Chapter 45
Chapter 45
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 45
Chapter Title: March of Defiance
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Scritch, scritch, scritch.
As autumn drew to a close, the sergeants dispatched from each encampment in the Northern Colony stood rigidly at attention before the total overseer.
Yet despite the crowd of sergeants gathered in one place, not even the sound of swallowing could be heard in the overseer's office.
Even these born warriors had tucked their tails between their legs before one orc who busily scratched away with his quill.
Iron Governor Ogmar.
He was the pillar supporting the Northern Colony, where third-rate troops and conscripted soldiers were dumped, and the exceptional Aura warrior revered by all orcs.
But even Ogmar clicked his tongue as he sorted through the reports the sergeants had brought.
"The harvest yield is down."
"Th-that's!"
"I know. But come on, you've got to ease up on the gorging. This is too much, isn't it?"
The Northern encampments were dumping grounds for those cast out of power or hopeless incompetents.
As such, every kind of corruption festered there, with skimming resources meant for the homeland being the most basic offense.
But this was going too far.
The resources shipped to the overseer were down more than twenty percent from last year.
Ogmar, who had tried to understand the exiled chieftains' frustrations as much as possible, pinched the bridge of his nose, reaching the limit of his patience.
"Get back to your encampments right now and tell the chieftains again. Send the exact quota—the full harvest! Got it?"
"Yes, sir!"
"If you're done here, get out!"
They get spoiled, and they forget their place.
The orc sergeants, pale-faced before Ogmar's fury, scurried out the door in a herd.
Thud, bang!
Ogmar had held the governor's post since the Northern Colony was founded, living a hectic life.
The orc who had endured on loyalty alone now felt his age creeping up.
Ogmar downed the harsh distilled liquor like water and let out a deep sigh.
"Hoo..."
Since the great emperor's death, the homeland remained mired in civil war chaos.
But the orcs weren't tightening their belts—instead, they were slowly forgetting their old spirit.
It was time to find a successor for the governorship and hand over the reins, but no suitable talent was in sight. It was frustrating.
Ogmar thought of the dim-witted sergeants who only knew how to swing a sword and took another swig.
Knock knock.
"...Come in."
The bitter taste hadn't faded when someone knocked.
It was probably the aide he'd sent out to check on his orders.
"Governor Ogmar?"
"Yes. Did you find out?"
The door opened at his invitation.
Ogmar asked indifferently toward the aide who had come to his office.
He hated beating around the bush.
The aide gulped and spoke quickly.
"I asked around the nearby encampments, and the entire tribe from that one has vanished. No signs of invasion, so it looks like a mass relocation..."
"Without any report? On their own?"
"...Yes."
One encampment had failed to show for the autumn harvest report it was supposed to submit.
At first, Ogmar had brushed it off as a delay, but no matter how long he waited, the encampment's sergeant never arrived.
Feeling uneasy, he'd dispatched aides to nearby sites.
The news that returned was shocking: the entire encampment had deserted without permission.
"...No idea when they left?"
"They just found out too. You know how it is."
"This is driving me insane."
The encampments managing regions and slave villages operated as independent tribal units.
Compounded by the harsh terrain, there was virtually no exchange between them.
But even so, how could a neighboring encampment disappear entirely without anyone knowing when?
This elf-balled Northern Colony!
Ogmar grimaced, feeling something boil over as he crushed his brow.
"Report it to the homeland for now. We'll send an investigation team after winter."
"...Is that okay?"
"What, cover it up? He's the emperor's son."
The chieftain of the vanished encampment was Tigr.
The emperor's forty-fourth son, an incompetent, unlucky prince cast out of power.
No matter that he'd been exiled north and deserted without the governor's permission, they couldn't ignore the emperor's bloodline lightly.
Idiots.
Ogmar sighed, gazing out the window, dreading a busy spring ahead.
The North seemed to wish they'd all vanish quickly, spewing the first snow heralding early winter.
"Damn it, trash falling from the sky!"
Ogmar rose with a curse.
He had to clear the snow.
"It suits you well."
"...It's too soft."
Snow-Covered's eyes widened round.
She gently stroked the black bear leather armor she'd donned, murmuring in quiet admiration.
Red Iron had personally crafted this king's armor from the massive black bear hide hunted in the village.
Its thick fur provided insulation and outstanding durability—a perfect suit of armor.
This would block blind arrows and even swords without Aura.
I draped a black bear cloak matching Snow-Covered's hair over her shoulders and patted her back.
"There. Now let's go."
"Yes!"
The ragged girl who once huddled like a beggar was gone; a dignified lord stood before me.
Snow-Covered buckled on the king's sword, familiar with its weight, and squared her shoulders proudly.
Step, step, step.
Whooooosh——!!
The cold early-winter air swept over our faces and bodies as we walked the corridor.
But alongside it burned an inexplicable heat.
Something writhed within.
It was an itchy, intense emotion impossible to contain without voicing.
This was contagion.
The infection of excitement from that fierce stirring.
