Chapter 46
Chapter 46
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 46
Chapter Title: Encampment Ambush
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The ambush on the encampment was effective.
The orc commander, who had never even imagined such a massive force, failed to properly control his orc warriors and was forced into battle.
But that didn't mean it turned into a one-sided slaughter.
No matter how elite a third-rate army was, orcs were born and bred for combat.
Even without orders from their commander, they charged ferociously at the human army.
'Shield Wall!'
Bam! Crunch!
A classic anvil battle unfolded.
Leading the vanguard were none other than the Oak Shield Wall, with Gray Wolf personally raising a shield to command them from the front.
True to their armament of steel and brute strength, the orcs pushed relentlessly against the Oak Shield Wall.
No sooner had the soldiers raised their shields than sharp, heavy axes came flying toward their heads.
But we hadn't marched out just to fall to an assault like this.
'Hold the line, no matter what!'
If you asked today's commanders who had undergone the most grueling training among the troops that set out, every one of them would point to the Oak Shield Wall.
They had forged the shield wall through pain that carved away at their flesh and bone, and the fruits of that effort were now on full display on the battlefield.
Bam!
They didn't budge.
The shield wall held its formation without yielding an inch, even against the innate orc warriors.
The ones who panicked instead were the orcs.
Just imagine facing countless humans glaring at you from between the shields, eyes burning with murderous intent.
In that moment, the orcs forgot their warrior's pride and felt the sting of fear.
'Archers!'
As the shield wall held firm, the battlefield opened up.
The clever Blue Hand had circled the archer unit around immediately after the first volley.
Seizing the moment when the orcs were distracted, they unleashed a perfect flanking barrage.
Screeeeech—!
Fwib-fwib-fwip!
A hail of arrows poured down in a direct barrage.
Exposed to ranged fire with no time to defend, the orc warriors fell like dominoes.
And that was that.
The battle was effectively over the moment we allowed the flank.
But the Northern Army had no intention of letting the scattering survivors escape.
Tooooooot—!
The now-familiar horn blared.
With it came the thunderous pounding of heavy hooves shaking the field, as the cavalry appeared.
The White-Horned Deer cavalry, whose majesty alone outshone the warhorses the orcs rode.
Amid the horn's resounding call across the battlefield, the cavalry led by Snow-Covered and me charged into view.
'Charge!'
Clop-clop-clop-clop!
Overwhelming mass, speed, power!
The cavalry raced down the slope in an instant and slammed into the routed foes.
Crunch!
With barded warhorses already massacring infantry, imagine the devastation from White-Horned Deer with their massive, razor-sharp antlers leading the way.
The orcs died pathetically, their steel armor and all torn apart, bodies and heads ripped to shreds.
The first battle to reclaim the region ended in the Northern Army's overwhelming victory.
Caw, caw!
But instead of cheers and jubilation, we silently cleaned the battlefield and prepared for the next fight.
The North we needed to reclaim was far too vast, and the joy of victory was still distant.
Only belatedly arriving crows insolently strutted over the corpses.
Having safely concluded the first battle, the Northern Army set up camp at the captured encampment.
Once treatment of the wounded and sorting of spoils were complete, the commanders hurried to the command tent.
But the first thing we did upon gathering wasn't praise for merits or warm words of thanks—it was an awkward laugh.
Blue Hand, checking the inventory of spoils, opened his mouth with a look of disbelief.
"······We can send back the next supply convoy, right?"
The encampment built by the orcs was meant to store resources produced in the Northern colonies and ship them back to the homeland.
But the greedy chieftains had siphoned off those resources for themselves, stashing them intact in personal warehouses they'd built.
The quantity was enough for us to use plenty and still ship the surplus back to our rear base at Northplomb.
As Blue Hand said, we could probably return the supplies the territory had scrimped and saved to send us.
Gray Wolf stroked his now-bearded chin and muttered.
"We should pick up the pace of our advance. We need to claim it all before they ship it back home."
"······Agreed."
This wasn't mere personal greed.
These resources were the blood and sweat exploited from Northern humans treated like slaves.
We had to at least return fair wages for their labor to the freed villagers.
And Snow-Covered, who knew that pain better than anyone, spoke up with a troubled expression.
"For tonight's dinner, open the warehouses and distribute food generously. Lots of meat... warm and delicious."
"Yes, understood."
These villagers had eaten only rough, cold fare their whole lives.
Right now, a bowl of warm meat stew meant more to them than words like hope or ideals.
The commanders smiled warmly at their young lord who especially emphasized "delicious."
With the first order of business settled, Gray Wolf scratched his head vigorously and asked.
"So, have we decided on the next target?"
"······Yeah, we have a plan."
We'd chosen this encampment as our first target simply because it was the closest.
But the further south we went, the more evenly distributed the encampments became, so it was right to set clear objectives and targets for our advance.
