Chapter 39
Chapter 39
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 39
Chapter Title: Bluffing
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Before they could even confirm the existence of an Orc Lord, the shockwave hit, leaving everyone speechless.
Pour...
The aroma of fresh tea poured by the maids pulled them back to reality.
One among them finally mustered the courage.
"I'll ask politely. Are you certain of this?"
"Even all together, that's 2,000 orcs? Isn't the number a bit vague?"
Arun scanned the faces of those who had spoken up.
"I remember you, weeping bitterly before your former lord's noble death. There's the centurion who faced punishment to retreat with the villagers. And those who stayed till the end to buy time, though we can't see them now. All of it points to one situation."
"A massive southward migration of orcs."
Knight Donern Hamel voiced it himself and recoiled in surprise.
"Already, countless humans have died, and just as many orcs. Yet they're multiplying in overwhelming numbers. That's the orc ecology we'd forgotten."
Arun's informal speech felt as natural as a great lord addressing his vassals.
"Better a hasty response than repeating the tragedy of belated judgment. Here's my proposal. Nil."
"Yes."
Nil pulled a chess piece from his pouch and placed it on the map.
"Northstick Village is cleared. The remaining outposts are here, here, and here."
"Ah! That place."
"Ha, of all the..."
The chess pieces marked the settlements they'd abandoned.
"Coincidentally, the orcs have settled in like conquerors on human pioneer lands. They serve as outposts. Reports put each at around 50 to 100 orcs."
"Hmm."
"Occupation, not just raiding? How has this stayed unknown?"
"What the hell have the capital scholars been studying?"
"Even we, on the front lines facing them, didn't know. Can't really blame others."
Those who'd lost villages sighed deeply.
Nil toppled each chess piece he'd placed, one by one.
"'Occupation' might be a stretch, but to blind them and curb their breeding, we need to strike these outposts swiftly."
"In this winter?"
"Winter's harsh, but fair. To humans and orcs alike."
"True, conditions are the same for both."
"Time's never been on our side. Come spring, their numbers will swell further."
"But a blizzard could wipe us out."
In the North, nature terrified more than orcs. Before cold and wind, orcs and humans were equal prey. Those barely returned from blizzards nodded inwardly.
An elderly man spoke cautiously.
"Isn't it a bit reckless? Not that I'm opposing."
For a commoner, outright defiance meant risking his life. Nil shrugged and stepped back.
"You're from Bear Village..."
"Thank you for remembering. Village chief Abel."
Arun's tone softened noticeably.
"The terrain and climate of the village you pioneered your whole life must be etched in your mind."
"That's true, but..."
"That's why we devised this plan. With locals who know the enemy territory best guiding us, we can expect good results, no?"
"Ah!"
"Guide Westguard's elites back to your former homes. Refuse, and no penalties. But no share in the victory's fruits either."
They'd left much behind in their villages: valuables they couldn't carry, metal tools, kin now likely reduced to bones by orcs.
But Arun spoke beyond material losses.
"Ultimately, we aim to halt their breeding and expansion, but even for revenge, we must strike. That victory will restore your shattered pride."
"...Pride."
Someone murmured softly.
People often say pride won't feed you.
Yet humans rise from failure thanks to it—or become wrecks without it. Sometimes pride outweighs profit. It's the starting point.
The one who'd boldly opposed first pledged support.
"I'll select volunteers from our village hunters."
"Hunters make ideal guides."
Starting with Bear Village's chief, assents followed one by one.
"Mirror Mount Fortress will provide troops directly."
"Appreciate the enthusiasm."
"For Kallika Outpost, I'll guide with eight soldiers."
"Our village offers six packhorses."
"If you need drivers..."
"The core is elite troops striking with local guides. No other manpower or resources required."
Some unexpected offers came, but Arun declined them.
"Departure in ten days."
He added one more chess piece to the map.
"First, set camp in Kiter Valley. Simultaneously hit three targets within 50km radius."
"Wouldn't sequential strikes be better?"
Arun shook his head.
"This isn't siege warfare. We don't have the numbers for that."
"Speed and timing matter most. Hit fast, inflict damage, minimize losses."
Yains supplemented the explanation.
"Strikes and logistics all on horseback."
The North favored cavalry not for supremacy, but necessity. Eyes turned to Nil. Far from embarrassed, he jutted his chin brazenly.
The latter meeting was led by Yains.
"Tomorrow, physical exams for volunteers."
"What about the schedule after?"
"Details finalized once units form."
Forceful orders are swift and efficient. Battle's similar, yet subtly different. Dragged to the front versus marching with purpose—worlds apart.
Those now integral to the plan focused intently.
Watching with chin propped, Arun felt a commander's unease creep in.
'A few orc burrows at best.'
Would hitting them shift the war? Armies consume funds just existing. Better to use assembled troops than idle?
'Thinking's done its part.'
Turning to the window, Arun squinted against the glare.
