Chapter 50
Chapter 50
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 50
Chapter Title: For Our Returned Comrades
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“For our returned comrades.”
The Gray Wolf raised his glass in a calm voice that everyone could hear.
The commanders and veteran soldiers seated at the long table all lifted their glasses in unison, blessing each other's futures now that they were reunited.
Though it was wartime and the glasses held mostly water alongside simple fare,
we had generously shared the meat from our hunts with the soldiers and villagers.
A modest banquet unfolded in a restrained atmosphere.
The laughter drifting between the blazing square braziers even conjured the illusion of returning to a cherished past.
“Yah!”
“Ooooooh——!!”
And contrary to my worries, Snow-Covered was quickly bonding with the veteran soldiers who would play a major role in the Northern Army going forward.
Just look at her now.
The little peanut of a girl was boldly challenging them to arm wrestling.
Of course, she couldn't budge their arms an inch, but no soldier could dislike a lord who mingled so freely.
And as everyone laughed merrily at the sight, Rough Oats approached me.
He had washed up thoroughly and donned proper attire in the meantime, transforming his ragged appearance into something bright and clean.
“Sir!”
“Is the food to your liking?”
“Yes, sir. It feels like I've come home.”
After the kingdom's fall, there had been no place in the North for veteran soldiers to settle.
But now they had found their place at last, however belatedly. How good it must feel.
Even though he had only drunk plain water, Rough Oats's face was flushed as if he had imbibed strong liquor.
He took a deep breath to steady himself, then glanced at Snow-Covered.
“......If I could have seen the Knight King's childhood, I imagine it would have been just like this.”
“You'd think even more once you saw her fight.”
Even I, who had served at the Knight King's side, sometimes got confused watching her up close. How much more for Rough Oats, who had just met her today?
He had pestered me every ten minutes, asking if she truly wasn't the king's descendant, marveling in awe.
As time passed, Snow-Covered grew more and more like the Knight King, occasionally displaying charisma that surpassed even him.
Rough Oats looked relieved.
The Northern Army he had sought out with such resolve hadn't betrayed their expectations, nor had the king's heir.
I set down my glass and asked,
“So, you want to find more of your comrades.”
“Yes, sir. Many of them haven't heard the news yet.”
Rough Oats had demonstrated exceptional talent in reconnaissance, maintaining contact with over thirty veteran soldiers even in these harsh conditions.
With proper preparations and a base, we could recruit even more.
The addition of veterans meant a direct boost in combat strength.
We needed Rough Oats's wartime expertise, but his request wasn't so desperate that I could refuse it outright.
I nodded and cautioned him.
“Don't forget—your lives come first. Move only within our sphere of influence.”
“No need to worry, sir.”
A great war loomed ahead.
Rough Oats, who sensed that ominous portent better than anyone, set his departure for tomorrow and vowed a safe return.
“And......”
“Yes?”
I trailed off.
Rough Oats leaned in quietly, ear cocked to catch my words.
“Keep the Wise One's news under wraps, please.”
If the others learned of the bird's tidings as they remembered them, they'd feel the same complex mix of emotions as I did.
But whether that foundation was joy or anger, no one could say.
Even if the future was uncertain, now wasn't the time to bring it up.
“......Understood.”
Rough Oats nodded.
With that, we clinked glasses and savored what would be our last banquet before the war in good spirits.
Thoom! Doom! Doom! Doom!
A massive orc warrior, shirtless, pounded the blood-red war drum with all his might.
The thunderous sound overwhelmed the surroundings, silencing even the North's biting winds.
Slave villagers hurriedly barred their windows and doors, while animals fled in all directions.
The roosters, which should have crowed at dawn, sensed something amiss and fell silent.
Something was coming.
“Uraaaah———!”
Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud!
The orc sergeant at the vanguard bellowed.
Countless battle banners emblazoned with an old toad fluttered as a host of orcs clad in steel armor revealed themselves.
The warriors of the great chieftain Tigmar.
They represented the single largest force in the Northern encampments—and they had finally mobilized.
At their center rode the ancient orc chieftain Tigmar atop a hulking carriage.
He looked no different from the old toad etched on the banners.
Surveying the vast army, Great Chieftain Tigmar recalled the letter's contents and clicked his tongue.
Ogmar's handwritten missive had pleaded desperately for him to march.
[I beg you, dear Tigmar.]
“Tch.”
Since the last war, he had avoided moving his heavy bulk whenever possible.
But he couldn't refuse a plea from his kin Ogmar, whom he had aided before.
How incompetent must those fools be to send him a personal letter?
Resolved to rack up real merits if he was doing it, Tigmar had mobilized all his stockpiled supplies and troops to raise this army.
Clop, clop, clop, clop!
As the army advanced slowly, riders dispatched from the command post spurred their mounts toward the carriage at full gallop.
“Tigmar, sir!”
