Chapter 32
Chapter 32
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 32
Chapter Title: Wolves Lead the Way
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Arf! Arf!
The wolf barked fiercely.
At that, the orc warrior fully released the steel chain around its neck, ordering it to follow the scent it had just picked up.
Awooooo—!!
The wolves went berserk once their chains were off.
It was because they detected the scent of their own kind and packmates not far from here.
They shot forward like arrows, sniffing the ground like dogs as they pursued the trail.
The place they reached was a collapsed outpost base littered with the charred corpses of wolves.
The orc warrior snorted and shouted,
"Gruk, over here!"
Arf! Arf!
Fwoosh!
Numerous torches flickered into view amid the trees.
Startled animals fled in all directions, while massive orc footprints stamped into the dirt.
The orc warriors, reeking of steel and thick blood that clashed with the peaceful forest, had finally reached the northern frontier by following the river upstream.
One orc warrior raised his torch high and muttered at the sight of the ruined outpost.
"Traces of those human bastards."
"Keh heh, Lord Tigr was right."
No need for a long detour—the orc warriors who had advanced along the river upstream followed the suddenly agitated wolves.
There, they found traces of the wolves that had gone missing during the march,
and at the end of those traces stood the outpost where humans and wolves had clashed.
It looked like the humans had won against the wolves, but no matter how hard they tried to burn away the evidence, traces always remained.
Just as Chieftain Tigr had said, humans had formed a village nearby.
"This is the area. Do the tracks continue?"
"No, they cut off. There's a seasoned warrior among them."
Unfortunately, the humans who triumphed at the outpost left no further traces afterward.
It was as if a veteran warrior had led them, erasing everything cleanly.
A seasoned human warrior. A large village.
The orc scouts chuckled darkly at the thought of finding big game.
"Should we report to Lord Tigr?"
"Gruk, yeah. Send a messenger first. Tell him the village is close by, so we'll find it soon enough!"
"Heh heh, he'll be pleased."
Orc society drew little distinction between civilians and warriors.
That allowed them to mobilize vast numbers for battle, so even this mere scouting party was considerable in size.
And with wolves in tow, locating a human village nearby was only a matter of time.
The orc warrior bared his thick fangs in a grin and spat thick phlegm onto the ground.
"Occupy every path! Grab anything that moves and drag out the village's location!"
The orcs cheered toward the sky.
The coming war had them thrilled.
Crackle, pop.
In the pitch-black mountain range without a speck of light,
three people lay by a small campfire in front of a cave suitable as a hideout.
After a grueling night march that stretched late, the Gray Wolf had finally selected a spot to light a modest fire and rest.
Unlike Barley Stalk, who slept soundly oblivious to the world, Snow-Covered sat with her back to the fire, lost in quiet, profound meditation.
She resembled a deep lake, or a fresh pile of snow just beginning to accumulate.
The Gray Wolf, who had gently opened his eyes, spoke.
"...In three hours, dawn will break. You should sleep now, at least."
Physically and in terms of stamina, Barley Stalk surpassed Snow-Covered.
But Snow-Covered, with her iron will, regulated her body even after such a harsh march to maintain peak condition.
Snow-Covered replied,
"A bit longer, and it'll be done, sir."
"You never call me Master to the end. That stung just now."
"................."
"I'm kidding."
The emotion the Gray Wolf felt upon first meeting Barley Stalk was pure astonishment.
He never dreamed a mere slash-and-burn farmer's son would possess qualities worthy of a hero.
The Gray Wolf saw it as fate and took his first disciple in life.
He taught swordsmanship and aura diligently, planning to introduce Barley Stalk to the ever-visiting Broken Sword this year as well.
Look at this child.
My personally trained disciple.
But cruelly, a full year of effort and expectation had turned to naught. 'Snow-Covered.' Swordsmanship mirroring her master the Sword Saint exactly, innate aura talent that absorbed every lesson like water. Yet greater than that talent was her refusal to rest on achievements—she gripped her sword until the end. And that talent and effort aimed solely at justice and the greater good. Truly a pure child, like her namesake. An unyielding core that seemed determined to uphold convictions in this chaotic world. The more he watched, the prouder he felt, and over time, a strong pull grew within him. It closely resembled the subtle feeling he'd had upon first seeing the Knight King. 'No.' But the Gray Wolf denied it fiercely the more it stirred. Even if Barley Stalk had disappointed him lately, their bond over the year wouldn't crumble so easily. He would fulfill his duty to his disciple, aiding him until he matured into a knight fulfilling his own role. But today, as an elder, he wanted to advise Snow-Covered.
"It's Broken Sword himself. He won't fall to mere orcs, so don't worry too much."
