Chapter 37
Chapter 37
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 037
Chapter Title: Winter (2)
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The interrogations proceeded simultaneously.
However, none of the other orcs yielded information as impactful as the elite orc's. It was because the average orc's intelligence was too low for them to comprehend or remember the necessary details.
"Looks like there's nothing noteworthy from the others."
Arun rubbed his shoulders, while Nil yawned.
"It all boils down to 'lots of troops, short on food.'"
"I wasn't expecting much, but there's no useful intel at all."
"Why not? There's the bit about there being two lords."
Arun gave a wry smile, but in truth, it was shocking. Nil prodded the elite orc's body with his boot to confirm it was dead.
"It sure seems dead, but maybe this one lied?"
"Spreading false info to throw us off? You think we've been had?"
"Well, that'd be shocking in its own way."
Yains threw up his hands as if conceding defeat.
They had already witnessed orcs mimicking human tactics, so it wasn't entirely far-fetched. A groan was followed by a heavy silence.
Yains broke the quiet again.
"What if we think of it like humans having kings?"
"Kings?"
"Ranks aren't exclusive to humans. Calling them orc lords doesn't mean they're some transcendent beings."
"That makes sense."
The Winter Wave thirty years ago had struck so swiftly that little was known beyond the massive casualties. With reconstruction taking priority afterward, research and countermeasures against orcs had fallen by the wayside.
Nil stroked his chin.
"What if we see them more like tribal chiefs than kings?"
"That seems more fitting."
"Then there could be a great chieftain out there. Like an emperor."
The command staff put their heads together, but filling in the sparse intel with mere speculation was futile.
"What in the world lies beyond the Kervenon Mountains..."
"Volcanoes?"
"..."
"I mean, it just popped into my head."
Yains was enthusiastic, but they circled back to basic questions in the end.
"Should we capture more?"
"Yeah, nothing else comes to mind."
They had no choice but to settle for the added info about the two orc lords and turn in for the night.
That night, the winds howled fiercer than usual.
Gale-force gusts scattered the watchmen's campfires, and by dawn, tent roofs were ripping off with deafening cracks. Icy air rushed in instantly.
Neighhh.
"Whoa, whoa. You trying to trample me?"
Amid the startled soldiers rousing from sleep, they struggled to calm the panicked horses.
"What kind of wind is this?"
"This ain't normal. Check headcounts first."
"Yes, sir. Squad leaders, report your numbers."
"First squad: 10 accounted for."
"Second squad: 10, no one's missing."
"Third squad..."
Arun raised his hand high to gauge the wind's direction.
'Early December, northwest winds. How convenient.'
Starvation was scarier than war. And scarier still was the wrath of nature. No matter how swift the judgment, human responses couldn't match nature's speed.
"Could this be?"
"Yeah. Blizzard."
A blizzard—an snowstorm that upends everything in its path, shredding with swirling blades of ice. It was winter's worst disaster.
Arun issued orders to everyone.
"We head south immediately. Ditch the prisoners and wagons. Nil Carpenter will raise the banner—follow only him."
"Abandon the packhorses too. Move, move!"
"Get the banner, the banner!"
Food, pots, wooden utensils, blankets, haystacks, surviving orc prisoners—everything was left behind. As dawn broke, around thirty men and horses began their southward flight.
Whiiiiiish.
Clop, clop.
Harsh winds and hoofbeats pounded their ears like thunder.
Men and horses alike clamped their mouths shut against the bone-chilling cold and gales. They simply charged after the forward banner. It was a desperate bid for survival.
As if to prove it, a massive whirlwind bore down from the northwest.
The thirty-odd riders below looked less than specks of dust.
The Imperial capital, Aslama, was a city centered around the imperial palace with no outer walls. It seemed confident at first glance, but in reality, it shifted capital defense to the surrounding marquises.
On the main road outside the city, a long line formed for inspections.
"Loyton Merchant Company. 800kg rock salt, 1 ton copper."
"Let me see the ledger."
While the soldier checked the ledger, the caravan leader's hand slipped into the superior's pocket and out again.
"Ahem. We're busy, so just note the wagon count and let 'em through."
"Yes, squad leader. Loyton Merchant Company: 12 wagons cleared."
It was needless procedure, but time was money too. Express fees earned their keep. Of course, there were exceptions.
A man appearing to be a noble's servant responded with hands clasped behind his back.
"Baron Millen Gapner of the Imperial Foreign Affairs Bureau."
"My apologies for not recognizing you. We'll fetch your carriage shortly."
"No time—head straight to the palace. And behind us is the Brennenton company."
"Understood. Cleared."
The shared understanding that speed meant profit expedited their passage.
Clop, clop. Creak.
"A long journey. I owe you much."
"Nonsense. I'll never forget your kindness, Baron."
Traveling under the patronage of a major merchant company felt like a pleasure trip. Spacious carriages, plush cushions, warm meals—no discomforts. Moheni Lorn, second clerk of the Loyton Merchant Company, felt the same.
They breezed through countless checkpoints and received conveniences like water and horse feed.
"Can you handle the hides by next spring?"
"Plenty of time. Mink coats will be tailored once you provide measurements."
"Make it so."
"Safe travels."
The baron turned and raised a hand silently before lowering it.
Even Se bain, the sharp-edged servant throughout the trip, bid farewell with a smile.
"I'll remember you. Seek us if trouble arises."
"My deepest gratitude for your kindness."
His offer of backing made Moheni bow even lower.
