Chapter 47
Chapter 47
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 47
Chapter Title: Black-Haired Knight King
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“V-Village Chief, what in the world happened?”
“I don’t know either.”
The Arrow Shaft Village, attached to the orc encampment, was preparing for the harsh winter just like always.
They had to stockpile as much firewood and food as possible to survive the freezing cold.
But last night, when all should have been quiet, something shocking happened that startled the entire village.
From the direction of the orc encampment, where those filthy pigs had set up camp, red flames erupted alongside screams of every kind.
The village was already in disarray from last year’s ‘that incident,’ and now this—what fresh chaos was this?
Terrified, the villagers huddled in the relatively safe village hall, spending the night wide awake until morning.
The flames and screams had died down long ago.
Confirming the morning sunlight streaming through the window, the Village Chief spoke with a heavy expression.
“I’ll go check.”
“......Wouldn’t it be better to stay put? What if something happens to you out there?”
“When have those orc bastards ever needed a reason to kill? Better for this old man to go.”
Whenever these things happened, they were the ones who bore the brunt—the fallout and the venting of rage.
He didn’t know exactly what had gone down, but grasping the situation and groveling before the orcs was the best course.
The wise Village Chief, who devoted himself to the villagers despite being able to live comfortably as an overseer.
The residents bowed their heads with somber faces, volunteering to go with him.
But at that moment, a village youth who had been anxiously peering out the window cried out in alarm.
“Someone’s coming!”
The hall, packed with all the villagers, was instantly filled with uneasy murmurs.
The pale-faced Village Chief rushed to the window and peered outside.
Gulp.
Creeeak, creeeak, creeeak.
Clack, clack, clack, clack.
The first things to catch his eye were soldiers uniformly clad in armor and armed to the teeth.
But the faces visible through their helmets were unmistakably human, not orc, and their spear tips gleamed sharp, the heat of battle still fresh.
Armed humans? No—a whole army?
The Village Chief rubbed his eyes frantically, unable to believe the sight outside the window.
Then, a villager peering out alongside him gasped in shock.
“I-Isn’t that woman from the lower village a Vyrak?”
Vyrak—female slave farmhand.
One of the mocking names the orcs slapped on northerners.
But the Vyrak pushing the cart alongside the soldiers didn’t look like a slave anymore.
“Isn’t she the girl who married into the upper village three years ago?”
“......She was taken away during the population adjustment. W-Wasn’t she the lumberjack’s daughter?”
During the population culls to control numbers, some village kids had been dragged off to other slave villages.
And that Vyrak pulling the cart was one such unlucky child—her parents still lived in Arrow Shaft Village.
The lumberjack couple had barely survived the last three years, grief-stricken over losing their only daughter.
But now, the daughter they thought dead in some mountain wilds had suddenly appeared with soldiers in tow.
“Ah, ah......!”
The Vyrak’s mother, who had lost all vitality, let out a strange moan at the news of her daughter’s arrival.
And while the villagers were in a panic, she instinctively flung open the door and rushed outside.
The startled Village Chief and villagers reached out to stop her.
But the mother was already racing to the column, calling out to her fully grown daughter in a voice thick with longing.
“My girl!”
“Mom!”
It was her Vyrak, alright.
She had been pushing the cart with all her might, but now she stared in shock at her barefooted parents rushing out.
They embraced as if the other had risen from the dead, bursting into sobs.
But that was just the beginning.
Villagers spotted familiar faces outside—no need for the Village Chief to lead—and they poured out barefoot one after another.
“Son!”
“Sis! Sis, it’s me!”
Some reunited with long-lost children, others with sisters parted by starvation.
Arrow Shaft Village turned into a scene of family reunions in an instant, swelling with joyful residents.
The escorting soldiers maintained order but made no move to intervene.
On the contrary, they watched the reunions with proud expressions.
“Let’s go see, Village Chief.”
“......Yeah.”
The dam was bursting anyway.
At least the soldiers seemed friendly enough—the situation wasn’t all bad.
The Village Chief, leaning on his staff with a dazed look, stepped out of the hall with the village youths and approached the most seasoned-looking soldier.
“Uh, um, where might you be from......?”
“You the Village Chief?”
“Y-Yes!”
“Wait just a bit. She’ll be here soon.”
Who are you people? Where the hell did the orcs go for you to be here?
He had a million questions, but the soldier with the massive axe cut him off curtly.
The ‘she’ the soldier spoke of with respect—she would decide their fate.
The seasoned Village Chief sensed it instinctively.
But he never could have guessed her identity.
Clop, clop, clop, clop.
Halt!
Hoofbeats approached from the rear of the column.
The soldiers snapped to salute as if on cue, and the villagers fell silent amid the shifting mood.
Mane fluttering like fresh white snow, horns tall and majestic like ancient tree trunks.
Atop it sat a girl in black armor with black hair, riding at ease.
The Village Chief jolted in surprise.
His sharp memory from years as overseer recognized her face instantly.
The king’s successor, Snow-Covered.
The shaggy-haired slave girl had returned along the Golden Path just a year later.
'It doesn’t matter how long you live—how you live is what counts.'
That steadfast conviction everyone had scoffed at as foolish—what fruits had it borne?
The Village Chief couldn’t bring himself to raise his head.
The greatest advantage of the side initiating war is striking first.
