Chapter 32
Chapter 32
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 32
Chapter Title: Orc Great Warrior
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Whiiing.
The winter in the North brings howling sharp winds that cut into the skin.
The bone-chilling dawn breeze seeps into one's marrow, making people huddle and stirring unexplained longing.
When I feel cold, it's only natural to think someone else must be cold too, and that thought turns into a bittersweet yearning.
For some, it's a lover. For others, family.
And for some...
Thud, thud.
In the starless dawn.
Upon the walls of Jaybarshu Castle stood a lone middle-aged man facing the biting wind.
At his waist hung a scabbard adorned with a gray gem that seemed to hold the eye of House Jerban, gleaming undimmed even in the northern gale.
The hilt, as if carved from the North's night itself, belonged to the master sword of House Jerban, passed down through generations.
The guardian blade that protected the North, handed only from family head to family head.
Kallis of the North Wind.
The man gripping its hilt.
No, Elbton, the head of House Jerban, waved his hand.
The wind flowing between his thick fingers was soon captured in his grasp.
Whoosh.
In an instant, the fierce north wind settled like a tamed beast, becoming docile.
The subdued north wind could not make him shrink.
Yet it planted a faint longing within him.
"Kallias..."
The hegemon of the North.
Elbton's ash-gray eyes wavered.
Cough, cough.
The outburst of coughs was laced with phlegm. It vanished in the fierce wind, but for a moment, the scent of blood lingered.
"Viscount Jervan."
It was Bernard.
He looked bitterly at the handkerchief in Elbton's hand.
"...I've shown you an unseemly sight. Forget it."
Elbton von Jerban.
Viscount Jervan and head of House Jerban hid the bloodstained handkerchief and turned his gaze to the base of the wall.
Even at this late dawn, refugees steadily pounded on the gates.
Countless villagers from various territories continued their endless trek toward Jaybarshu, where the North's sword resided.
"Sir Bernard. What do you think?"
"You've already foreseen it, haven't you?"
"To some extent."
But the situation was more serious than expected.
"A scout's signal arrived. The orc legion of the North is on the move."
"They've been quiet for so long, gathering strength. All to reclaim their North."
It was something that had to happen someday.
An inevitable truth.
"But the timing is poor."
"You speak truly."
The timing was indeed poor.
The North's winter was harsh.
This brutal cold was perfect for famine, and with stockpiled food, it was ripe for war to drain the people's blood.
"If only it were a passing breeze."
The North's stirrings were far from ordinary.
"How many are there?"
"At least seven thousand, they say. The longer we delay, the more they'll grow."
Seven thousand orcs.
"Our forces..."
"The knights of Jerban number one thousand."
Three thousand soldiers.
A total of four thousand.
An exceptionally large army for a single house, possible only because it was the Jerban of the North.
However.
"Four thousand... It's tough."
They were outnumbered from the start.
The thick walls were a small mercy, but holing up for a siege from the outset was impossible.
"We must prepare to sortie."
They needed to whittle down the enemy's numbers, even a little. Letting beasts and their orc allies reach the castle would bring nothing good.
Moreover.
"I don't think that's all."
"You're speaking of Killaban."
"His swordsmanship is superb, his mind sharp. He's generous to his own people, capable of defending the North."
What the head of House Jerban needed was one thing: whether he was material to protect the North.
"Then why did you suspect him?"
"The boy... is extremely filial."
"...You mean his birth father."
"Yes, unlike me, he raised a fine son."
Elbton smiled faintly.
"He plans to kill me and seat his father as head."
Something that would come if he just waited.
"Foolish actions born of ignorance of my illness."
"You knew from the start?"
"I am the sword of Jerban and the shield guarding the North. How could I lead the house without noticing that much?"
"Then why let it be? If you'd cut it off early..."
To Bernard's question, Elbton fell silent before answering.
"An old man's sentimentality."
"You're not old enough for such talk."
"Every time I see Killaban... Kallias comes to mind."
"You mean Kallias."
Elbton did not answer.
But Bernard seemed to understand.
'Blood can't be denied.'
Even for the house's sake.
Even if he cast out his own child, a parent is still a parent.
Everyone frets over their sorest finger.
"Sir Bernard."
"Yes."
"Killaban couldn't have moved the orcs alone. He's brave, but not the type to start something this big."
Someone was behind him.
Someone experienced, knowledgeable of the North, harboring deep grudge.
"Probably part of a group."
"Do you have any suspects? What of Killaban's birth father?"
"Perhaps. To become head, he'd need to seize the succession amid war's chaos."
But something larger than that.
Elbton thought there was more.
His hand gripping the family heirloom, Kallis, trembled faintly.
Not fear or terror.
It was the ripple of anticipation for what was coming.
"Perhaps all this is coincidence, but the world isn't made of so many coincidences."
"True enough."
"...Sir Bernard. I may die on this battlefield."
"Don't say such things. Your death isn't just yours."
"A body with few days left anyway. Better to fall honorably in battle's embrace than wither in bed. For the North's hegemon to die of illness... that's a wretched end."
Bernard, about to say it wasn't so, couldn't speak.
Both Elbton and Bernard were swordsmen and knights.
He knew Elbton did not want a pathetic death.