Winter sun stretched long shadows.
In the end, the meeting infused the fortress with vigor.
Those who'd volunteered rallied and persuaded peers. Some even dipped into savings for gear—beyond Arun's expectations.
—No one who can't ride. Over forty, you're out.
—Ten-kilometer runs daily till departure. Starting today. Move!
The outer camp bustled anew.
With recruit training done, the drill field had quieted—till Drill Instructor Harrig's sharp voice rang out again.
"Enduring cold is stamina. Wrestling orcs is stamina. Just guiding? Sneaking past monsters undetected takes stamina."
Benjamin, accompanying Arun, shook his head.
"His voice is enviable, at least."
"Train it now, can't you?"
"Better recruit a loud one and focus on sword training."
"Wise."
Arun kicked the stockade, checking fastenings.
"Three more spies identified. Two in prisoner battalions, but one..."
"Trouble?"
"Volunteered for administration."
Arun shrugged briefly, spreading hands wide.
"Walking into hell on their own?"
"Perfect spot to peek at Westguard's secrets. Order, and I'll clean it up."
"Leave it."
Arun's gaze returned to the field.
"What secrets are we hiding? Secret troops or gold veins, maybe."
"..."
"Let them spy freely. How harsh this place is, how desperate each day. The grief and rage over lost families—where those arrows ultimately point."
He sighed shortly before continuing.
"They'll learn. Orcs aren't the only terror."
"...We'll just monitor movements."
Arun nodded and walked on.
"Your view on Westguard's current cavalry?"
"Call the captain?"
"Curious about others' takes, not his."
Benjamin paused, then spoke carefully.
"Discussed with Sir Landiv once. Apologies, but I'd say 60% of former strength."
"Harsh."
"Sorry, but it was a crushing defeat."
Recalling that day darkened Arun's face. Comrades like brothers dead, new lives begun—misfortune's end or fortune's price? Unclear.
"Worst was the total wipeout of Vice Commander Karl's elite scouts."
"Horses from the ranch adapted well?"
Arun changed topics.
"Yes. Contracted training as requested."
"You handle native tongue decently?"
"Basic yes/no exchanges."
"Good enough. Listen up."
Benjamin bowed, ear inclined.
"Notify the Southern Alliance—switch dispatched troops to cavalry. You lead them."
"...Me?"
Native cavalry matched Westguard's prowess. Communication aside, instant assets.
"Cavalry aren't made overnight. Only source left."
"Fair point."
"One more: expand cavalry under my direct command. Adjutant like you fits."
"Dual command for competition's fine, but can I really..."
"Nil Carpenter does it. Benjamin Roth can't?"
Arun smirked, then sobered.
"That's an order."
"Ugh. I'll give it my all."
Stagnation breeds rot. Even chaos beats inertia. Hope slippery Nil and loyal Benjamin compete constructively.
"Decided? No dawdling. Prep to join this sortie."
"Understood."
Benjamin saluted and descended the stockade.
Purpose drives men forward. Achieving under Arun's guidance, Benjamin seemed grown. Landiv too, and vengeful refugees.
"Good to see everyone motivated."
He turned back to the field.
"Instructor, send laggards a lap behind packing."
"Yes, sir."
"Dragging comrades down? Run!"
"Kuh, huff, huff."
Even sturdy folk have unused muscles. Those unused to running dropped out, complaining. Willingly or not, lifespans extended.
Meanwhile, Nil inspected his cavalry's gear, health, horses. Landiv drilled squires. Ray wrestled guard rosters.
Days later, Benjamin returned with fifty-odd Southern Alliance cavalry.
Finally, departure dawned.
"Units, form up."
Nil Carpenter, squinting in winter sun, reported.
"Command staff excluded: 200 cavalry, 40 supply, assembled."
Behind him: 150 Westguard cavalry, 50 Alliance dispatch, twenty-odd carts drawn by horse pairs. All available mounted force.
Arun kept it brief.
"Good. Clear skies, no wind. Move out."
"Yes. 1st Battalion, advance."
"Hyah."
Clop, clop.
Leather-clad men and horses passed the stockade into the plain. Accelerating gradually, they shrank to dots on the horizon.
Midwinter plains hid perils: frozen ice, snow-veiled crevasses. Piercing dangers, they alternated gallops, rests, meals, camps.
Three days later than planned, they reached Kiter Valley.
After a day's rest, operations began.
"Pull back at any danger."
"Got it."
Landiv and Nil each led fifty-odd riders out. Then Baron Bendel advanced on Mirror Mount Fortress with seventy, including his own. Benjamin watched worriedly.
"Should've gone myself."
"I'd rather, but someone must hold base."
A noble reclaiming honor—couldn't block that resolve.
A day passed; troops returned piecemeal.
"Bear Village strike success. Eighty orcs down, no losses."
"Kallika Outpost team returning."
"Mirror Mount forces inbound. But..."
Ominous hunches never lie.