“Well? Found their position?”
“Yes! Roughly around here!”
Oddly, all scouts and encampment couriers sent to pinpoint the enemy's base had gone silent long ago.
This unknown foe, whose identity remained unclear, had sealed every pass and key stronghold, waging a meticulous intelligence war.
But no matter how they hid like rats, they left crumbs behind.
Ogmar had plotted the enemy's approximate location and zone of control on the map based on the scouts' last known vanishings.
“......As expected of Ogmar's forces.”
The bastards had already swallowed one side of the Northern colonies whole, baring their fangs toward the command post.
It all made sense why Ogmar had been in such a panic.
'The enemy is waiting for something.'
Huff!
Tigmar snorted heavily.
He gripped his baton once more and signaled an orc warrior.
[Increase marching speed!]
Flutter!
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
Yeah, if they want a lick, give 'em one.
He didn't know what this crafty foe was after with their feints, but Tigmar had no intention of testing their guts with this host.
Shatter their traps, smash their ambushes—that was all.
That was the proud orc way of war that dominated the central continent.
The army led by Great Chieftain Tigmar marched north toward the outpost built by the Northern Army.
'Something big is coming.'
Spies dispatched beyond the base relayed urgent reports in unison.
They had spotted a host from the south on an entirely different scale from any foe we'd faced before.
Even by headcount alone, it rivaled three or four encampments combined—an immense force.
The orcs had caught wind of the Northern Army's presence and begun their march north at last.
But the Northern Army did not waver.
We had steadily reinforced and reorganized our troops, and the late-joining veterans made on-site command smoother.
We had given our all; even if we returned to the past, we couldn't have prepared better.
Now commanding the greatest Northern Army since the kingdom's fall, we sensed it was time not to nibble at the enemy piecemeal, but to sever their heads in one stroke.
'Hurry and grab 'em! One per man!'
'Come on, we've got plenty—no cutting in line! Lots of folks waiting!'
Swift resupply began.
Soldiers finishing training received high-quality weapons and leather armor produced by Red Iron on schedule and geared up.
Finally, they gathered before the outpost to behold with their own eyes the fruits of their labors and the majestic Northern Army.
———.
There were no cheers, no jubilation.
But in the eyes of those donning black leather helmets gleamed a sense of duty and grim resolve.
A unified cause, a shared conviction had bound us fragile souls into one.
What was there to fear now?
If death came, it would be for tomorrow.
The Northern Army quietly departed the outpost and marched south to meet the northward foe.
The battlefield: a snow-swept plain.
The Northern humans, defying the fate of extinction, upended all expectations and chose all-out war.
“......You've grown it out so much. Such a shame to cut it.”
“Heh heh, it was getting in the way.”
Like the year that had flown by in the blink of an eye, Snow-Covered's hair had grown long.
With no need to hide her black locks anymore, she had let it grow freely.
But she wanted it cut because the helmet was hard to wear, leaving me to play impromptu barber.
Could I even do a decent job?
I furrowed my brow in hesitation for a moment before gripping the shears with my thick hands and beginning to trim the obsidian tresses.
Snip, snip.
“Whoa, Master! Have you done this before?”
“No, first time.”
The shears felt familiar almost immediately.
And the severed strands fell in a shape that wasn't half bad.
Was there something akin to swordsmanship in slicing with a sharp edge?
As Snow-Covered said, my handiwork was surprisingly good for a beginner.
Good.
A neat bob suited her better than the usual shaggy mop she cut herself.
Snip, snip.
Having found my rhythm, I focused.
In the makeshift tent, only the quiet snip of shears echoed.
Snow-Covered sat with eyes closed and a gentle smile; I pursed my lips in concentration.
For the king's heir and her knight on the eve of war tomorrow, our faces were remarkably serene.
Snow-Covered asked me,
“What was the Knight King like?”
“Hm? His hair?”
“No. Before battle. It was a time of constant wars for the kingdom's fate, right?”
As Snow-Covered said, the Northern Kingdom's founding was a history walked on thin ice.
Scarce food, weary soldiers, shoddy weapons.
Facing mighty foes, we had always fought without retreat.
Yeah, come to think of it, it's the same now.
Though we marched openly to await the orc horde, this Northern Army was every ounce of strength we could muster.
Defeat in this all-out clash meant not just abandoning the capital reclamation, but endangering even the Northflom fief.
All our year's achievements,
our precious memories too.
I answered honestly.
“He was tense.”
“The king?”
“Yeah. Couldn't sleep.”
The kingdom's people and soldiers saw the Knight King as a divine son descended from the heavens.
But from my place at his side, he was just a man who laughed when happy and wept when sad.
Of course he was tense.
All the more as a commander bearing countless lives.
Snip.
Flutter!
I finished the last strand, set down the shears, and removed the cloth.
Then, like the fears we harbored, the cut hair drifted to the floor.