Strike the intendant's office to force a short war?
Or conquer villages one by one, establishing outposts to draw out a prolonged conflict?
Of course, the commanders were of one mind.
'End this war before winter fades.'
'Use short-term battles for long-term gains.'
We'd chosen this time to open hostilities precisely to exploit the advantages of winter and cold.
No matter how many victories we racked up through the winter, if spring brought a massive homeland invasion, it would all be meaningless.
Thus, this war had to be short and decisive, while securing long-term results.
Our choice—waging war and governance simultaneously—was plain as day.
'Reclaim the capital.'
The North, once called a kingdom, had cities where many humans gathered and lived.
But the massive invasion had destroyed them all, leaving mostly ruins.
Only one had retained its form and held out to the end.
The old Northern Kingdom's capital, Snow Garden—center of the colonial rule, seat of the governor-general and intendant.
The heart of the North, stolen by the orcs, where the king once resided.
Thud!
I pointed to pre-marked spots on the map one by one as I spoke.
"With our current forces, siege warfare is impossible. So as we push south, we'll liberate every encampment we see, feint the enemy, and draw them into open battle."
To maximize our advantages, we needed to drag the forces hunkered in the intendant's office out into the open.
And if we could win even one field battle, smashing the near-equivalent center at the intendant's office would let us crush the remnants piecemeal.
"Not easy. But worth a shot."
If we thought we could beat the orcs easily, we wouldn't have started this war.
We met each other's eyes with resolute expressions, steeling ourselves for the trials ahead.
Blue Hand cleared the table.
"I'll head back and prepare for departure. Next encampment... Arrow Shaft Village, huh. Perfect—we were running low anyway."
"Ah...!"
Arrow Shaft Village.
Right—the slave village that made arrow shafts and its encampment were around here.
What an ironic twist of fate. The grand finale of destiny that began there had come full circle.
I glanced sideways, and Snow-Covered met my eyes with a similar flicker of surprise.
The king's return—perfectly fitting words for this moment.
"Come on! Grab a bowl and line up one by one! Plenty to go around!"
Soldiers hauled massive pots bigger than their own torsos, sweat pouring down their faces.
Those enormous pots bubbled with hearty soup packed full of meat and vegetables.
But this wasn't for the soldiers—it was specially made for the villagers.
At the call to take a bowl each, the hushed villagers began to murmur.
"Are they really giving it to us too?"
"Th-that's real meat..."
They couldn't believe it at first.
Humans—not some other race—armed with spears and shields, attacking orcs?
How did they plan to handle the backlash from such a foolish stunt?
Having seen countless failed rebellions, the villagers had hidden in their homes, fearing repercussions.
But these conquerors of the encampment weren't mere bandits or childish rebels.
The soldiers maintaining discipline and order looked just like the proud ones from a very distant past.
The half-doubting villagers gradually gathered at the pots, holding out wooden bowls.
Were they really sharing food?
Their hunger-filled eyes followed the soldier's busy ladle.
Splash! Glug-glug—plop, plop.
Gulp.
The soldier scooped the soup.
It was so thick that chunks overflowed before the broth even finished pouring.
How long had it been since they'd seen real food like this?
As the sun set, their lingering anxiety and suspicion melted away cleanly with one bowl of meat stew.
Clatter! Clatter!
Distribution wrapped up quickly.
Villagers plopped down on the muddy snow and devoured the soup like mad.
Their stomachs warmed and filled.
Even spitting out scalding-hot meat with a hiss felt like bliss.
But as bellies filled and reason returned, questions about the soldiers grew.
One elder, the oldest among them, finally stepped forward after exchanging glances.
"Wh-what's to become of us? Are you dragging us somewhere else?"
Typically, conquerors of an encampment would issue harsh orders or conscript the attached villagers.
Yet even as the sun set, no one besides the food-distributing soldiers had entered the village.
"Uh... hold on a sec."
The soldier vigorously stirring the boiling soup turned to his superior.
"Squad leader, any orders from above? The elder's asking."
"Haven't heard any other orders... Just keep handing out food."
"That's what they said. Want another bowl?"
"Y-yes!"
The bewildered elder nodded dazedly and accepted another bowl.
Then the surrounding villagers swarmed the pot like they were entranced.
Fill their bellies first.
Snow-Covered, who knew hunger's torment better than anyone, wanted to share food today, tomorrow, and the day after.
And that simple, pure intent reached the long-passive slave villagers effectively.
Bread to eat now over faded ideals.
A clear tomorrow over baseless hope!
These weren't mere dreamers who talked big—they were doers who moved reality.
More delicious soup!
More soup!
The next day's march saw the villagers naturally packing up and trailing the army.
And as time passed, the distance between the column and the troops shrank.
It didn't take long for the Northern Army and the soup caravan to merge.
Thus united, the Northerners pressed southward.