Especially in this barbaric age without declarations of war.
Put a fish on the cutting board, and a chef who doesn’t prepare it isn’t a chef.
That was our position overlooking the orc encampment in the midst of dismantling.
What was the most effective way to minimize casualties?
Having fought countless wars, we unanimously chose a night raid.
The sun set,
and darkness fell over Arrow Shaft Encampment.
‘Fire!’
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
Incendiary arrows rained from the dark sky.
The wood-based camp naturally went up in roaring flames, and startled orcs stumbled out half-naked from sleep.
They grabbed only weapons to brace for the close-quarters fight after the fire assault.
But that was a fatal mistake.
The Blue Hands and archer units, who knew their habits well, nocked different arrows.
Black arrows, charred black by rubbing in campfire ashes.
Twang! Thwip!
Pfshuk!
‘Gahk......!’
An arrow’s trajectory can be blocked if spotted.
But black arrows blending into the night sky were impossible to track, even for sharp eyes.
Soundless, formless death.
Unarmored orcs became instant pincushions, collapsing to the ground.
And now was the time.
‘Waaaaah!’
Huskarls who’d already cleared the sentries led the charge, with encircling infantry advancing.
Numbers were even, but the battlefield favored us utterly.
Thud!
Craaack!
Oak Shield Wall formations hemmed in the thick-front orcs, Huskarls slamming battle axes into gaps.
Unarmored orcs were picked off like cattle, occasional Sergeants torn apart by Gray Wolves.
‘Kraaaah!!’
Finally, the chieftain’s desperate rampage.
Skilled in decent aura, he swung his massive twin blades wildly.
A worthy foe.
‘The enemy leader, come at me!’
But no thrashing could reverse the tide.
Moved by his demand for a 1-on-1 with Snow-Covered, I obliged.
‘Screw off.’
Archer unit!
The waiting Blue Hands unleashed a torrent of arrows on him.
‘Th-This! Kraaaah!’
Only Gray Wolf caliber could melt incoming arrows with aura.
This fool lacked the skill, turning porcupine from every direction.
Slash!
I approached the kneeling chieftain.
A casual beheading ended our conquest of the second encampment.
We seized ample supplies and liberated a slave village twice as large as the first.
As encampments grew, so did the number of freed northerners.
But we knew well the cost of this victory and freedom.
‘Return to your mothers.’
Many foes meant many losses.
I gathered the dead, salted them cleanly, wrapped them in this fall’s harvest grains, and buried them in northern soil.
It took plenty of grain and time, but no comrade begrudged it.
After a brief wartime eulogy, we decided to regroup here awhile.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Finishing the full battle record, I set down the quill,
and tucked the letter to Red Iron into the supply bundle for the logistics team.
The message was simple.
[You need to come here.]
Back-to-back battles had thinned our main Oak Shield Wall.
Frontline troops clashing directly with orcs suffered heavy casualties.
We’d filled ranks with liberated villager volunteers for now,
but lacked weapons and armor to equip the green recruits.
Couldn’t outfit rookies in ill-fitting orc gear.
Materials and setup were ready—Red Iron just needed to arrive.
Plus, we’d figure out housing for all these new northerners joining us.
With records sorted and stored, I rose from the field desk.
Rustle, rustle, rustle.
“Master?”
“Hm?”
Late night.
Yet Snow-Covered showed up unannounced—what wind blew this?
“Hehe.”
“......You’re drunk.”
“A little.”
That Gray Wolf-like rabbit ballsack.
Great that he gets along with the troops, but feeding booze to my young disciple?
I ground my teeth inwardly, eyeing Snow-Covered’s glutinous rice cake-soft face.
“Feeling good.”
She plopped down, face-planting on the desk, reeking of liquor.
But her words said elated, her eyes told another—glistening wet.
While I tidied the battlefield, she’d volunteered for Arrow Shaft Village alone.
I’d let her go knowing her tangled feelings, but something happened.
With a wry smile, I asked.
“You met that mother and daughter again, huh.”
“......Yeah, and the Village Chief too.”
Over a year ago now.
Snow-Covered drawing her sword to save that mother-daughter, while others fled instead of helping.
Her first taste of betrayal—shunned by those she saved.
“Did you talk to them?”
“No......”
“Why not?”
“They couldn’t meet my eyes.”
They knew shame as humans do.
A girl they’d dismissed as doomed now shone with grand destiny—they couldn’t face her.
But Snow-Covered didn’t see it as sweet revenge.
That hadn’t been her intent from the start.
“You thought they weren’t wrong.”
“......Yeah, it wasn’t their fault.”
Snow-Covered was pure as snow.
She’d apologize for being late, never blame them.
But the world wasn’t so white.
Relations forged not by pure hearts, but by the sword and armor she bore.
For the first time, she saw fear in the villagers’ gazes upon her.
The crowned must bear the crown’s weight.
Ruling myriad humanity from northern heights, she learned it now.
Snow-Covered murmured, eyes heavy with sleep.
“I just wanted to say hi......”
Impressive, well done, good girl.
To a child grown without parents, her home village was identity, longing for kin.
But like old memories, that longing left only scars binding the present.
Admitting no return was heartbreak.
Stroke, stroke.
I reached out.
And gently stroked Snow-Covered, enduring growth’s pains.