Chapter 33
Chapter 33
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: The Scout Party
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Yesterday, I'd spent the entire day caught up in my duties and only managed to hit the sack late at night.
But before I could even shake off my fatigue, I was roused by a summons. The messenger said the situation was too urgent for anything but grabbing my sword and heading out.
It was the wee hours of the morning, before even the faintest light of dawn had broken.
The village square, where I'd rushed to, was packed with folks forming a circle.
"Everyone, calm down! This isn't the kid's fault! Hey, stop that!"
"I-I'm sorry... I did wrong. Please, just save my father."
Sobs, despair, resentment, rage.
The clamor of voices, swirling with every emotion under the sun, grated on my nerves.
I lowered my gaze.
In the center of the square, a child was prostrated, trembling uncontrollably, while the gathered villagers glared at him coldly.
But it wasn't the fury of an active volcano—it was a mix of hollow frustration and blame-laden lamentation.
Sensing something off, I slipped quietly into the crowd and spoke to the patrol captain.
"What in the world happened? Who's this kid, and why are all these people gathered...?"
"Ah...! You've arrived!"
The patrol captain greeted me warmly as I hurried over.
But that warmth faded fast, his face slowly twisting into despair.
With a voice heavy with dismay, he told me,
"Orcs have shown up in the farmlands. Armed warriors, they say."
"So they've come. Who spotted them?"
"...There was a villager who was away on business and hadn't heard the news. This kid's father has been captured in the farmlands."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
I rubbed my face with one hand, quickly suppressing the flicker of unrest inside me.
But the others around weren't so composed—they started buzzing noisily.
"........."
Blame poured down on the child.
The emotions churning just moments ago now burned in people's eyes, ready to explode.
If the reinforcements hadn't arrived in time, the kid would've faced a mob lynching right there.
I whispered to the patrol captain,
"Where are the rest of the family?"
Crowds don't think straight.
It was obvious they just wanted to vent their anger at the kid who'd put them in danger.
But convincing this many villagers right now wasn't feasible, so I had to at least put on a show of calming things down.
"...We snuck them to the assembly hall."
"Good call."
Veteran patrol captain, as expected.
He'd separated the family under the pretext of detention while minding the villagers' moods.
The situation was absurd and unfair all at once, but right now, salvaging the mess took priority.
I spotted the huskarls in the distance.
"Everyone, head back home!"
"Disperse, don't crowd!"
They'd arrived at just the right moment.
The huskarls swiftly dispersed the villagers, restoring order to the chaos.
And behind the scattering crowd strode Blue Hand with quick steps.
She took one look at the child still prostrated in the square's center, her eyes filled with pity.
"I heard the story. It wasn't deliberate, but the villagers are worked up."
I could understand the excited villagers' feelings, but what did this kid know to do it on purpose?
I let out a small sigh of agreement and turned to the patrol captain, who'd arrived first on scene.
"Did you confirm their numbers?"
"It was too dark to get a good look. Shouldn't we prepare for full-scale war?"
The patrol captain and Blue Hand were both leaning toward preparing for all-out war with the orcs.
The father taken hostage, and right in the farmlands—they figured our village location was blown.
But I saw it differently.
The area being dark when spotted meant they'd doused their torches and moved stealthily.
Orcs who prized bloody full-frontal charges in the name of honor only did that for one reason.
"It's definitely a scout party that's come first."
"......A scout party?"
"Yes, I'm sure of it. That's how they scout."
Our idea of scouting differed a bit from theirs.
Even their scout parties were no small force—built on pillaging and combat as basics.
High chance they'd circle the area even after confirming our position.
"We kill them before they report back."
Word was, it hadn't been long.
If we geared up quick and moved out, we could wipe them out.
The core of strategy and tactics I'd learned on the battlefield: immediate, thorough response.
If they'd used a villager as hostage to pinpoint us, we'd eradicate them utterly and scout their main force in turn.
"I'll trust you."
"Captain! Assemble the huskarls now!"
No time for nitpicking.
The patrol captain, trusting me, agreed at once, and Blue Hand hurried war prep too.
"Move, everyone!"
"Hurry! Quick, quick!"
The huskarls dashed about busily, while villagers hurried home to bar their doors.
An indescribable air of war loomed over the village like storm clouds.
"Hic, sob..."
"........."
As everyone headed to their posts, I stood alone in the now-empty square, about to rush home for my gear.
But in my last passing glance, the child, still prostrated, caught my eye.
Terrified yet wronged, the boy trembled nonstop, tears streaming endlessly.
No sign of his shoes—his bare feet caked in dirt and blood.
A small sigh escaped me.
