Chapter 40
Chapter 40
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 40
Chapter Title: Clash at Jaybarshu
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"The orcs have properly built up their strength in the meantime. They've steadily prepared, using the bitterness of past defeats as a stepping stone."
Over the past years, the axe tempered by defeat howls as it cleaves through the north wind.
The split north wind rends the soldiers' flesh and carves deep wounds into the ramparts.
"Arrrghhh!!"
Screams coil in the northern air.
Boom!
With the orcs' advance, the charge of massive beasts follows in relentless waves.
Soldiers try to block the siege-engine-like beasts bare-handed and are brutally trampled.
"Still, as expected of House Jerban."
A man in a black hood pulled low, his golden hair whipping in the wind, spoke in astonishment.
"In Carpe's long history, only House Jerban has guarded the north. No matter how much the orcs prepared, this isn't a place that falls easily."
Crasion's Lamatu admired his prized possession.
He tapped the ground with his staff out of habit and twisted his lips.
"Even a family with such a grand history ends up crumbling before the Empire's vanguard."
"Vanguard...? How crushed must the vanguard's heart feel to hear that."
Lamatu clicked his tongue at Luteon's smirking tone.
"With Jerban's elites tied up in the east as you wished, they can't do much this time."
Thud—!
"Success."
"Indeed..."
Wrinkled eyes watched the gray walls with bitterness.
The fortress symbolizing the north.
Jaybarshu Castle, mighty and unyielding, now spiderwebbed with cracks from the giant beasts' assaults.
Yet the northern soldiers block the orcs and beasts' advance without hesitation, sacrificing themselves.
The fighting is ferocious.
"Killaban, what will you do, brother?"
Luteon asked with a smile, turning to Killaban von Jerban behind him.
He bit his lip, clutching indescribable emotions.
"The key is timing."
"Exactly. Timing. We must seize the castle like a sly serpent—after crushing Jerban but before giving it to the orcs!"
Luteon made a needless fuss.
Killaban exhaled deeply at the sight and opened his mouth.
"I..."
Whoosh—
"Hm."
Just as Killaban was about to speak.
The wind suddenly shifted direction.
Lamatu's lips curved into a smile, and Luteon's eyes darkened.
"Recovered already? Recovery like a troll! Maybe it's a god's blessing he carries. Heh heh."
Lamatu glanced knowingly, but Luteon shook his head with clear displeasure.
"Grown from the duel with Keltuk, eh? A wastrel is still Jerban blood. Heh heh. This is getting interesting, isn't it?"
"...Not for me."
Not amusing at all.
Seeing the rare black hair and red cloak slashing through orcs like a storm, Luteon turned away.
"But even so, nothing changes."
He would make sure of it.
* * *
Slash!!
A clean sword path falls.
A green head splits in two.
Not a drop of the beasts' verdant blood stained Kallias's Predation Sword.
A swiftness incomparable to before.
'My body feels light.'
The sword in his hand felt even lighter.
Weightless, almost.
Like an extension of his arm.
That's what Kallias felt.
He had nearly died, but the battle with Keltuk had made him grow.
Manhwabongyuk had advanced to Ibong, and he could now use Silver Flower Sword Wave forms, making things much easier.
The sword path he had honed felt irregular and cluttered upon review.
Reestablishing it and forming new habits was tedious.
But before Kallias stretched a wave of green orcs.
Perfect practice dummies.
Slash—!
With one swing, orc soldiers' heads soared into the air.
The blood-soaked Predation Sword sharpened its edge further, carving through the tough hides and bones of orcs.
"The captain's clearing the way! Break through!"
"Less talking, more killing!"
Inspired by Kallias's valor, the knights boosted morale on their own and swung their blades.
He stopped.
Turning back, Kallias watched the knights fighting fiercely.
Among them, one figure shone brightest.
A child half the size of others, fearlessly cutting down orcs.
It was Emily.
Stab-stab-stab-stab-stab!
With her thin longsword's fiery thrusts and fox-like agility, she steadily felled orcs, though slower than most.
'No need to worry.'
The more real combat she saw, the stronger Emily would grow.
Just like him.
Emily was a flower slowly blooming on this battlefield.
"Kallias!"
Crackle!!
Thunderclap wings unfurled, exploding orcs in a burst.
Bernard appeared amid it, his thick mustache prominent.
"We must advance. No turning back once decided. Quick and decisive!"
"I know."
Shing.
Kallias gripped his Predation Sword and surged pure holy power into it.
Blade petals of sword qi bloomed on the smooth edge, wrapped in eerie silver light.
"Here I go."
"Right!"
Silver Flower Sword Wave - Flower Breaking Path.
A torrent of silver petals like waves, like a storm.
Rumble—!
Slash-slash-slash-slash-slash!
Thunderclap enveloped the destructive sword path.
In one technique, orcs scattered like they had met storm and lightning.
Boom!!
"Now!"
Bernard led the knights, reveling in battle's thrill.
"Move! If we don't break through now, there's no future for us!"
"Go! Damn it, going!"
"Advancing! Urgh!"
"Hey! Allen, snap out of it! Hesitate and you're dead!"
"I know. Aron!"
The falling grab ankles to slice.
