followed. Orc hides were being stripped before their eyes. Exposed blue muscles were gruesome.
"Urgh... blegh."
"Good, before burial. Roughly 20 rows wide...? Length..."
Those used to capital desks or arbitrations vomited. The guide, accustomed, counted corpses.
Someone approached.
"Harvested around 600 orc hides."
"..."
The reporter was the infantry captain from the baron's escort, who handled the late battle. The guide shot a glance while tallying.
"About 400 fled. No losses on our side."
"Understood. Congratulations on the victory."
"...?"
The infantry captain blinked between the baron and guide at the praise.
"Haha. Anything else to verify?"
"I've seen the battle's scale and outcome with my own eyes."
The baron glanced at natives cleaning up.
"Felt it under escort—high native assimilation."
"Busted, huh? Just desperate wriggling to survive. Before families become orc chow."
"Not the only thing busted, it seems."
The baron eyed the awkward infantry captain and brazen guide alternately.
"Formal introduction: Baron Millen Gafner of the Imperial Foreign Affairs Division."
"Arun van Brennenton, lord of Westguard."
Arun and Baron Millen shook hands.
"Heard you're in succession strife?"
"Gave it up. Survival first, as you see."
Consecutive commander losses and over half the troops gone—a reasonable choice. The baron nodded.
"Your plight's noted in the report."
"Thank you."
"I'll finish cleanup."
Ray Schumacher saluted and withdrew. Arun extended an arm toward the fortress, mimicking his earlier guide gesture.
"Continuing the tour, senior."
"Senior? Capital academy?"
"Knight faculty, class of 61."
"Administrative faculty..."
All the world's business rests on connections. And naturally, the first threads were blood, region, and school ties.
The two, now much warmer, walked side by side.