I shoved down my tangled emotions, took off my outer garment, and draped it over the child.
Then I crossed the war-tainted village.
"Grrgh, urgh...!!"
In a forest not far from the ravaged farmlands, the child's father hung from a tree, enduring torture as a hostage.
His limbs already shattered, body a wreck. True to their infamous cruelty, the orcs' treatment of prisoners was merciless.
Yet amid the agony, no pleas for mercy escaped his lips—only heavy screams.
"Tough for a human mongrel."
Normally, a terrified human would've spilled the village location, even the number of his own brats.
But this one, possessed by some ghost, wouldn't crack no matter the torment. The orc warrior grew irritated.
"Huuugh, hah..."
The father knew.
If he talked here, his escaped son, family, and whole village would be doomed.
So even as teeth were yanked and toes severed, he kept silent, praying to the gods for a swift death.
But cruelly, his iron will was futile against brutal reality.
"Caught the escaped human?"
"Krrk, sent warriors to track him. If he went back to the village..."
"We can find it."
Good news indeed.
Grinning to bare his thick molars, the orc warrior eyed the drooling, bloodied man coldly.
Finding the village was now just a matter of time.
Already annoyed by this stubborn bastard, now he could finally clear the irritation.
The orc captain spat thick phlegm on the ground and kicked the bloodied man.
Thud!
"Cut off his head, impale it on a pike. Feed the limbs to the wolves."
Orcs knew no noble honor.
A human who wouldn't break even in death was just a nuisance.
A savagery too gruesome for words.
In his fading mind, the man sensed death creeping slowly upon him.
Thump, drag drag drag.
The orc, looking annoyed, gripped his axe and hauled the man backward.
He dropped the pike for the head, then tossed the man to the dirt like trash.
"Hmph!"
Simple slaughter.
All the man's hard-earned experiences and memories would vanish so pointlessly.
The orc warrior raised his axe.
In the thick darkness, the keen blade caught its final gleam, like a death knell.
And it fell toward the man's neck—slowly, ever so slowly.
Whoosh!
For the first time, a regret too bitter to shrug off or dispel.
The man closed his trembling eyes, seeking peace in death.
Slash!
But in that instant, fresh blood—unseen before—splattered across his closed eyelids.
It was the filthy, ugly green blood of the orc, that devilish fiend.
What was happening? A dream?
Blinking his one remaining eye, the man turned to the scene behind.
Whoosh!
Suddenly, dozens of torches and banners rose in the darkened woods.
Those banners bore the sharp fangs of a gray wolf, hunting foes to exterminate; the torches, the burning resolve in their hearts.
They could not abide injustice,
Those who took up arms for human righteousness.
The huskarls, who had once battled the notoriously cruel orc warriors without yielding an inch, now gathered once more under the banners after long years.
And the knight who'd severed the orc's head in a flash gripped his sword hilt with both hands and intoned,
"For Mother North."
Clack, clack, clack, clack.
Their numbers swelled endlessly.
The unified footfalls thrummed like a giant's heartbeat, countless helms flickering like rapids under torchlight.
His body grew hot.
Heart pounding madly, he wanted to charge ahead right then.
And Broken Sword, carrying all that fervor on his back, climbed atop a rock overlooking the orcs and bellowed,
"Huskarls!"
Shing!
Clank! Shing!
All humans drew weapons.
The orcs, rushing forward, froze in shock and began stumbling back.
But there was no escape.
This was their home turf—the cold grave where the orcs would be buried.
The knight issued the final command.
"Annihilate the enemy!"
[For Mother North!!]
The armed huskarls and soldiers surged forward as if unleashed.
The panicked orcs tried to respond, but before that ferocious momentum, they crumbled like dirt under a torrent.
But the standout force was Broken Sword, stepping onto the battlefield once more to prove his legend.
Leaping from the rock, he plunged into the enemy ranks without hesitation.
Crunch!
Slash!
Orc necks severed like timber,
His swordplay unflinching even amid dozens of foes.
The blade, trailing sparks from the torches above, danced like a masterpiece painting.
Raaaaagh—!!!
Battle spirit was a drug, excitement a contagion.
The soldiers and huskarls, feeling like an unstoppable flood themselves, flowed after Broken Sword.
A fierce melee erupted.
And in that inescapable fray, the orcs tasted despair for the first time.
Humans were weak, pathetic.
But kill one, another latches on; kill that one, two more charge with axes swinging.
Where had he seen this before?
Right—ants defending their nest, biting a predator to death.
But before the orc captain could warn the main force, fleeing into the woods, his head was cleaved.
Slash!
The blood-scent heralding full war now chilled the once-peaceful northern wilds.