The collapsing clutch ankles to push forward. In the brutal melee, personal justices clash great and small.
But now, only blockers and breachers remain, so Kallias cleaved from the vanguard.
He had learned survival in this world bone-deep over three years.
'Cut to live.'
Cutting opens the path.
Fail to cut, and die.
A brutally simple truth.
Kallias had known it long ago.
* * *
An old saying: Children grow through fights. Humans mature feeling emotions and pains in brawls.
"He's grown."
Elbeton, atop Jaybarshu's walls overlooking the field, thought the saying held truth.
The boy had grown.
Who would call him the north's wastrel now?
Ripping through the chaos, forging a path—he was no wastrel.
"A new wind blows."
Cough, cough!
Spitting blood-mixed coughs, Elbeton ignored his body, eyes fixed on Kallias.
Kallias's knights pierced the orc flank, arrow-straight toward Jaybarshu.
Amid the chaotic melee.
A silver flower bloomed.
"Struck the flank when they charged head-on. Even with Bernard, not an easy call."
Bernard wouldn't make that judgment.
Likely Kallias's.
Lucky. Timely.
But without skill to back it, it would have collapsed.
Yet Kallias succeeded.
Now nearing Jerban's main force at the army's rear.
"Was chasing you away right? Or wrong?"
Had exile forged this growth?
Or was the potential always there? Elbeton shook off useless thoughts.
Pointless now.
He was Jerban of the north before wastrel's father.
Muddy thoughts yielded to fierce north wind; time to act as north's lord.
Clang.
Screee!
Leaping from the wall, his dominantly drawn sword bore the north's biting gale.
Thud. Heavy stance stirred new winds.
Whooosh—!
The sword born with the north.
Stormblade Kallis split the field like Moses' miracle.
Black hair, red cloak fluttering between orcs and Jerban soldiers, heavy steps advanced.
"Kallias."
His son's eyes, drenched in green blood, held no gaze for a father.
Thus, the father treated him no son.
"War's just begun. Need rest?"
"...No."
"Then go take it. Bring the heads of those who ravaged the north!"
Elbeton's roar sent soldiers' swords skyward.
And Kallias too.
Turned back in response.
Leaving Jaybarshu just reached behind.
* * *
Thud, thud.
"Haa..."
Unable to fully shed armor, feet propped on an unnamed crate, Kallias slumped in the chair and exhaled deeply.
Three days.
Three grueling days of battlefield, crossing death dozens of times, limits hundreds.
Orcs weren't hard. Soldiers, warriors—even now, no match.
Perfect to correct bad habits.
'The problem was those.'
Giant beasts.
Orcs had somehow tamed them—shaggy rhinos fighting alongside.
House-sized, so even skilled swordplay meant death on one slip.
Their bulk made them sluggish; eyes or vitals downed them.
But...
"Sir, water here."
Gulp, gulp.
Kallias drained the bucket, wiping blood and sweat from gear with a wet cloth.
"Somehow didn't die."
"Heh heh, you know my life's tenacity best, sir. Haha!"
After three days, Brans had survived to rest.
Minor wounds, but hale compared to scattered dead knights and soldiers.
"How much longer?"
"Who knows. Battlefield—month or year, unknown."
But it wouldn't drag.
They'd want the castle before reinforcements.
Orcs lacked time.
We just defended...
'Halved, huh.'
Forces halved.
No Jerban elites, numerical disadvantage clear.
Avoided worst, but second-worst.
"How are the old man and Emily?"
"Both resting. War could restart anytime."
Light bruises only.
No deep wounds.
Lucky, at least.
"Ah, knight Allen lost an eye. So young, tsk tsk."
"Is that so."
Lost an eye in war.
Limbs spared—a knight's fortune—but adaptation would take time.
"Knights who followed me."
"Figure half dead."
"I see."
Veterans fell too.
Not all unscathed.
Bitter, but inevitable.
That's war.
"Still, more follow you now. Heard soldiers whispering praises with these eyes and ears!"
"Brans."
"Yes! Sir! Even talk you should be north's new lord over that Killaban or whatever! No worries!"
"Quiet."
"Yes!"
But Brans beamed.
What joy facing death anytime?
Death ends it.
"Where's Killaban?"
"Dunno. Soldiers don't know either. Probably cursing somewhere..."
"Hm, I see."
Wheel of Patalite.
He's likely tangled in this quest.
"No big deal."
"Pardon? What?"
"Nothing."
[Wheel of Patalite]
-Killed Orcs: 1172
-Killed Beasts: 486
-Saved People: 193
-???
<Reward> [A+] ???
If tangled, just cut.
Rewards rise too.
That's all I need.
Others irrelevant.
More pressing concerns nag.
My greatest worry.
Dreaded scenario.
Now inescapably close.
"Kallias von Jerban."
Burly elder with short-bound white hair calls Kallias.
'Nohtel.'
Jerban butler sworn to Elbeton. Nohtel.
Paladin-level skill.
Old man rigid as a honed sword.
The butler calls him.
"The Count summons you."
Elbeton's call.
Normally, he'd go without question.
Not now.
"Only the god above, Valterus, commands my come or go. Want me? Have him come himself. Count's hound."
Count Family Wastrel trait.
Begins dominating my body.