Snow-Covered flinched. She seemed fine on the outside, but inside, she wasn't. No matter how strong she acted, at her age, she had a heart to match. And as the Gray Wolf predicted, Snow-Covered—who had shown no stir moments ago—gave a faint twitch of her right shoulder. With her back turned, he couldn't see her face. But he didn't pry, closing his eyes toward the sky instead.
"Your master believes in you. So believe in him too, and return safely."
"...Yes."
Right now, all focus and stamina had to go toward reaching the village unharmed. With that finally accepted in her heart, Snow-Covered quietly ended her meditation. The stars filling the sky were her roof, and since she couldn't see its end, this land was her home. With that belief, Snow-Covered lay down on the same earth as Broken Sword.
".........."
Barley Stalk, thought to be asleep, tossed and bit his lip silently.
Under Broken Sword's lead, now fully in command, village defenses progressed swiftly.
The Gray Wolf had prepared well for war, and Blue Hand's joining allowed deployment of solid fighters like the Huskarls.
Residents gradually adapting thanks to the affable patrol captain's persuasion, and soldiers sweating buckets to guard the perimeter today as always.
Thus, a day of everyone's hard labor passed, and the critical night of the Gray Wolf's joining deepened.
But at that hour when no one should venture out, a cart pulled by a pony climbed a mountain path thirty minutes from the village.
Clatter, clatter, clatter.
"Father! Isn't it unusually quiet today?"
"It is. Not a soul passing by."
Farmer Big Root and his son Snipe-Eye were returning from their old slash-and-burn village with seedlings for spring planting.
It was quite a distance, taking five days, but Big Root had secured the seedlings safely and profited from trade.
The cart brimmed with fun trinkets and snacks to share with villagers.
Yet oddly, the mountain paths near the village felt eerily silent today.
Not even the Huskarls who usually patrolled to the forest edge were in sight.
Snipe-Eye asked with a worried face.
"Nothing bad happened, right...?"
"Hey now! What kind of talk is that with what kind of lord we have? Everyone's just busy with spring work."
The bandits and barbarians who once harassed slash-and-burn folk around here had long been swept away by the village lord, Gray Wolf.
Big Root, who had witnessed that might firsthand, smacked his son's head while affirming his steadfast faith in the Gray Wolf.
Superstitious words like that invited bad luck.
Big Root kept driving the cart slowly through the unusually quiet path.
Big Root said,
"Let's stop by the farm storage first. We start work tomorrow, so unload the seedlings and pick up tools for repairs."
"Yes, Father."
Judging by the timing, the village would bustle with farming from tomorrow.
The father and son, hurrying out of the thickly darkened forest path, arrived at the fields and storage after another ten minutes.
Clatter, clatter, clatter.
Creeeak!
"I'll store the seedling bags. You gather the tools from near the field."
"Yes, be careful."
The fields lay dark and silent.
After scanning around thoroughly, Big Root unloaded from the cart and told Snipe-Eye to fetch the tools left by the plot.
Precious tools that would labor for them until harvest.
He'd take them to the village forge for cleaning, polishing, and refurbishing.
"Whew, always the tough jobs for me."
"Want your old man to go instead?"
Snipe-Eye grumbled at the heavy tools.
But unwilling for another whack, he scurried toward the fields.
After five days of hard work, maybe Father would give him a snack on returning home.
Thinking of his mother and siblings he missed, Snipe-Eye diligently gathered the tools.
"— — — — —?"
But in that instant, a thick question flashed through his mind.
'Why aren't the grasshoppers chirping?'
Winter past and spring come, nights usually buzzed with insect calls.
Yet now, surrounded by forest, it was silent as the dark night sky.
Snipe-Eye felt an inexplicable unease.
To shake it off, he quickened his steps toward the storage.
Clunk, clunk.
Nothing's wrong.
Just get home.
Reaching the storage, the son opened his mouth to call his father.
Thud! Bang!
"Fa...?"
In that moment, the firmly shut storage door burst open as his blood-soaked father stumbled out.
And toward his son somewhere nearby, he screamed in a tearing voice.
"Run, son!!! Run away!!!"
In the impenetrable darkness, countless suits of armor began to shimmer.
Blood, swords, axes, snorts, filthy spittle.
The shapes he'd thought mere shadows of night-fear slowly revealed themselves, and young Snipe-Eye couldn't swallow properly.
Orcs, straight from illustrations.
His father's horrific screams from their grasp urged the still-hidden boy to flee.
"Gaaaaahhhhh— — —!!"
Snipe-Eye dropped the tools.
And toward the village, he ran madly, bursting into tears.