Chapter 35: Please Be Our Neighbor (2)
Chapter 35: Please Be Our Neighbor (2)
Patrick spoke in a cold voice to Sanson, who stood with his head bowed.
“If you’ve understood, go tell the other soldiers. Tell them to stop grumbling and steel themselves.”
“You knew, sir?”
“What, that they pushed you forward as their representative to try and talk me out of it? Did you really think I wouldn't notice?”
“……”
“It’s obvious. Now go and get those boys in line.”
“Yes. Understood, Young Lord.”
Before withdrawing, Sanson spoke to Patrick one last time.
“Young Lord. May I ask just one thing?”
“What now?”
Sanson spoke with a grave expression to Patrick, who looked visibly annoyed.
“Can we win?”
“Of course.”
“We are prepared for the worst. But you are the heir to the territory, Young Lord. You must return home safely. Truly…”
“Ugh, I said we’ll win. Whether it’s a King Ogre or whatever the hell it is, I’ll take it down. Happy?”
At Patrick’s blunt assurance, Sanson bowed deeply.
“I will prepare the soldiers as ordered.”
“Get to it.”
Patrick let out a short smirk as he watched Sanson walk away.
Those greenhorns... who do they think they’re worrying about?
*
“Is it true?”
“Are we really, truly doing this?”
“Captain. This is madness.”
The soldiers gathered in front of Sanson spoke in unison.
These were the same men who had begged Sanson to persuade Patrick. Yet, Sanson had returned, seemingly persuaded by Patrick instead, and was now insisting they fight the King Ogre.
To them, it felt like the world had gone mad.
However, Sanson’s stance was firm.
“The Young Lord is right. Weren't we soldiers meant to protect the territory from the start?”
“But the opponent this time is too big. It’s a King Ogre!”
“So what if the opponent is big?”
“…Brother.”
“Are you going to run away?”
“……”
“Are you saying you’ll abandon the people we’re supposed to protect and run just to save your own skins?”
No one could answer Sanson’s question.
Then, Sanson roared at the top of his lungs.
“You pathetic bastards!”
“……”
“How long are you going to do nothing but grumble?”
“No, Brother, we just…”
“We’ve already committed to following the Young Lord. Are you going to show nothing but doubt, complaints, and anxiety every time he does something?”
“……”
“The Young Lord isn't the one protecting us. We are the ones who should be supporting him and fighting by his side. And isn't it only natural to put our lives on the line for that? Did you not even know that much?”
“……”
“You bastards want to become knights without even the resolve to risk your lives? Get out of here right now! I have no use for subordinates like you!”
The soldiers’ faces crumpled in shame at Sanson’s words.
Though Sanson was a man of massive build and immense natural strength, he had never used his power to oppress those around him. If anything, he was the type to be tolerant and listen to others.
Seeing such a man explode in anger left the soldiers both stunned and deeply embarrassed.
How pathetic must we be for Sanson to get this angry?
The thought stung.
Sanson took a moment to steady his ragged breathing before looking at the soldiers again.
“As you all know… we were originally men for whom it wouldn't be strange to die at any moment.”
It was the truth.
Even if it wasn't a King Ogre, these soldiers always had to risk their lives if even one or two Trolls appeared. In the Schneider territory, if ten men enlisted as soldiers, five would be dead within a year.
Yet, these same soldiers hadn't suffered a single casualty in the past few months.
All of that had changed since Patrick took the lead.
Sanson spoke firmly to his men.
“The Young Lord is destined for great things. He may very well leave his mark on history. The path of following such a man will never be smooth. So…”
Sanson paused, scanning the faces around him.
“Decide here and now. Either follow him without ever doubting him again, or…”
Sanson pointed toward the distance.
“Leave. I have no desire to be with people like that.”
At Sanson’s words, Oliver was the first to step forward.
“What do we need to do first?”
“Let’s just do it, King Ogre or whatever.”
“Come to think of it, dying to a Goblin or dying to a King Ogre—dead is dead, right?”
“Tsk, if you’re gonna die, you might as well die in style. Don’t you think?”
“That’s true. Damn, when did we start acting like we’ve always lived in safety?”
“Exactly. I almost died just last year and barely made it out.”
“Oh, right. You got chewed on by a Troll once.”
“Damn it, the smell was worse than the pain. I’ll never forget it. What the hell do those things eat?”
There were no longer any terrified or shrinking soldiers in the group.
The soldiers of the Schneider territory were formidable to begin with. They had been momentarily cowed by the lack of casualties in recent months and the overwhelming presence of a monster like the King Ogre.
But risking their lives in battle was something they were well-acquainted with.
Once they found their resolve, they were no longer cowards.
* * *
—Grrrrrr….
It was a being that could not be described simply as "dangerous."
Massive, writhing muscles.
Hide like glowing, red-hot iron.
From its crimson eyes, larger than a human head, flowed a murderous intent that transcended mere bloodlust—it was a physical weapon.
Crack. Snap.
It was merely walking, yet even centuries-old trees snapped like reeds before its presence.
Following the path carved by this overwhelming entity, dozens of subordinates trailed behind.
The King Ogre.
A monster classified as a Great Calamity capable of threatening the very existence of a kingdom stood here now.
The King Ogre knew what it existed for.
It was a King.
A King is one who reigns.
The desire to conquer more land and command a larger horde was woven into the very fabric of its instincts.
Thus, the King Ogre had built a following.