"We've known peace too long."
"But the North has always..."
"This scale of battle is rare. It's for the best. If war broke after my death, it would be hard to endure."
Bernard felt an eerie premonition.
He seemed to desire the war.
Like someone who didn't want it, yet harbored strange anticipation.
As if seeking his own grave.
"You intend to die."
"If I die, what becomes of Jerban? Of the North? Aren't you curious?"
"...Not at all."
"I am. If I die..."
What would become of Jerban?
Who would become head?
What winds would blow over the North?
Would the one who wielded Kallis, his lifelong companion, be able to handle it?
"That one..."
And Kallias.
What of his only son?
It was then.
A knight bearing Jerban's insignia came running urgently.
"What is it?"
"A scout's urgent report!"
"Speak."
"A battle occurred in Dainel Village. Despite numerical disadvantage, they claimed a great victory!"
Good news amid ill tidings.
"Glad tidings. Who accomplished this feat?"
The collateral Jerbans hadn't arrived yet. He thought it might be one of them.
"A knight in a red cloak seemed to lead them..."
"Kallias!"
Bernard shouted.
Elbton's eyes twitched faintly.
"That bastard..."
Leading knights to annihilate orcs?
Bernard believed it without doubt, but Elbton furrowed his brow.
It was hard to believe easily.
"But..."
Before he finished thinking.
The soldier's report continued.
"Movement of a great warrior was spotted toward Dainel."
"What...!"
A great warrior! An orc great warrior commanding a legion, already!?
"...Was he alone?"
"Yes! Exactly!"
"I know who it is. A great warrior who loves wandering solo. Keltuk, that one."
A peculiar fellow, but his skill was undeniably real.
Countless northern knights had died to his axes.
"I'll go. Kallias won't fall easily!"
As Bernard moved to charge out, Elbton drew his sword.
The heirloom of Jerban.
Kallis of the North Wind was unsheathed.
"Take your stance. The north wind will join you."
Clank.
Shring! Whoosh!
Suddenly, a storm raged.
Bernard, infused with it, vanished with the gale.
The sword bearing the north wind, Kallis.
The soldier's eyes gleamed sharply.
"But..."
Clank. Elbton's eyes flashed.
"A new face."
The soldier's face twisted.
Crack! Tatatat!
As if on signal, assassins in black robes appeared below the wall, radiating killing intent.
Elbton's lips curled.
A chilling smile.
"Is that good news true?"
The North's hegemon stood aloof before dozens of assassins.
Seeing it, the assassins flinched and spoke.
"...It is true."
"Good enough."
Soon, the north wind howled.
* * *
"Uwaaaaaah!!"
Roaring cheers erupted.
Victory in a battle thought unwinnable was only natural.
Even I felt this exhilarating thrill; how could they not?
Victory is precious and joyful for all.
Thus, it was right to fully savor it now.
Whiiing—
But alas, the world wasn't so kind.
"I don't like these variables."
Sitting atop a mound of orc corpses, barely propping myself with my sword, I eyed the lone figure approaching.
His red hair, bundled like whips, didn't sway in the North's mighty wind.
In his hands, two axes etched with red runes, his whole body exuding immense presence.
Red hair, dyeable only by those with great honor and deeds in orc society. Bloodstained axes.
Equivalent to a paladin wielding a holy sword in the Valterus Church.
An orc great warrior.
"Uh... uh..."
His appearance changed the wind.
The refreshing northern gale now felt only chilling.
Gulp.
Even orcs ignorant of great warriors couldn't open their mouths before his pressure.
Those who screamed until hoarse moments ago now swallowed dryly in silence.
'Damn it.'
Of all timings.
Like dousing with ice water—and thoroughly. A great victory just won, yet before we could bask, it plunged our high spirits to the depths.
Unaware or uncaring of our mood, the great warrior slowly advanced, gazing loftily at Kallias atop the orc pile.
Thud, thud.
He set down his axes, cracked his neck—crack, craaack.
Loosened his body, silently awaiting the coming fight.
"S-Sir... sh-should we flee?"
Brans trembled in fear.
Quick-witted as he was, he realized this great warrior's level far surpassed any foe before.
The killing intent he radiated permeated the air, heavy as settling fog—what more needed saying?
'Escaping will be hard.'
Just one. But his prowess dwarfed all orcs met prior. Flee, and die.
The moment we ran, he'd catch us one by one, tearing limbs asunder.
'Must fight.'
Fortunately, he was a great warrior.
He knew battle's etiquette.
Calmly warming up, no intent to strike first.
Arrogantly at ease.
And anticipating.
The fight ahead.
The slaughter he would perpetrate!
Vengeance for slain comrades!
"Stand back."
Rustle.
Kallias shed his mantle and stepped forward.
Drew Lucen from his waist, stabbed it into the ground.
Dropped Roas's scabbard too.
Discarded all hindrances.
And finally.
Click.
The artifact on his wrist.
Vivi’s Bracelet, removed.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Divine power surged from Kallias's core, exploding outward.
Blood trickled from his lips, mirroring the agony.
But unlike the flowing blood.
His expression was utterly serene.
In his slowly rising pupils, only his sword and the enemy.
No hesitation.
Kwaaang—!
Silver petals whirled.