"Until next time."
"..."
Moheni Lorn's back remained bent until the baron's party vanished down the road.
"Whew."
Moments later, he straightened, patting his back.
"Unexpectedly made connections in the capital."
The orc hides consigned from Westguard, plus those delegated by the baron, and mink processing too—this trip alone guaranteed the company's best record of the year.
At this rate, he might even enter the succession picture.
It was all thanks to the master. The man who had threatened him with flogging amid his exhausting days in a dead-end post turned out to be his savior.
"What the master needs most right now is just one thing."
Recalling the unassigned task, he headed to the branch office.
After handing over the hides, confirming inventory, and settling into lodgings, he met someone over dinner.
"Welcome, Uncle."
"Heard you arrived. How's your mother?"
Moheni's maternal uncle managed the list of tournament participants at city hall—a low post, but it monitored those with martial prowess.
"She's fine. Asthma persists, but no mobility issues. Thinking of getting her some potions."
"When are you heading up? I'll look into it by then."
Potion sources were temples, so influence beat merchant channels.
"Planning to stay through winter, circulating the hides."
"That long? If you want to watch the tournament, drop by anytime."
"Actually, that's why I have a favor."
His uncle eyed him expectantly.
"Any retired knights worth hiring?"
"Mercenaries are cheaper for caravan guards. Knights cost a fortune."
"Not for me. For the new master I'm serving. Someone to assist him, bound by contract to loyalty."
"...!"
His uncle pondered briefly before asking.
"Pay in land? Or gold?"
"Decided after interview."
"Skill check?"
"Master will handle it personally, probably."
"Deadline before you leave the capital?"
"Yes. Might shift with hide sales, but no leaving before March."
A few more questions and answers followed, ending as dinner arrived.
"You like duck? Brandy with it?"
"What do you know? Duck needs dark beer."
With business done, uncle and nephew enjoyed their meal.
The next day, a job posting went up on the tournament arena's board.
As the winter sun dipped low, Westguard stood firm.
This massive structure of driven logs reinforced with stone ramparts instilled confidence that it could weather any trial.
Refugees who'd lost their homes today crammed toward the fortress for survival. Among them were ragged cavalrymen.
Thud, thud.
Snort.
Their cloaks were tattered rags, horses and men utterly exhausted.
Arun licked his dry lips, gazing at the fortress.
"We made it."
"People and horses don't drop dead after two days without food."
Yains swallowed dryly, adding,
"Though it was hellish enough."
"Now I truly get how refugees feel."
Nil shook his head and spurred forward.
"Make way, clear the path."
"Who are you? State your affiliation. Whoa, Cavalry Captain!"
"The Lord's returning. All kneel and pay respects."
"The Lord?"
"It's really him. No way."
"Oh my Lord."
Inspecting soldiers saluted; refugees prostrated.
"Tch."
Nil's overzealousness furrowed brows, but the quick clearance satisfied.
"That's Westguard's lord?"
"His state... Must've fought in this cold? What happened?"
"Overheard soldiers—scouting mission."
"The lord himself? No wonder Westguard's unscathed amid the chaos."
Their ragged appearance drew praise.
Clop, clop.
Arun pretended not to hear as he passed.
The trailing cavalry straightened like new. Reaching the camp serving as outer defenses, they all collapsed.
Curious heads poked out in alarm.
"No healers needed. Light fires in the tents."
"Warm water first. Roll out bedding, start soup."
"Hyah."
Handing reins to a soldier, Arun scanned the men.
"Good work. See you at the command meeting tomorrow morning."
"You too, sir."
"Yains."
Seeing his friend dismount with effort, Arun smirked.
"You're command staff as of today."
"Thanks."
The pair shouldered toward the command post.
"Legs giving out."
"Means you can still move, right?"
"Opposite. Might need to hail a cart."
Without a word, Arun slung his friend's arm over his shoulder.
"Hm? You're beat too. I'm fine, I'll walk."
"Secret: I was just faking fatigue. I'm fine."
"Doubt it. But you do look overflowing with energy."
By not prying, trust was restored; the friend walked in silence. The quiet spoke of lingering awkwardness.
As they crested the hill to the command post, someone flung open the door and rushed out.
"My lord!"
"Pendersen, good timing. Help this friend."
"Yes, sir. Hyah."
Pendersen wasn't alone. Another saluted.
"My liege."
"Benjamin. My old friend."
"Mission complete. Returned yesterday."
"Inside. Pendersen, get him to his room."
"Yes. Hyah. Mushroom soup prepped—easy on the stomach."
Arun waved silently, clapping his adjutant's shoulder.
"Let's go. Catch up over dinner—been too long."
"You alright?"
Benjamin, walking beside, eyed Arun's form.
"Fine. Sleepy and hungry."
"Relieved. You look intact."
"You too."
The brief exchange conveyed their bond fully.
"Even I think I went overboard. How'd you know? Eyes in Brennenton?"
"I'd hire more mercs if I had that gold."
"Gladly, all orders carried out. Thinking of those who went ahead first made even veteran seniors less daunting."
"Sigh. I'm the bastard who sent you for that."
Knights are human too. Yet in Brad and Arun's lives, no knight had faltered before death. Each met their end with a scrap of pride—loyalty or honor.
"At least no shame as a knight."
"All bravado. True loyalty's staying alive by my side."
"Hahaha. I'll serve long and loyally."
Arun shook his head, matching steps with his adjutant.
Shadows stretched long in the sunset.