One by one, it had subjugated others through sheer force, increasing its numbers. Now, its power and presence had grown to the point where it could command other Ogres simply by existing, without needing to fight.
Ogres were considered a high-ranking species even among large monsters.
And yet, more than fifty of them had formed a pack.
It was an overwhelming force.
There was no enemy in this vicinity that could threaten the King Ogre and its horde.
But it was still not enough.
It wanted more subordinates and more territory.
However, there was an enemy standing in its way.
A race of warriors, smaller than Ogres but possessed of a fierce fighting spirit.
The territory of the Red Rock Orcs had begun to overlap with that of the King Ogre.
“Grrrrrr….”
It was not a creature to avoid conflict.
In fact, battle was exactly what the King Ogre desired.
To crush the enemy with power, chew their flesh and bones for sustenance, and conquer their home to make it its own.
More territory, more prey.
Ultimately, that would lead to more subordinates.
Finally, the King Ogre spotted its target: the village of the Red Rock Tribe.
The village, consisting of tents made of leather and wood, lacked even a common wooden palisade, unlike human villages.
—Grwaaaa…. Graaaargh!
The King Ogre pointed a finger at the Orc village and commanded its subordinates.
Go.
Trample them.
They shall be the feast I have granted you.
The moment the King’s permission was given, a hideous aura began to pour from the Ogres who had been silently following.
—Grrrr….
—Grwaaaaaargh!
—Graaaah!
Ogres were naturally so ill-tempered that they were forced into solitary lives. The moment their instincts, which had been suppressed by the King Ogre, were unleashed, they were no different from bloodthirsty beasts.
Fifty Ogres, liberated by their instincts for destruction and slaughter, charged toward the Red Rock Tribe.
“Warriors of the clan! Take up your weapons!”
At Turanta’s command, every Orc grabbed a weapon made of stone.
Standing at the very front, Turanta raised his own weapon and shouted.
“Fight without retreating! We are the Orcs, a race of warriors!”
“Wooooooooh!”
“Charge!”
Hundreds of Orc warriors, led by Turanta, rushed bravely toward the Ogres.
Normally, skilled Orc warriors could hunt an Ogre by working in groups.
But that was only when there was a single Ogre.
—Grwaaaaaargh!
—Graaaargh!
Ogres charging in groups of dozens were a massive threat even to hundreds of Orc warriors.
Nevertheless, not a single Orc retreated, and the two forces finally collided.
Thwack! Boom! Crack!
The sounds of shattering and breaking filled the air as blood sprayed and flesh was torn from both sides.
“Hyaaaaaah!”
The stone blade wielded by Turanta, the chief and strongest warrior of the Red Rock Tribe, slammed directly into the Ogre before him.
The Ogre hit by his blade collapsed backward with a caved-in chest, but even that wasn't a fatal blow.
—Grwaaaa!
The Ogre roared irritably and lunged at Turanta again.
Turanta bravely swung his stone blade to meet the Ogre, and the Ogre’s fist collided violently with the stone weapon.
Boom! Bang! Crash!
Turanta, wielding a stone blade so massive it resembled a pillar, was undeniably strong. He didn't back down against the Ogre; in fact, he seemed to have the upper hand. But that was only true for Turanta.
—Graaaah!
“Tantaaaa!”
“You monster!”
Elsewhere, the Orcs were grouping up to attack the Ogres, but the overall situation was grim.
Normally, when Orcs hunted an Ogre, they would surround it, striking from blind spots and gradually weakening it.
But that was impossible now.
In this chaotic melee where dozens of Ogres were swarming together, how could they possibly surround them?
In the end, they had no choice but to charge head-on, and not every Orc possessed Turanta’s level of skill.
“Aaaargh!”
“Gah….”
Orcish screams erupted from all directions.
Orcs were being crushed by Ogre fists, grabbed and slammed into the ground until they shattered. Some Ogres even began to feast, stuffing the broken bodies of Orcs into their mouths right then and there before looking for their next prey.
“Uwoooooh! I cannot forgive this!”
“Kill them!”
Emboldened by the deaths of their comrades, the Orcs rushed at the Ogres with even greater ferocity.
However, the tide of battle remained unfavorable, and they were being pushed back.
Before long, the number of Orcs had dwindled by dozens, and even the brave chief Turanta was struggling, surrounded by three Ogres.
“Chief!”
Tutan, a young Orc warrior, saw Turanta’s peril and charged bravely to intervene.
But Tutan was still too young to face an Ogre.
—Grwaaaaaargh!
The Ogre swung its fist at the charging Tutan. Tutan tried to deflect it with his stone blade, but…
CRAAAASH!
“Gwaaaaaargh!”
With a single collision, both of Tutan’s arms were shattered.
“Grrr….”
Yet, he did not let go of the stone blade in his hands.
He forced his broken arms to move, trying to attack the Ogre once more.
“Uwoooooooh!”
But no matter how magnificent one’s fighting spirit, there is a limit to how much a physical body can respond to it.
His broken arms could no longer lift the weapon, and the Ogre’s heavy fist came flying toward him.
In that moment of absolute desperation…
“Oh, for crying out loud!”
Something flashed past Tutan’s cheek. Immediately following the flash of light was a thunderous roar, like a boulder shattering.
BOOM!
—Gr… Grrrr….
And then Tutan saw it.
The Ogre, with a massive hole blown through its torso, coughed up blood and slumped to the ground.
Standing before him was Patrick, the man Tutan had decided to call "Brother," wearing a deep scowl.