"————."
Creeeak, clunk.
Snow-Covered and I stepped out of the building.
Beyond the open doors, the Northern Army in formation and countless villagers gazed at us.
A breathtaking sight that made my heart pound.
One race, all Northern humans, gathered for today's expedition ceremony.
A silence so deep no breath could be heard.
A solemn grip on weapons.
I slowly stepped away from Snow-Covered, heading to where the commanders gathered.
Now, the gazes of all these people fell solely on Snow-Covered.
But the child didn't tremble.
Instead, she strode boldly to the front, gripping the king's sword for all to see.
Step, step, thud!
She halted.
Snow-Covered's small mouth opened.
"I was born with a destined fate. Born premature in the village, I was fated to live like a slave and die like one. The same was true for all of you."
Snow-Covered began the speech we had rehearsed sleeplessly, revising it over and over.
Her Aura-infused voice reached every human without needing to shout.
"It was simple logic of power. Born weak, persecuted like our ancestors, we were doomed to that fate for a hundred years, a thousand. Our children and descendants too."
"Was that fate decreed by heaven?"
Snow-Covered stepped toward the soldiers.
She met each one's eyes, gripping their unyielding weapons alongside them.
Her eyes burned hot.
She had believed a lifetime of self-recrimination meant fate couldn't be defied, yet this tiny king planted her feet firmly and cried out.
"Then I refuse to heed it! If crushed, we rise; if persecuted, we resist! With all of you who took up arms for family, neighbors, and humanity—until the end! Until the end, we defy our fate!"
"Even if it is heaven's mandate!"
Defying heaven, rebelling against the skies.
Like the child who gripped the king's sword, escaping her fated lot, humans were born to defy fate.
Snow-Covered, biting her lip, drew her sword before the trembling, excited soldiers.
Shing!
"If defeat and death are the natural logic of power, then throw it back at them! Now, who must die!"
Flutter!
As Snow-Covered drew her blade, the soldiers raised red flags as if on cue.
Flames engulfing the Broken Sword!
Human hearts reignited after the kingdom's fall forged that sharp blade.
If we must die, then for tomorrow.
For mother North!
The army departing Northplomb began its march amid the first snow heralding early winter.
"Kuhahaha!"
"One more!"
As the first snow signaling winter fell, the encampment began its scheduled dismantlement.
Even a slight delay, and the North's freezing cold would lock the steel solid.
But some ugly orcs descended to the slave village, tormenting humans as if to commemorate their final shift.
There was no reason.
Just as a child rips wings off a beetle for fun, without cause.
"Damn, he's dead!"
The boy crumpled after a stone hit his head.
He'd been running as the orc bastards ordered, only to take a rock to the back of the skull.
The orc who'd lost the bet grumbled in regret.
Refusing to admit defeat, he dragged a nearby cowering girl over and flung her to the ground.
"One left!"
Thud!
The girl stared blankly at the boy, already lifeless.
Her dear brother who always secretly picked wild berries whenever she whined about hunger.
The orc scum who'd killed him for boredom laughed merrily.
What was so fun about toying with humans too weak to resist?
But there was nothing she could do.
She was a weak, wretched slave.
The girl quietly clutched her head, huddling and awaiting the horrific pain to come.
Clank, clank, clank.
Then, idle footsteps sounded from the bushes right behind the corpse.
Maybe a comrade dismantling the encampment buildings had returned?
The orc warriors, mid-fun, regretfully set down their stones and stood.
"Hm?"
But the one approaching wasn't a comrade or superior—it was a human male.
A human knight, heavily armed in black bear armor and wielding a sharp sword.
The knight glanced indifferently at the orcs, then spotted the girl and dead boy.
His face twisted like a demon's.
"...Perfect timing. I needed a warmup."
"R-retired knight? Call a sergeant!"
"Yeah, call them all."
Sching!
Broken Sword drew his black blade.
He strode toward the orc warriors scrambling to summon a sergeant.
Grrrrrr...
No matter how fearsome the human knight, he was a white-haired, doddering relic.
While their comrade fetched the sergeant, the orc warriors moved to block him, hefting their axes one by one.
Eight in number—more than enough for one human knight.
But that notion shattered miserably at the sound that followed.
Bwooooooo——!!
A horn blared.
The forest shook.
The ground quaked like an earthquake, vibrations from the approaching host reaching them.
The orc warriors paled.
Behind Broken Sword, an armed human army emerged.
Click, click, click, click!
Sharp spears and swords, tough leather armor.
Fierce eyes gleamed from fur helmets, disciplined steps echoing even here.
This was no mere uprising.
A fierce wind blew through the quiet North.
Slash!
Thud!
Broken Sword swung his blade like a flash of light.
Two fleeing orc warriors collapsed limply, spurting green blood.
"I said call them all."
Broken Sword shook the blood from his sword.
Then, as if mocking them to laugh at humans again, he gripped the hilt.
The last sight the orc warriors beheld was the swordmaster's blade.